Bill was over for the night and had decided to sleep over.
His pilot was out sick and was having trouble finding a replacement.

Bill was in bed with one hand on his dick and the other held “11 Foods
for Amazing Sex,” the bestseller. He was eating cherries and clams.

It was recommended to him by a female member of his Secret Service
detail. Hillary had been in bed since three that afternoon. She didn’t

just cry in bed; she went into the room of tears. There she settled all
scores and plotted revenge. He found her the morning after her defeat.

There were tipped glasses on the carpet and empty bottles under the bed.
“It was my glass ceiling to break. Now some other cunt will get a stab

at it and with my luck it will be a Republican. And a Republican with big
tits like Elizabeth Dole.”

Thing is, she had the best political mind since Richard Nixon. Next to her,
Carter had been an amateur. Bill was too nice. Reagan had always had it

easy. He just sailed through. The donors had even bought him and Nancy a $25
million-dollar mansion in Bel Air. He didn’t have to lift a finger.

She’d had to suck cock her whole life and nothing has changed since Bill left
the White House. He was still pimping her out. Bush was like Reagan.

She and Trump think alike. She bribes both sides, fuck party loyalty. Make
them all owe you was her motto. Now, it is payback time, big time.

“Kissinger is a pimp.” Pause. “Bill! Bill, can I write that? Huh? Well, can I?
I don’t want to get sued by that fucking Jew.”

She was in a foul mood. She was even using the N-word. It made Bill
cringe. Some of his best friends were African-Americans.

“I didn’t say he was one. I said he smelled like one.” Hillary always won
arguments with Bill. She thought like a lawyer, while he just lied like one.

“I’ll accept the nomination if they offer it? Are you kidding? I’ve bribed half
of the delegates. Spent $5 million just to delay the floor count.”

“Come on. Do you have to do that here? You’ll ruin the covers. Turn off that
phone. You and Weiner! I wouldn’t send a picture of my dick if they paid me.”

“Why don’t you get off your ass and do something. You can get the dog to lick
you all over, like I did. You are so pitiful. Can’t you just use the sink.”

“What do you mean, ‘I’m out of here?’ Where do you think you’re going?
Sit. You know full well you are not going anywhere as long as I have those

pics of you and that whore in the Oval Office. You think you’ll get away with that?
Wake up. They’ve got pics of you sitting on the can. And, now, they all belong to me.

One wrong move, and you will be nothing in the national memory but a horny good
ol’ boy, but wait ‘til they see those pics I have of you and Al in the Lincoln bedroom.”