With the controversial Patriot Act up for renewal, Senator Rand Paul (R-Ky.) has taken to the Senate floor to filibuster until the NSA bulk surveillance program is stripped out of the law. We would like to support the senator by writing a long and nonsensical story for him to read during his filibuster. The FOD New York writing staff all took turns writing this story “exquisite corpse” style where we each could only read what the person before us wrote. Everyone was instructed to write three paragraphs and include one photo. Senator Paul (and all those who may filibuster beside you), please enjoy and good luck on your stalling tactics.
“I’ve never seen a senator eat long pasta out of a small PVC pipe before.” The voice was feminine, familiar, and full of more admiration than bemusement. Senator Courage looked up from his firmly flexible white tube filled with lasagna-sauce-red pasta. He and the woman were the only ones in the Congressional Hang Out Room. Most senators were too scared to be seen here. Despite the fact none of them got anything done in their offices, to be caught playing Foosball or Big Big Mario on the taxpayer’s dime was now political suicide. “Old family tradition for when we had to get a lot of work done,” Courage replied. “We’d fill up the tube with long noodle pasta and chuck it around till we did what had to be done. That way all you need to carry with you at all times is a fork.” Hillary Clinton took this in. “What about the pasta at the bottom?” She asked. “The family forks are all extendable” She nodded. Made sense, Senator Courage was a practical man from a practical family. Had she not been a Clinton, Hillary often thought she would make a great Courage.
“I heard you needed my help on your new bill,” Clinton offered. She was starting to get a bit offended the senator hadn’t already stopped everything and fully briefed her on what he needed. Instead, he was still hurriedly switching between his ‘ghetti tube and his Macbook Air. She was a busy woman with a presidential campaign to run. She was supposed to be in Iowa dedicating a massive new corn ziggurat. But she owed Courage a decades-old favor and he had suddenly called it in now. Even then it wouldn’t be a big deal except that Courage had a reputation for never having called in a single favor in his life. Legend has it he didn’t even ask for his wife to marry him. But that was what was amazing about the smooth and handsome Senator Courage. He never had to ask for anything, he would just work behind the scenes until suddenly, before anyone realized it, it was just done and everyone was pleased with the result. That’s what happened with his marriage and that’s what Hillary assumed Courage was using her to do now. If he’d just look up and ask her.
Clinton tried again. “Well, does your bill need help or—” He cut her off. “Yes. I’m writing a bill that I think will finally save the country and I need you for it.” He finally gestured for her to sit down on one of the rooms large glass therapy balls. “Great. What’s the bill?” She asked. “It’s a bill that will finally legalize doing a good job in congress.” “Whoa.” Clinton exclaimed. This was the big one. For decades now congress had languished under a small rider put in an infrastructure-funding bill in 1957 that mandated that all politicians must do a bad job. It’s effects were obvious but not universal. A lot of politicians were inept and stupid and often did a bad job at doing a bad job so they did a good job. That’s how progress happened … until now. “Sounds like a great idea, Senator, but, I’m not a senator anymore,” Clinton said. “ I don’t know how much help I’ll be getting this passed.” Courage looked her dead in the eyes. The eyes she gave to Chelsea. “No.” He said. His long fork clearly scraping the bottom of the PVC pipe of pasta now, digging for that last long noodle he knew must be in there. “I don’t want you to help me pass it. I want you to help me kill it.”
Hillary Clinton blacked out from the shockwaves of this statement; such was the gravitas with which Senator Courage delivered it. When she came to after 20 minutes or so, her perplexedness was rivaled only by her pounding headache. “Kill the bill? But why, Steelman?” she asked as Senator Courage handed her a tissue to wipe the blood from her nose. “Please, call me D-Day EagleFlag Courage. No one has called me ‘Steelman’ since my junior senator days,” Courage chuckled. “The reasons to kill the legislation will become clear, all in due time. But more to the point — you must seduce Vice President Joe Biden. Using your feminine wiles and feminine genitals.”
