I met him at the bar. He had thinning white hair, thick-looking glasses, and a neatly pressed navy suit with a Congressional pin on the lapel. It’s safe to say he wasn’t my type. Nevertheless, he approached me, bottle of Ensure in hand, and introduced himself. “Hello, my name is Senator Bernie Sanders. It’s very nice to meet you.”
I introduced myself and politely chatted with the man for several minutes, all the while scanning the room for other prospects. And then he whispered the three words that would change my life forever: “Tax the rich.”
Suddenly we were stumbling through my 200 square foot studio apartment, wrapped in each other’s arms. I could feel my growing erection pressing into my zipper as the Senator talked about prison reform. “We’re gonna cut the incarcerated population in half.”
“Yes! Just promise to cut me in half first,” I thought to myself. I tore off my pants, freeing my throbbing member, and went to rip off his $250 suit when a firm hand caught my arm. He pulled a plain white handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and placed it over my eyes. “Let’s make you as blind as justice is going to be when we reform the judiciary.”
The anticipation became unbearable. “I’m close,” I gasped out. “Not yet,” replied the Senator. “I want your balls to turn as blue as California.” They obliged. He flipped me over like Stacey Abrams flipped Georgia. His pulsating Jewish corned beef teased my trembling butthole. “Let me socialize your health care so you can still walk straight next week.”
With that, he entered my anus. “Choke me,” I cried out between moans. “That’s an excessive use of force,” he whispered back. “Then what are you gonna do to me,” I asked. He pulled me close so I could feel the moisture of his breath. “I’m gonna cancel your student loan debt because education is a right.”
We came in unison and collapsed in ecstasy on the bed, the Senators arms still wrapped around me. “Thank you, Senator Sanders.”
“You can thank me by continuing to exercise your right to vote.”
I felt the blood rushing once more to my swollen sausage. “Ready for Round 2?”
