Did you know he was from Brooklyn?

"I want you to rub your mutton flaps on me, Mr. President. I'm from Brooklyn. I can handle it. And I want to pay Negros like you 15 dollars an hour to rub your mutton flaps all over America," Bernie said. Aides all over the room gasped.

"I hear you, Bernie. And I understand," Barry said. "Clear the room."

Aides began to shuffle out. A dildo dropped out of one and bounced limply to the floor.

Barry pointed at the Secret Service guards on the door of the conference room. "You two as well."

"But Mr. President," one began.

"No. Out. I need to speak to the Senator alone." Barry watched as they left as well, securing the doors behind them."

"Tell me more about these mutton flaps, Bernie."

"Mr. President? Have you ever rubbed 29 different brands of deodorant on your balls at once? I am from Brooklyn. I'm tough. I'm a street fighter. And I'm telling you, it's not easy. 10 brands. Anyone can do that. 10 is nothing. Nothing. 15? Now you're talkin'. 15 is a man's number. That's why it should be the minimum wage. Even for Negroes. I love Negroes, Mr. President. That's why I am worried about their balls. Their nutsacks. Cojones. Testicles, Mr. President. I'm talking about testicles."

"The Affordable Care Act mentions testicle care on thousands of pages," Barry said. He could feel the ruin of his penis filling with blood.

"That's not good enough. We need single payer Negro testicle care and deodorizing. Every other civilized country in the world takes care of Negro testicles better than we do. Every one of them, Mr. President." Bernie's hair was swirling on his head like fierce white flames. "And for less money too! Often less than 15 dollars per Negro testicle."

"What about white people testicles?" Barry asked. He began to rub his crotch on the corner of the conference table.

"Reparations! White testicle privilege! Not all be-penised and testiculated Americans deserve to be cared for in the same manner. Whites have gotten enough! I am from Brooklyn. I'm a scrapper. I care about black and brown balls!"

"The points you are making are perfectly reasonable, Bernie. I understand them completely." Barry continued molesting the table corner, digging it harder and harder into his odoriferous scrotum.

"I can smell your balls, Mr. President. I'm tough. I’m from Brooklyn."

A Cabin In The Woods

“How much longer do you think we can keep this up, Barry? The media scrutiny alone…”

He pressed his finger against Hillary’s lips. “Hush up, girl. You know I got the media wrapped around my dick. Them bitches ain’t sayin’ nothing unless I tell them to.”

“You don’t have to act tough around me, Barry. I know they worry you.” Hillary lifted her hips and pulled down her giant panties. Barry took them from her and licked the crotch with long strokes.

“Yummy. You’ve been using that lavender pussy soap I sent you.” He smelled the panties in long huffs, like he was trying to snort them into his sinuses.

“Barry, be serious for just a minute, OK? And stop talking like ghetto trash. You’re a Harvard educated lawyer.” Hillary shifted her gunt to one side and began tugging on her inner labia. The cabin began to fill with her menopausal scent, dead roses and medicated cream.

“I thought you liked it when I talked all street,” he whined, sounding like a surf bum. He scratched at the seam of his scrotum.

Hillary sank a finger into herself and grimaced. “Hand me the lube, dear. I’m as dry as dick skin down there.” He leaned over and handed the tube to her.

“Don’t I get you wet?” Barry asked. He absently wiped a single pearl of pre-ejaculate from the head of his engorged glans and tasted it. “Oh, baby. You’ve got to try this. I’ve been eating pineapple all week like you said and it’s delicious.”

 “I’ve been with Bill all weekend. Nothing kills my pussy like having to listen to his condescending drawl.”

“You want to watch a little porn first?” he asked.

“A little interracial butt stuff, maybe? See what you can find.” She kept tugging and lubing as he clacked away at the keyboard.

“BBC anal schoolgirl gangbang surprise?” he read. “Or maybe ‘Nigger cock petite training first time anal girl?’”

“Preview that last one,” she said, leaning forward.

“Can’t I just click it?”

“No, just hover the cursor over it. Jesus, it’s like you’ve never porned before.”

“Michelle doesn’t let me,” Barry admitted. “She says that if I want a big black cock, I can just suck hers.”

“I don’t know why you married that hideous shemale.”

“I didn’t have a choice. She said she was pregnant and didn’t want an abortion.”

Hillary smacked him across the face, leaving a shiny smear of lube.
“What was that for?” he whined, cradling his offended cheek.

“That’s for being an idiot. How you beat me in 2008 I will never fucking understand.”

“People were tired of the Bush and Clinton families forging political dynasties,” Barry said automatically.

“Did you get that off of the back of a cereal box?” she sneered.

“What do you mean?” Barry asked.

Hillary raised her hand to slap him again, but the door burst open before she could strike. A dozen Secret Service agents flooded into the cabin, weapons drawn.

“The perimeter has been breached!” the lead agent screamed, hurtling himself at the two of them. He landed on Hillary with a wet thud, smashing her pendulous breasts beneath him. He screamed “Protect the President’s erection!” A burly agent dropped his submachine gun and began jacking Barry off with a furious determination. The other agents fired their weapons out of the open cabin door until their magazines were empty.

Deafened by the fusillade, Barry yelled “What is the threat?”

“Raccoon, sir! Looked rabid. Or maybe racist,” the lead agent reported, yelling into Hillary’s breasts.

“Get off me, you idiot!” she said, pushing him away. The agents filed quickly out of the cabin.

“Sir, please resume illicit sexual relations!” the lead agent announced as he did his best to shut the battered cabin door behind him.

