“You’ve got a hot mic,” the voice said in his ear.
“Shut the fuck up, Valerie,” Chris said. “What kind of dyke are you if you can’t appreciate that ass? That’s a great fucking ass!”
Brian gestured frantically in Chris’ peripheral vision. He waved him away.
“Yeah, yeah, Brian. Your daughter’s got a nice ass too. But she never gives up the goods on that shitty TV show of hers. Is some titties so much to ask, Brian? I bet they are nice. Are they nice, Brian? You’ve probably seen them. Are they nice or not?” Chris was cupping his hands under his own man titties when the camera swung off him and to the crowd.
“Put that fucking camera back on me, Valerie. I’m sick of your dyke bullshit. I bet you don’t even trim for that poor girlfriend of yours. You probably got bush the size of a bicycle seat.”
The cameraman was bent over and laughing, but managed to bring Chris up on the monitors.
“Look, Trump says whatever the fuck he wants and he’s going to be the goddamn President. You want ratings? You want to keep shitty ass MSNBC on the air? Let me say what I want, you fucks.”
Brian grabbed for his microphone and Chris blocked his hand.
“Do that again and I’ll slap your whore mouth, Brian. I’ll slap you down and then piss right in your eyes.”
Chris made a show of scanning the crowd. “Where’s Melaya or Melanie or whatever her hooker name is? She’s 46 for fuck’s sake. Forty-fucking-six. At 46 my wife’s ass looked like a huge bag of hot garbage. And Ivanka? Oh, yeah, man.”
A thick-set woman jumped in front of the camera Chris was speaking into.
“Really, Valerie? You left the fucking booth for once and this is what you drag your lumpy ass in here for? Call Gates. He’ll tell you to keep me on the air. I bet he’s laughing his shriveled up nerd balls off right now.”
Valerie flipped him off with both hands and stomped away.
“Hey, Brian,” Chris said. “Hey, Brian. Brian. Brian. Don’t ignore me. Brian. Brian. BRIAN! You very think Donald’s done ‘em both at the same time? A little third-wife/daughter action? DON’T IGNORE ME, BRIAN!”