Even though Courage toned down the grim seriousness with which he dropped this latest bombshell, Hillary blacked out yet again, banging her head on Courage’s reclaimed mahogany desk that has legs carved to look like naked ladies. “Seduce Biden?! What would that accomplish, D-Day EagleFlag?"Hillary sputtered after regaining consciousness. Said Courage, "It’s simple, really. This bill will exactly divide congress, with 50 ‘yes’ votes and 50 ‘no’ votes. Joe Biden will have to cast the tie-breaking vote as the President of the Senate, and my sources in the White House tell me he will vote ‘yes.’ We can’t let this happen, so you will have to … how do I put this delicately? Pork on him so hard that you gain his trust and can convince him to vote ‘no.’ Now let me see your sexy walk.”
“No, no, no!” an exasperated Senator Courage sighed, holding his head in his hands for what seemed like the hundredth time, Hillary stomped unsexily across the gorgeous Persian rug in Courage’s office, into which was woven the picture of another naked lady. “Here, let me show you.” After removing his pants, Senator Courage pulled on a pair of sexy fishnet stockings and six-inch stiletto heels. Time seemed to stand still as he sashayed across the room — he appeared to not even touch the ground, so transcendent was Courage’s sexy walk. Breathlessly, Hillary whispered, “My God. That is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life."Hillary then tried again. "Better,” said Courage. “Much better. But we have a long way to go, and very little time to get there. Let’s go to Washington D.C.‘s foremost witch doctor. We’re going to need a very special potion for this mission.”
Senator Courage hacked at the thick foliage with his buoy knife. “The witch doctor’s lair should be around here somewheres,” he said. Hillary stopped in her tracks. “Somewheres?” she asked, intrigued. “Do I detect a hint of country boy in you, EagleFlag?” The senator knew she had him pegged .. .he also knew he was falling for her. Hillary noisily opened a bag of potato chips. “Shh!” Courage scolded, “This whole area is lousy with explosives. One false move and you’ll be spending the rest of your days collecting campaign donations from that guy."The senator motioned above their heads, where there hung the contorted, suit-clad skeleton of some poor bureaucrat who’d wandered just a little too far outside the Beltway. "Looks like the witch doctor doesn’t take kindly to strangers,” Hillary said. “You can say that again,” said Courage, adjusting his fishnets. “Especially when they show up empty-handed.”
“Hey! My taters!” Hillary shrieked as Courage snatched the greasy bag from her strong but delicate fingers. “We’ll need this as a peace offering,” he said, “Matter of fact, gimme your earrings, too.” She obeyed. “You’re an odd duck, EagleFlag. I like you.” Suddenly, courage spun in his tracks.“GET DOWN!” he shouted as a barrage of poison-tipped blow darts whizzed past their heads. A horde of nude warriors descended on them, waving spears and regular handguns. “We’re surrounded!” Hillary screamed, “Quick, take off your heels!” Hillary and Courage quickly unstrapped their high-heeled stilettos and began sinking them into the eyes of the witch doctor’s henchmen. Hillary dug a heel so deep into one of the goon’s faces it ripped his nose clean off. She grabbed his gun and shot him in the dick to finish him off.
“Let’s go!” screamed Courage, his fishnets tattered and bloody. The pair made a beeline for the witch doctor’s tent, where they found the old man, high out of his gourd on opium. “I see you’ve thwarted my goons,” he said, his voice craggy and sinister. “Enough with the small talk, K'Ngutu. Me and the girl are here for a potion. A sex potion…” Hillary noted his use of “Me and the girl” instead of “The girl and I."Was he a country boy?
This is where the story starts to get weird. “You dare disturb my slumber to ask for sex potion?!"K'Ngutu marveled while his wife repeated the question in sign language. "Who said anything about ASKING?!"Courage shot back as he ripped opened his shirt exposing his lack of nipples. "YEAH! We’re not leaving here without it so don’t even try to stop us” warned Hillary. She then repeated her warning in sign language as a sign of respect to the doctor’s wife. “Why didn’t Courage do the same thing?” she wondered. “Maybe he doesn’t know ESL? Could he … could he be a country boy?”