“Aren’t they just the best?” Barry asked no one. Hillary slapped him again.

Such Pleasures

Barry made the final turn of the puzzle box and then clicked it into place. Wind began blowing trash around the filthy apartment as the rift in reality tore open. He had been working on the box for weeks, feverishly trying to solve it before the mid-term elections. "Lame duck," he thought. "Let’s see how lame they think I am when I drag them all to sex-hell."

A figure appeared from the endless storm of chaos on the other side, walking slowly toward him. The far-off clanking of a million-million chains could be heard over the howling of wind coming through the portal. Barry was naked, the device encasing his erection painfully tight. He shielded his eyes from the blowing dust, holding out the box with the other hand. An offering if they demanded it, an apology if he needed it. The wizened oriental that sold him the box said it contained pleasures beyond anything the human body could withstand. And pain so delicious that the distinction between the two was meaningless.

The figure finally stepped through into our world and the rift sealed itself with a roar of shattering glass. As Berry cowered from the sound, the box was ripped from his hand. He saw her then, silver hair standing out in a shocked nimbus, wearing a suit of creaking black leather made from no Earthly beast. The hell Barry summoned was an ancient white woman, indistinct in the gloom.

“You solved the box and I have come,” she intoned. She held a hand out to Barry; the flesh was slack and wrinkled. Barry’s eyes adjusted enough to see that the palm was that familiar inverted V, and a swollen clitoris pulsed at the base of her thumb. He looked up and her face and neck were the same, all her exposed flesh was knotted and folded into labia of different sizes. The odor overwhelmed him, the sharp reek of two dozen exposed hell-cooters.

“Come with me,” she said, her voice a thousand screams of ecstasy and terror.

“But I can’t just go. I’m the President. I wanted to bring hell here. I was doing pretty well on my own, but you know how it is…”

“Silence. You opened the box. You summoned me here.” She ripped open her outfit, revealing hundreds more writhing, seeping labia, and two gaping assholes in place of nipples. “Now it is time for you to know all the pleasures of the flesh.”

Barry squinted in the gloom. “Kathleen? Is that you?” he asked?

“No. I am an… explorer of the farthest regions of pain and pleasure. Cabinet secretaries to some, demons to others.”

“Seriously, is that you Kathleen? Because, you know, except for all the, you know, all over you look just like Kathleen.” Barry’s fear drained out of him and he rocked back on his heels.

“Mind if I turn on this lamp?” he asked.

“No!” she screamed, flames leaping from her glowing eyes. “I’m here to take you to hell!” Chains shot from the corners of the room and wrapped themselves around Barry like ice cold snakes.

“Neat! How’d you do that, Kathleen? Can you show me?” Barry was raised off the floor.

“You shall drown in an endless ocean of night!”

“OK, Kathy. I guess I can spare a few hours. I sure hope this night job as a demon whore isn’t interfering with your other duties.”

Kathleen’s scream of rage stripped the flesh from his bones.

Oslo On My Mind

As Paul rolled over to embrace Barry, their Nobel Prizes clanked together. "Prizes are mine," Paul murmured. He hiccuped and burped, the bleach reek of semen roiled forth. Reaching past Barry, Paul could feel the cold buttocks of Ezra. He dully recalled that he and Barry had fucked him to death at some point last night. He smiled at the memory and playfully slapped Ezra. Gases from his bloated corpse filled the room with putrefaction. Barry grinned in his sleep.

Paul grunted and strained himself out of bed. He kicked aside cutlery and broken china that had spilled off the overturn room service cart. A whimper from the the corner. A woman huddled in the fetal position, sobbing, a line of bruises marching along her ribs, barely visible in the gloom of the hotel room. Flashes of the previous night came back to him through the fog of cocaine and Presidential ballgargling. She was the whore the prize committee had sent up. The three of them had stripped her and Paul and Barry had held her over the service cart, trying to make Ezra fuck her. He could never get hard for a woman. They had beaten the whore, stuffed her cunt with geitost, and worked on Ezra instead. He had choked on vomit halfway through.

Paul washed his balls in the bathroom sink and squatted on the toilet. He was so full of shit is was almost half an hour until he realized there was no toilet paper, not even the cardboard and fish scale kind Europeans preferred. He slipped the Nobel Prize from around his neck and scraped his anus clean. He dropped it in the sink; the whore could lick it clean later.

Posters

Somewhere Off The Coast Of Alaska...

Barry slid the long zipper of Sarah's jeans down, tooth by delicious tooth. Each of the teeth clicking apart sent a shiver of pleasure down the length of her gunt. "Oh, yeah! You bethca!" she exclaimed as he reached through the open zipper and tried to push aside her enormous Wal*Mart panties.

As he leaned in close, the tip of the cigarette hanging from his mouth was inches from her own mouth. Sarah breathed in the acrid smoke. "Cool," he said, the cigarette bobbed as he spoke and ash fell into her cleavage. Barry stubbed out the cigarette on the side of a salmon Sarah had caught for him and let the gentle rocking of the boat guide his fingers against her swollen clitoris.

Sarah's fingernails scrabbled for purchase against Barry's own jeans. "Button-fly, baby," he drawled, "Hold on."

Sarah began to softly whine has he pulled his hand out of her crotch to undress. He wiped his hand on her face and gave her a salty finger to nurse. Sarah stumbled backwards and landed on a pile of fishing nets.

Barry dropped his jeans to his ankles. His POTUS underwear could barely constrain his turgidity. "Hey, girl. Where's the shitter in this place?"

"It's a boat, Barry."

"Yeah it is."