Sals Pizzeria, Williamsburg, New York (via Sign Language) – Croshondola sat depressed and comatose, face-deep into her favorite apizza pie: Sals anchovy deluxe with extra anchovy. A fever dream took her over . . .
DONALD TRAMP SWEEPS SUPER TWISTED TUESDAY, ALMOST BECOMES PRESIDENT, the headlines read. SCHMUCKABEE, CRISPY, FIRST IN LINE FOR VEEP AND SEC STATE ROLES. The subtext read, HIRRARY TO BEGIN LIFE AS DEVOTED GRANDFATHER, RETIRES FROM POLITICS; BURT SLANDERS OPENS FRUIT STAND ON VERMONT HIGHWAY.
No, no, it isnt possible, it isnt possible, Croshondola thought. It isnt possible.
Oh, but it IS possible, said a faint voice in the distance that sounded a lot like Pennis. Pennis, is that you?!, Croshondola asked, half-aroused.
Yes, Croshondola, its me, Pennis.
Tell me, Croshondola said, will #Hirrary Crinton and Burt #Slanders be only memories of presidential primary past; will Donald #Tramp say ya fired to both of them?
Pennis gazed into his crystal ball. Croshondola, I can tell you the answer, but youll have to share some of that Anchovy Deluxe with me first . . .
Croshondola, feeling the pressure of a fart mounting inside her Ya-Ya, readily gave away the Anchovy Deluxe Pennis so craved.
Pennis, mouth-full, said, Thanks, Croshondola, and when will the per diem will be wired?!?!?! Ha ha ha ha ha
Croshondola awoke startled; the smell of ammonium ushering in closing time. In a fit of confusion, the Anchovy Deluxe went sideways then left ways, ultimately up ways.
Croshondola pulled her skirt down, slapped her jaw line into shape, and walked head-first into the gay bar across the street, not knowing if she would be the biggest Tramp of them all . . .