Squeeze Me (Skink #8)

by Carl Hiaasen

Angie’s friends tried to rally her with tales of crazed inconsequential sex, but in her experience such a thing didn’t exist. Even a half-drunken fuck inevitably got misread by one or both parties as commitment.

The other agents offered their usual assessment of the President’s melodramatic performance. “This is a show of the shit variety,” one remarked. “He’s a pathogen,” sighed another.

“Don’t you get it? It doesn’t fucking matter whether he’s right or not. That’s the scary part.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Angie. “He did it again. Same shit as before.” “Who did what?” said Ryskamp. “That dysfunctional hump in the White House. Your boss.”

Once I turned on the goddamn internet, no more sleep. President Shitweasel never fails to light my fuse.