Mueller Madness!

 

“My lumps, my lumps, my lovely lady lumps,” Sarah sang to herself as she walked into the Oval Office.

“Who’s there?” Donald hollered from the open door to the Presidential shitter.

“Sarah, sir!” she yelled. He grunted in reply.

“Whatcha gonna do with all that junk?” Sarah continued singing. She ground her crotch against the corner of the Resolute desk. “All that junk inside your trunk.”

“What’s that?” Donald called.

“Nothing, sir!”

Donald flushed the toilet, a loud bang gurgle coming from the bathroom. “Goddammit,” he said.

“I’ma get get get get you drunk,” Sarah sang,, spinning away from the desk, grabbing both of her breasts and then running her hands down the various convexities of her body to her fuparairy.

“What?” Donald asked and then flushed the toilet again.

“Get you love-drunk off my hump,” she sang in a whisper and threw herself onto the Oval Office couch, which collapsed with a room-shaking crash.

“What the hell was that?” Donald screamed.

The Oval Office door was kicked open and two Secret Service agents rushed in the room. One tripped over an ottoman and turned into a sloppy forward roll that landed him on his back.

“Mr. President!” the standing one yelled.

Sarah groaned from the destroyed couch and the agent down on the floor fired into the ceiling.

“I told you boys to fix this damn toilet!” Donald said and flushed again. “Dammit! I need a knife to break it up.”

“For fuck’s sake, Bob,” the Secret Service agent told the one on the floor.

Bob looked up at him sheepishly and said, “Sorry, Andy.”

Andy did a tactical shuffle around the ruined couch and pointed his weapon at Sarah. “You!” he shouted. “Get off what’s left of the couch!”

“Anybody got a poop knife?” Donald asked, standing the doorway of the Presidential Shitter. His pants were off, but he was still in his suit coat and shoes.

“Are you hurt, sir?” Bob asked from the floor. “Should we call medical services?”

“Get up off the floor,” Donald said. “What if someone walked in right now? You look ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” USA hat said from Donald’s head, “Yew look like a friggin’ idiot or somethin’.”

“And get Pie up before some hippies show up and try to push her back into the ocean,” Donald said.

“Haw, haw, haw,” the USA hee-hawed.

“Pie, Mr. President?” Andy asked, finally off the floor.

Donald pointed at Sarah who was struggling to roll over. “Her. Pie. Her!”

Bob and Andy holstered their weapons and hauled Sarah to her feet.

“Do none you have your family poop knife with you?” Donald asked as they worked. “Mine is in New York.”

“No, sir,” Bob and Andy both mumbled.

“I don’t know how people get by without a good sturdy poop knife,” Donald said, shaking his head.

“They probly use a stick or sumtin,” USA hat said. “Fuckin’ white trash.”

Donald patted the USA hat gently to console it.

Sarah straightened her dress and wiped crumbs from it. Her face was beet-red under the thick layer of foundation.

“Go find me a poop knife!” Donald ordered the Secret Service agents. “I don’t care if you have to tear apart the entire White House to find one!” Bob and Andy scurried out.

“I’m sorry about the couch, Mr. President,” Sarah said in a quiet voice.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Donald said.

“And on your special day, too,” Sarah said.

“Total exoneration,” Donald said. “What a special thing. I love that Bob Mueller.”

“Ex-oner-ation,” USA hat drawled.

“Total,” Donald reminded his redneck hat. “Total exoneration.”

“Yes, sir,” Sarah said. “We’ve got them now.”

“I’ve got them now. Me. Total exoneration. No collusion. No obstruction. I am President No!”

“Yes, sir,” Sarah mumbled.

“A press conference, I think,” Donald said. “Let’s get you on TV. All those losers that doubted me are going to get their’s.”

“Tear ‘em a new cornhole, Donnie!” the USA hat cackled.

“Say, Pie,” Donald said. “You got your family poop knife on you? I got a real tough one in there.”

“N-n-no, sir,” Sarah stammered.

“You’re a big girl. Surely you need a poop knife. Not even a little folding model?”

Sarah shook her head until her hair hid her eyes.

“A ruler,” USA hat said. “There’s gotta be a good ole ruler around here sumwhere.”