I am responsible for growing the universe, and let me tell you, it’s no small task.
Sex therapy is a learned wizardry that is awarded to the most sensitive, and in-tune anthropologists. At birth, I was awarded the gift and it has brought me in touch with some of the most public, but also sexually neglected, individuals in the world.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the kind of hate sex Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton might be capable of having. Frankly, I’ve decided that if the two could just put all of this political nonsense aside and just hump it out, America might just feel a little more at ease.
Both are long term friends of mine, but it’s only recently that I began to wonder if perhaps an arrangement could be the answer not only for these two hostile people, but also for America.
Melania’s told me that she’s always worried her dear hubby would leave her for a blond.
“He called out Ivanka’s name in bed a few times, so we stopped having sex hardly a year after our marriage,” she said, during a mud wrap infused with 24k gold and hand delivered on the backs of undocumented children.
And Bill, well he’s lucky if he even gets to see Hillary in passing these days. Over vegan eggs benedict just a few weeks back, he told they hadn’t seen each other naked since 1980.
Amidst the chatter about their economic plans, I found myself worrying less about trumped up trickled down, and more about how America is uninformed about these individuals’ sexual frustrations and its impact on this years elections. I decided to set up a date for two of the loneliest, most difficult people I know.
To be clear, they did not understand this meeting to be a date.
Hill was willing to participate in my “interview” as long as I upheld my promise to donate a massive sum to her campaign. Mr. Make America Great Again agreed as soon as I told him there would be an open bar and a blond.
Hill arrived in a cobalt blue pants suit with her hair blown and secured with the obvious use of product. With her short kitten heels, she clacked into the lobby of the Plaza Hotel, her shades secured atop the bridge of her nose to disguise her.
Donald was late by nearly an hour, and stumbled in with breath that reeked of Mai Tais. He shuffled towards the lobby where Hill and I were seated, continuing to shovel sour gummy worms into his mouth that his assistant was feeding him.
“Hello Hillary,” he said.
“Well, hello there. Does anyone ever call you Donny?” she said.
“People with my strength and my stamina don’t have nicknames.”
I decided I’d begin with a soft, underhand pitch, a question that would ease them into the king bed just a few floors up.
“When was the last time you laughed so genuinely hard, that your stomach hurt?” I asked
“When I heard I’d actually be running against you,” Hill said to Donald. She let out her robust laugh.
“Hillary, I could really rip you a new one, but you know what, I’m not going to.”
“And Donald?” I asked.
“Just about anything my grandchildren do makes me laugh,” he said. “I need more snacks immediately!” he shouted to his assistant. “And it’s coming out of your paycheck because you’re unprepared for my blood sugar.”
“How many do you have again?” Hillary asked.
“I’m not going to get into specifics right now. I could. I could name a bunch of them too, but I’m not going to.” His assistant appeared with another handful of candy. This time it was Mike and Ikes.
After an hour, and six drinks for Donald, I was told from both teams that I needed to start wrapping it up. In order to get them upstairs, I conjured some lie about better lighting for the camera crew, eager for their magnetic chemistry to take hold.
We all took the elevator together, and to my left I noticed Donalds eyes carving his initials into Hillary’s behind. I had quickly become a third wheel.
As we approached the door to the suite I heard a moaning noise.
I inserted the key, completely focused on my task of Hill+Donny, but when the door swung open there on top of the covers completely nude were Bill and Melania getting it on with the television roaring in the background.
The two shrieked.
Bill hurried to find his boxers, but Melania stood up to face us all at the door, and situated her hands on her bare hips.
“Enough posing with the arms, Melania,” Donald said. “You’re not Michelle. Stop trying to be Michelle.”
Melania pouted and ran off into the depths of the suite.
“You promised if I had sex with Bill you’d drop out of the election and move to Slovenia with me!” she yelled from out of sight.
Donald looked at Bill now. “I never said that. I don’t know where she got that from, but I never said that.”*1
Hillary, already on a call and unbothered by the scene in front of her, announced to the room, with her phone pressed to her face, that she had matters in Syria to address.
“Bill, I’ll see you at 7:45 sharp in the lobby of my hotel for the fundraiser we’re expected at, and Donald, you may want to lay off of those gummy worms, you’re looking a little pudgy,” she said, exiting.
Donald called to his assistant for more candy, but began taking smaller bites. “I’m going to sue artificial sugar. I’m going to really do it this time, because the profit I could make would be tremendous,” he said
He stared enviously at Bill’s body.
“ Ya know this vegan thing could really help you slim down a bit,” Bill said sitting on the king bed admiring his body in his patriotic boxers. “The stamina from just fruits, vegetables and a little almond milk is astounding. And if you’ve got any shot with the women in pin striped suits in Washington, you better tighten that tush.”
Make sure you are registered to vote.
[1] Editor’s Note: This claim from Donald Trump can be fact checked on www.HillaryClinton.com
Illustration by: Alex Gilbeaux
