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“Here! Take my wallet! Just don’t hurt me!”

CELL PHONE NOISE

CELL PHONE NOISE

“This is Hillary.”

“Bitch, Imma slap the pant off your suit.”

“Mr. President?”

barack-obama-holding-bat-while-on-phone-turkey-prime-minister

“That is LeBron motherfucking James, woman! My friend. MY friend. Not yours. You have no friends.”

“Huma Abedin is my friend.”

“And hasn’t she and her family been helpful? Last time, Hill: stop being weird around black people.”

“I am not weird around black people.”

“First time we met, you handed me your coat and told me to fetch you a gin & tonic.”

“Not in a weird way, though.”

“Hillary, listen to me. You’re on a hot streak right now. You’ve heard the best news a Clinton can ever hear, that you’re not being indicted.”

“Did you know that Bill and I have a special restaurant we go to on days it’s announced there wasn’t enough evidence to indict?”

“Regulars there, huh?”

“We’re like family with the owners. They let us store things in their freezer.”

“Meat?”

“Technically.”

“Jesus…”

“Mr. President, I want to thank you for all you’re doing. I see you’ve been trolling Donny.”

“Yeah, a little. I mean: c’mon, they took the guy’s Twitter away? In a race to control the largest military force the planet’s ever seen, not to mention the nuclear arsenal, and he can’t handle tweeting. Yeah, I was trolling him. Hill?”

“Uh-huh?’

“You’re blowing the guy out, right? The guy I was making fun of for getting internet-grounded? It’s a runaway victory, right?”

“Mr. President.”

“Oh, wait: no, it’s not. Neck and fucking neck. Maybe I was actually trolling myself. I don’t know anything any more.”

“Mr. President.”

“Swear to God, you could set the house on fire while you were watering the lawn.”

“Are you done?”

“Done? Am I done? Hillary, I was done months ago. Just wanted my victory lap. Bob Weir gets a victory lap. Did he pull the nation out of the Great Recession? No.”

“Your pity party is noted.”

“I have an app on my phone that launches drone strikes against American citizens, and I know your location. Keep up the backtalk.”

“You do love those drones.”

“Honestly? They’re gonna be the part of the job I miss the most. Once you have flying deathbots, you don’t see how you can live without them.”

“Sure. Can I go? I have to pretend I recognize people in the crowd and point at them.”

“That’s your move.”

“Shame I couldn’t put it on a hat.”

“Tragic. Listen, I don’t know why, but I did something else for you.”

“Eddie Vedder in Seattle?”

“Better.”

“Gloria Estefan, Jennifer Lopez, and Don Francisco in Miami?”

“Better.”

“No!”

“BRUUUUUUUUUUCE.”

“You’re shitting me!”

“Bringing his guitar. Gonna tell stories about his father, wear a vest, whole nine yards.”

“This is perfect! Wait. I’m a lock in Jersey.”

“Philly.”

“I’m gonna blow you.”

“Hard pass.”

“Offer’s on the table.”

“And so the hard pass will remain there, as well.”

“Bruce in Philly!”

“One of his first East Coast strongholds.”

“The Tower Theater in ’75.”

“Classic Bruce. Oh, and Jon Bon Jovi’s coming.”

“Yeah? Okay, whatever.”

“He was hanging out with Bruce when I called. It would have been weird not to invite him.”

“You told him he can’t do any new material, right?’

“It was understood. Hillary, keep your head down. Wave the flag. Hide behind the people who the crowds actually like. The worst thing you can do right now is anything at all. Do nothing.”

“Gotcha.”

“Save your energy for the impeachment.”

“Fuck you.”

“You two are such a fun couple.”

“First day in office, I’m sending you back to Kenya.”