littlebitofearth

They sat in the corner of a high end restaurant in D.C., elbows on the tablecloth, leaned in close for a brief moment of quiet during a whirlwind day. The older man drank a Diet Coke in a sweaty can, the younger, a cold beer from a chilled pint glass. The Secret Service stood, ever watchful beside the bar, nearby but not quite close enough to overhear their conversation. The restaurant was empty, closed just for the attendants at this victory toast for two. Outside, the sounds of parade bands could still be heard in the streets. Marching music and cheering covered most of the sounds of protestors chanting their discontent.

"We did it," the orange-skinned old coot intoned with a gleeful smirk. "I knew we would."

"How could we lose, man? It was over the minute they trotted a woman out to be their damn candidate - a black woman! Like that would ever happen in America!" his bearded companion crowed. "Or, no! It was over when you popped up on that stage at the Pennsylvania rally after the guy shot at you. With your ear bloody and your fist raised and an American Flag in the background. Work of fuckin' art. Now THAT was a National Geographic moment! Did you orchestrate that shit?"

"I'll never tell," the old man says with a wink. "I knew it was over the minute Sleepy Joe tottered out on that debate stage back in September. Those stupid liberals could've pumped his presidential corpse full of pure adrenaline and he'd still have looked like a dead man walking," the older man chuckled. "Had a cold, my ass. And the best part is, I didn't say a damn thing that night that made any sense. That's how you get em' - just scream out the words that make them quake and they forget everything else- COMMUNISM! BABY MURDER! FAILING ECONOMY! ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS WILL EAT YOUR DOGS!" His New York accent grows more pronounced with every epithet. "It's too easy."

"That one was brilliant - you could see them all hugging their kids AND their labradoodles a little tighter after that! Oh, and of course...golf averages. Had to throw that in. Gets 'em very time!"

"Fuck you. Hard not to get in a pissing contest with such a smug motherfucker thinking he was just going to waltz into office a second term - Let's go Brandon, indeed."

"Well, you did it. Popular vote AND the Electoral college all in one swoop. I think it was those ads you kept airing during the World Series. Hard to ignore hungry mamas crying over the groceries they can't afford."

"Yeah, I just kept telling them at the rallies 'If you don't support me, you're gonna be so goddamned poor.' What they are is dumb. And they believe every word I say. They don't realize that I can't control the price of their eggs, their bologna and Kool Aid and...I don't know, what the hell do poor people even eat?"

The vice president grimaces a little, remembering his youth in southern Ohio and says in his carefully curated Appalachian accent "Yeah, that sounds about right. Boloney and American Cheese on white bread with mayo. Kind of sounds like a metaphor too, but I'm not sober enough to go there right now. What did you think of the Inauguration?"

"Beautiful. Melania looked fucking sensational and there is no feeling as good as watching a bunch of pompous shitbags that used to slander my name bow their heads to me and nod in agreement when I say we're going to make America great again. Pussy little lapdogs. Make America great. What a slogan. I wrote that slogan - it is the best slogan. Make my federal charges go away. Make me a fast food order in the Oval Office. Make my interns suck my cock!" He laughs heartily and his white cloud of old-man hair wiggles like a shi'tzu. "Make America Great again? Good fucking luck."

"Sir, you are the greatness in America."

"Can it, man. Four years ago you called me...what did you call me? Reprehensible, I think it was. An idiot. Oh, and you said I was like Hitler to your friends."

"I meant that in the best possible way! Hitler was a genius, an incredible public speaker, a politician like no other, and so are you. I'm just here to learn from the best."

"Heh, looks like the interns aren't the only ones sucking my dick for the next four years."

A hard look passes over the Veep's face and is gone. "Ok, you better drink up that victory Coke. We've got some rounds to make. It's Inauguration Night, baby!"

The old man nods and downs the rest of his drink. "Places to go, world leaders to screw!" As he goes to place the can back on the table, his hand begins to shake. He glances down. "Now that's odd." He coughs and reaches up, scratching at the turkey wattle of his neck. "Something's wrong," he manages to squeeze out of his closing throat.

The vice president glances over at their guard detail. They are engaged in watching a game on the flat screen over the bar.

"Not feeling so well, sir?" he asks in mock concern. With a sneer he lifts up the Diet Coke can. "Glad you finished your whole drink - surprised you didn't notice it tasted funny. It's really too bad, old man, that you had a heart attack on the day you were inaugurated for your lauded second term! What a travesty to be felled so swiftly! Just keeled right the hell over during our victory toast. I mean, you are 78 years old."

He lifts his right hand to his heart, then above his head in a Nazi salute. "But America, I promise, I will pick up right where he left off with White Nationalism and misogyny and homophobia and climate change denial and Project 2025. We will rise up in his memory and I will make America even greater than he could!"

"You son of a bitch," the old man growls, foam now forming at his lips. "This is bullshit! How could you do this to me?" He clutches his chest and slumps in his chair.

The VP smiles gently. In just a few moments he will become the most powerful man in the free world and this makes him practically shake with anticipation.

"I learned it by watching you, dad."