"Just read the words," Hillary said, spitting out the sibilants like pieces of old skin.
"But I didn't write this. I'm from Brooklyn. We write things for ourselves," Bernie protested. He tried to crumble the endorsement speech but his arthritic hands could barely wrinkle the paper.
"You'll do what we tell you or you won't leave Vermont with a working asshole," her goiter said. Bloody-toothed mouths grown in her clavicles choked out mirthless laughter. A voice from between her rotted breasts whispered, "Sew it close anyway."
"I don't re-re-re-act well to threats, Madam Secretary." She slapped him twice in quick succession, the rough skin of her gnarled hands scraping his face.
"I will only speak to a black officer," Bernie whimpered.
"You want me to call Huma?" she asked him. Orifices all over her body sighed. "Have you ever been double-dipped, Bernie? You won't survive it. There might not even be enough left over to send home to your fat wife."
"Leave her out of this," he said. But his voice betrayed him. He was old and feeble. He shook all over like an inbred chihuahua.
"I'm going to let Bill use her as a tampon," Hillary giggled.
The broken old man began to weep.
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