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The President's Cup

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All the men stood on their toes, watching closely as Barack made his last putt.

“No need to make it,” Bill said, miffed.

Jimmy grinned from the side, waiting with bated breath.  “Forty-one hundred dollars to buy a new scarecrow for the peanut farm!” he said, clasping his hands together.

“He’s not done!” George screamed.

“There’s no coming back for Forty-two!  He’s a loser!  A two-termed, deficit-lowering, corpulent loser!”

Bill slammed his club to the ground, storming towards the man.  “Fuck you, Jimmy!  Fuck you, I’ll kill you!”

Jimmy hid behind George’s wheelchair.  “Billy Jeff, no need to activate the heart troubles…”

Paul ran towards the man.  “Calm down, dude!  If you kill Jimmy Carter, Hillary’ll destroy your shed!”

Bill looked down.  “You’re right, son.  Last thing I need is for my fucking fortress of solitude to be…to be—”

“Charred to oblivion?” Jimmy interrupted.

Bill nodded.  “Yeah, charred to oblivion—just like how Joe burned down your peanut farm.”

Jimmy clenched his fists.

Bill chuckled.  “To and fro with the bucket of water, right Jimmy?”

“You weasley…!

“Yes!” Barack yelled, winning the tournament.

“Fuck!” Bill screamed, slapping his own thigh in frustration.

Barack held his hand to his ear, dancing towards the men.  “Who’s the greatest?!”

Jimmy clapped, dancing along, thrilled the man won.

“Uh,” Barack said, slapping an invisible ass.  “Who’s the greatest president who’s ever lived?!”

Bill kicked George’s wheelchair.  “Me, fucker!

“Gah!”

“Hey!” W yelled, shoving Bill.  “That’s my daddy!”

Bill shoved W back.  “Fuck you, Forty-three!”

W shoved him again.  “No one touches the Bushes!”

“Why not?” Jimmy drawled, licking a Tootsie Pop.  “Nothing’s better than a bush—at least back in the ‘70s.”

As Bill and W tumbled to the ground, George stared at the men, tears filling his eyes.

“Everything alright, Forty-one?” Jimmy asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Lawrence wiped away the old man’s tears.  “He’s—he’s finally fulfilling the family honor.”

Bill and George pulled each other’s hair, screaming like little girls.

“All I’ve ever wanted was for the boy to protect me—to keep the Bush name alive for generations to come, even if that meant that he’d have to start two, unnecessary wars and suffer eight years with Dick Cheney.”

Jimmy patted George’s shoulder as Barack claimed the winner’s pile.  “I suppose this is your greatest moment,” Jimmy drawled.  “After all, you can no longer jump out of planes.”

“But I can still lick BB.”

Jimmy furrowed his brow.

“Barbara’s Bush.”

Jimmy nodded, watching as Bill and W continued to tussle on the ground.

<><><><><> 

Bill sat in his study drinking coffee as he clicked through the Getty Images website. 

“Dapper ass, ass man,” Bill said, grinning at himself.  “Who puts their hand on their heart the best?  You do, Forty-two.”  He looked down.  “Fuck, I’d vote for him.”

KNOCK, KNOCK

Bill looked up.  “Baby.”

Hillary grinned, walking towards him.  She sat on his lap before carefully kissing his lips.

Bill closed his eyes, completely content.  “Fuck.”

“What?”

He licked his lips.  “Just seeing you is like looking at a smorgasbord of deliciousness.  I may have enjoyed Clittie in theory, but nothing compares with an in-person makeout session.”

“Gosh, Bill.”

“It’s true,” he drawled, whispering in her ear.  “I went to bed hungry.”

She licked her lips.  “How do you think I feel?”

His eyes grew big.

“Me, alone, in a hotel room in Canada, watching clips of you from the Presidential Cup.”

“Did she miss me?” he asked, finagling his hand into her pants.

She nodded.  “Especially when you bent down to pick up your keys.”

“Fuck,” Bill said, remembering.  “I always forget how much you like this sweet ass.”  He looked down.  “Wanna hump it?”

“God, Bill.”

“I’m serious, Hillary!  I want hump your ass all the time!”

She grinned, shaking her head.  “You’re sick.”

“Tell me something new!”  He tickled her, watching as she laughed profusely.  “Fuck,” he drawled, so enamored.  “I’m jealous of that Canadian mattress.”

“Don’t be.  It didn’t get any action.”

“Not even a little ass?”

She shook her head.  “Hey, how was your game with the other presidents?”

Bill looked away, miffed.

“Billy?”

He took a deep breath.  “Fucking Forty-four won.”

“Oh, honey.”

“And now he has custody of my Junior and Chelso Countdown from Conception watch!  Now how will I know when you’re ready to give birth?”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“Hilly?”

“Hmm?”

He looked down.  “You don’t think I’m corpulent, do you?”

She grinned.  “You’re the picture of health, Billy.  Why do you ask?”

“Because fucking Thirty-nine called me corpulent!”

“He only says things to get under your skin.”

“Well he did it!” Bill screamed, pointing to the dairy-free Ensures.  “Next time I see him, I’m gonna be ripped!”

Hillary stood up, walking towards the pile.  “You won’t be, Bill.”

He swallowed.  “Do they have dairy?”

She licked her lips and shook her head.  “I like your ass the way it is.”

His eyes grew big. 

“Forget about Jimmy.  Come help me unpack.”

Bill shot up, grabbing her hand and running towards their bedroom.  “Can I make you come, too?!” he screamed, slamming their door.