Speed dating with the politicians 

Crusty cheese Danish and watery cappuccino in hand, you sit next to your first date: Donald Trump. His round, orange face is glowing.

You: So what do you do for fun?

DT: You know, it doesn’t matter … as long as I’ve got a young and beautiful piece of ass.

Hillary Clinton sits tucked in the corner in a sharp pantsuit with a microbrew and copy of “The Brothers Karamazov” as a conversation starter.

You: Aren’t you married?

HC: Yeah but if I didn’t kick his ass every day, he wouldn’t be worth anything.

Donald yells from across the room: Beautiful, famous, successful, married – I’ve had them all, secretly, the world’s biggest names, but unlike Geraldo I don’t talk about it.

You: OK. That’s great.

The barista glares at us. Stupid speed daters. Small tips and too many mind-numbing dolts.

You move to Gary Johnson’s table. He’s been talking to Jill Stein.

JS: I don’t support bombing other people’s kids, unlike that other woman.

She glares at Hillary.

You: but I don’t think-

JS: The neoliberal Democratic machine mobilizes to quash revolution in its ranks.

You: And what do you do for fun?

Hillary slams her beer.

HC: I suppose I could have stayed home and baked cookies and had teas, but what I decided to do was to fulfill my profession which I entered before my husband was in public life.

Gary plays with the crinkled remains of a spliff.

GJ: Under a burqa, how do you know if a woman has been beaten?

You: Wait, what?

GJ: Feel the Johnson.

You: WHAT?

Another fail, you log on to Tinder.

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