BIDEN WANTS TO FUCK ME
Last night I woke up because someone was poking me on the shoulder with a skeletal fist. It was Biden. He wanted to give me the jab. He was holding his needle upright spurting milky mRNA juice into the air with his thumb. “No, no, not tonight,” I sighed sleepily. “Come on, man, everyone is doing it,” his breath was like moth balls. “No means no,” I growled. “Is something wrong?” he pried. I shot up into a sitting position under my quilt. “You mean like Afghanistan and the Texas border and the fact that you want to jab me with that thing?” “Yeah,” he said matter-of-factly, shrugging. “Yeah!” I shouted back incredulously as he winced. “I’m going to get you with this sooner or later,” he smiled, poking his needle at me playfully. “Just like the CVS card. You swore up and down you’d never get the CVS card. Now it’s in your wallet and you’re getting all the rewards.” “Maybe, maybe not,” I said, rolling down face first into my pillow, “but not tonight.” He probably didn’t hear my muffled voice because he was already heading for the bathroom. I could hear him having a good pee in the distance. I could tell by the spurts and dribbles that he was getting it all over my floor. Today I mopped with Fabuloso.