Hillary and Courage (coincidentally a virtue that would be mentioned frequently in her 2016 campaign) started tearing the place apart and drinking any liquid they found along the way. Some of it was perfume and tasted nasty. “UM HELLO?!” the witch doctor’s wife both signed and said aloud. “I was saving that for a special occasion!"Hillary dropped what she was doing (drinking random stuff) and looked her straight in the eye. "It IS a special occasion … your funeral.”
With that very cool and quippy response, Hillary punched her fucking head off. It rolled along the floor, finally slowing to a stop at the witch doctor’s feet. “Whoa, usually when I cut the heads off chickens, the body moves around on its own for a bit like it’s haunted. That didn’t happen with this lady.” Courage said to the room but mostly to himself. Hillary was 80% sure he might be a country boy. And while the thought definitely gave her pause, she chose to table her suspicions for now because covering the wall in front of her were thousands of mason jars labeled “Sex Potion.”
But Hillary was right to question whether Courage was in fact a country boy. Courage grew up in the small town of Holcot, which is in the Catskill Mountains in New York. Yep, the Holcot made famous when one of its residents nicknamed “The Bandit Who French Kisses Real Good” went on Good Morning America under the pseudonym “Joan London.” Courage had never met Joan London. He’d masturbated to her, of course, but then again so had everyone in Holcot. Then again, so had everyone in the world. So maybe Courage and Hillary weren’t so different: They’d both fought in Vietnam, both masturbated publicly to Joan London, and as everyone knew, each won Nathan’s Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Contest.
They had plenty of time to bond later, Hillary thought. They needed to focus on the task at hand: drinking thousands of jars of “Sex Potion.” Hillary needed to prove her doubters wrong. “Courage, you’re too much of a country boy for this. Get out of here. Get out of here now!” Hillary grabbed the first bottle of potion and gulped it down. Then another. Then another. She was getting wet from the potion. “Hillary, you know you could just empty them in that sink,” Courage calmly stated, pointing to the nearby sink. “There’s no time!” Hillary yelled back, mid sip. Courage: “It really would take exactly the same amount of time. You don’t need to drink all these. What with the sink and all.”
Those words, while wise, were all for naught. Hillary drank all of the bottles of sex potion and even a few she’d brought from home. Courage looked at her … she was different. Her pants suit was now just a normal suit. A man’s suit. Her voice was manly. Like a man’s voice. The gun she was holding was no longer a gun. It was a saxophone gun. Hillary had transformed into … Bill Clinton.
“Courage,” Hillary said in Bill’s southern rasp. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Courage, horror in his eyes, pointed at Hillary’s old man hand. Hillary looked down. Her eyes fell upon the saxophone gun. She gasped, and dropped the saxophone gun. It hit the floor, and, with a loud toot, fired a bullet, striking the mirror hanging above the fireplace. The mirror exploded in shattered glass, and Hillary gazed upon a thousand Bills staring back at her in the tumbling reflective shards. Hillary fell to her knees and screamed, turned-up thumps pointing in the air.
As she wailed, the door burst open. It was Bill. Hillary quickly covered her face. Courage stood speechless. “What’s going on? I heard myself scream,” Bill said, clearly having just woken up from a nap, because he had pillow marks on his face and he was wearing his “Nap God,” T-shirt and no pants.
Hillary slowly stood up, and let her hands fall from her face. “Bill,” she said. “It’s me, Hillary.”
“Hillary?” Bill replied.
“Yes, I drank too much sex potion. I turned into—” Before she could even finish her sentence, Bill had embraced her, deeply kissing himself on the lips. Courage smiled for a second, thinking, “That’s nice,” but then stopped smiling, realizing that it was more weird and disturbing than nice.