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Kiki Pew Fitzsimmons went
of Palm Beach, Florida. Kiki Pew was seventy-two years old and, like most of her friends, twice widowed and wealthy beyond a need for calculation.
the McMarmots, whose clingy devotion after four decades of marriage was almost unbearable to
observe.
offered a private cruise to Cozumel that would inevitably be re-gifted to the winner’s college-age grandchildren in time for spring break.
“Can you drag it ASAP?” the caretaker said. “We’ve got another event tonight.”
Katherine Sparling Pew began wintering in Palm Beach as
a teenager. She was the eldest granddaughter of Dallas Austin Pew, of the aerosol Pews, who owned a four-acre spread on the island’s north end.
Huff and Kiki Pew Cornbright settled in Westchester County, producing two trendily promiscuous offspring who made decent grades and therefore needed only six-figure donations from their parents to secure admission to their desired Ivies.
Mott was viewed as a prime catch because he was childless, which meant less holiday drama and no generational drain on his fortune.
He was lanky, silver-haired, seasonally Catholic and steeply neo-conservative. It was Kiki Pew’s commiserative coddling that got him through the Obama years, though at times she feared that her excitable spouse might physically succumb from the day-to-day stress of having a black man in the Oval Office.
What ultimately killed Mott Fitzsimmons was nonparti...
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Kiki Pew decided to join the POTUS Pussies, a group of Palm Beach women who proclaimed brassy loyalty to the new, crude-spoken commander-in-chief.
so in public they referred to themselves as the Potussies.
News of Kiki Pew’s disappearance at the IBS gala swept through the Potussies faster than a blast sales alert from Saks.
“Anybody can get a Silver Alert, even on the mainland,” Fay Alex sniffed. “Isn’t there a premium version for people like us? A Platinum Alert, something like that?”
“So…what happens if I can’t pay you right now?” “What happens is I re-deposit this unruly creature in
your domicile.” “You’re joking, right?” “No, Señor Fuckwhistle, I am not.” “I went from ‘sir’ to ‘Señor Fuckwhistle’?”
In particular he was fretting about that dowager-sized lump in the snake.
The only items missing from the apartment were her laptop and checkbook.
“Why? It was probably just kids. Your neighborhood has
a very active chapter of the Future Felons of America.” Angie said, “There’s a possibility my six o’clock stalker is
Police Chief Jerry Crosby watched drearily. His only thought: What the fuck is she wearing?
Since becoming chief, he’d also been well served by an uncommon immunity to condescension.
Keith said, “The President has been informed of the situation.” “Did the President sound like he gave a shit?”
size of Cheerios and a string of small, creamy-pink pearls. Removing them was a gooey chore that ended with Uric snapping the necklace and sliding the pearls into his hand.
“They weren’t no friends a mine. And don’t come down on me, bro. Sometimes you get in a situation, you gotta do whatever it takes.” “That’s a true statement, Your Highness.” Uric finished his drink and stood up. “Sometimes you do.”
Prince is a dead man
The space had been selected not for its proximity to the presidential getaway, but rather because the landlord donated half a million dollars for media commercials supporting Mastodon during his impeachment trials.
Mockingbird
first lady
commented enviously on his skin tone and demanded the name of his bronzing product. Caught off guard, Keith had lied and said he favored tanning beds.
“Yes, ma’am. Probably.” “So. Are we going to do this or not?” “It’s up to you.” “You’re funny,” she said, plucking off her shades. “Lock the door, Agent Josephson. And take off your gun.”
Lady Tarzan.”
Fay Alex brayed.
On the ride to the county morgue, Fay Alex complained to Crosby about the lack of a makeup mirror on the passenger-side visor.
“Why would you want to watch that kind of surgery?” “To make sure the horny bastard went through with it. By then he’d already knocked up our Lamaze teacher.” Crosby thought: This is what I get for asking.
another big-ticket gala, the annual benefit for Psoriatic Gingivitis.
In 2012, Sotheby’s auctioned a 1920s-era enamel bracelet made with diamonds and conch pearls for $3.5 million.
Diego likewise couldn’t know that the President would become animated—almost giddy—when informed that one of the suspects in the elderly Potussy’s death was an illegal Hispanic immigrant who was rounded up at a factory only a few miles from the crime scene. The story line would jibe splendidly with one of the President’s favorite fake-populist narratives: The nation was under siege by bloodthirsty hordes charging like rabid wolverines across the borders.
“They’re whining about a lousy hundred thousand bucks—my God, Kiki Pew spent more than that every year on
stem cells!
And did her boys even once ask about the progress of the murder investigation?” The chief...
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“I knew it! I knew it had to be one of those horrible Hispanic caravan people.”
don’t know, whatever shithole he came from.”
his lying brown ass belongs in maximum security. Make it happen, Jerry!”
She was holding a pole tipped with a slender noose. “Where you
They were presumed to be dependable Christians, although it was a rare Sunday morning when they were able to detail their faces in time for church.
Throughout the long deep-state witch hunt—the doctored Minsk defecation video, the phony tax-evasion probe, the counterfeit porn-star diaries, the bogus Moscow skyscraper investigation, the hoax penile-enhancement scandal, the fake witness-tampering charges, and both fraudulent impeachment trials—the Potussies had remained steadfast, vociferous,
adoring defenders.
opposite. The President had many die-hard supporters who preferred to demonstrate their allegiance in more subtle ways such as writing six-figure checks to political-action committees, or loaning out their private jets for the discreet delivery of certain presidential “friends.” (Except for official trips and White
House events, the First Lady was seldom seen with her husband.
