The current Congress operated on the level of a Jr. High School and he was the class president.
He could commit literary necrophilia as a Tea Party congressman, but as a Vice President he would have to say goodbye to Ayn.
She called after him and he cried.
Power called with a stronger voice.
He felt she would understand that he would have to stop visiting her grave in public.
He must stand next to a man with serious rich boy history.
Pullet Hawk was forced to stop having political orgasms with a dead athiest.
Her famous book was about a man who held up the world and shrugged it off.
Mittle Me had held companies long enough to shrug jobs off.
He had picked little Pullet to stand next to him, and learn how to be a rich boy.
Mittle hoped that the issue of his taxes stealing a yacht and sailing to Bermuda would be forgotten with Pullet Hawk as a distraction.
Pullet Hawk pecked at Medicare. He pecked at food stamps, he pecked at women in ways a live woman would not enjoy. He aimed his beak at old women while smelling the money in their purses.
He was a big beak in the chicken yard of American women. Selling older women’s health care to private corporations would make him rich.
Most hens outlived most old roosters.
If he could just steal some medicare from their purses and put them in private feed lots for the elderly, he could be on the boards of Insurance Corporations for life.
Loving a dead woman in a box with a shriveled heart made it easy for him to feel little for real live women. His views on medicare made him a political necrophiliac.
He would be the first necrophiliac in history to be Vice President.
It was a love that dared not smell like a Rose. It smelled more like his own grave sniffing nose.
It smelled big money.