(Scene: Short buck boudoir roadside shack rack. Puke colored curtains and rug. Beer piss gold comforter on Scream Queen sized flat mat. That same damn rabbit eared TV on its roll rack. Enter Bernie Sanders dressed in a morning suit with bow tie and top hat and a Rich Uncle Pennybags mustache (i.e. like Mr. Monopoly). He is carrying a canvas bag with the dollar sign ($) on it which is very full and tied with a cord at the top. He throws this on the bed which collapses under its weight.)
(Enter Nancy Pelosi through the bathroom door stuffed into a floor length black silk slink plunge cut spaghetti strapped almost dress with up to mid bicep black silk gloves, a diamond choker and Brazilian Madi Gras tiara.)
Nancy
You broke the bed? Where are we going to-
Bernie
You in the back halls of the House of Representatives and myself on the campaign trail.
Nancy
I spent half the afternoon feeding quarters into a barely operating airport bidet and you suddenly don’t want to play politics.
Bernie
It’s not you. It’s not my wife. Its not even my campaign manager’s granddaughter’s best friend.
Nancy
Then what is it?
Bernie
I’ve tarnished my brand.
Nancy
By selling too many books?
Bernie
It’s all of that. Now I’m a millionaire. Neck and neck with the woman and just behind the other old man.
Nancy
Neck and necking with the woman.
Bernie
She’s Massachusetts and I’m Vermont. Our states are all over each other. How could it be different with us?
Nancy
Bernie, nobody understands better than Nancy. I submerge myself into drags, fags, Asians, homies, homeless and tech nerds.
Bernie
San Fransisco.
Nancy
The tech nerds control more wealth than Europe.
Bernie
You’ve got the whole Valley there.
Nancy
And the only thing that isn’t silicone is my wrack.
Bernie
I came into this race the favorite.
Nancy
You never stopped campaigning.
Bernie
I’m afraid if I stop I’ll age.
Nancy
Busy’s good. Take off your striped pants.
Bernie
Not over the shoes. Thank you, Speaker. When I was laying on the nude beach on Long Island, this was way before Stonewall, I fell asleep and a turtle came up and started making out with dick.
Nancy
Hope he wasn’t a snapper.
Bernie
Box turtle. He French kissed my dick. With a tongue that grew out of his slit slow and long as my finger
Nancy
The turtle fucked you.
Bernie
Raped. The box turtle which not knowing his name I call Sam who raped me may still be alive.
Nancy
This was before Stonewall? 1969?
Bernie
Some of those turtles live to be two hundred years old.
Nancy
Those are sea turtles. I think your date was a tortoise.
Bernie
Now don’t get French with me unless it’s down there.
Nancy
Look, Burning Sandman, Bloomberg News and Forbes wrote articles about your assets because that’s the only thing business magazine readers care about.
Bernie
They should write about my pecker.
Nancy
You’re not Bill Clinton. And do you want every turtle and tortoise in the lower forty eight to come calling on your cannoli?
Bernie
Tell me about your slumber parties when you were attending The Institute of Notre Dame- same time as Babs Mikulski- longest serving woman in the history of Congress just two years ahead of you- what happened at the slumber parties in Baltimore, Maryland in nineteen sixty blah blah. The daughter of the mayor and former Congressman and the loudest lesbian in Highlandtown.
Nancy
We Catholic daughters of Baltimore, the white thighs of April in the land of Mary, craved the long red sticks of dynamite.
Bernie
You were hand jobbing sticks of dynamite?
Nancy
Not a door was closed to Sparkie.
Bernie
I can’t believe you didn’t light his fuse.
Nancy
Her fuse.
Don Arrup
Satire1
