FRIDAY ROUND-THE-HORN.

• The tension was thick as the President, accompanied by his unsmiling Secret Service retinue, entered the Clintons' living room. The Secret Service took up strategic positions as the current President weakly and unconvincingly shook the 42nd President's liver-spotted hand. On a nearby loveseat Hillary loftily pretended to read the latest New Yorker, a magazine she didn't really enjoy, as she had never really warmed to the biggest city in the state she had adopted for purely political reasons.

"Looking good, Mr. President," Obama lied with his customary ease.

"You, too, Mr. President," said Bill, going him one better in the easily-lying department, though secretly he was concerned that, away from the carefully-orchestrated spotlights, the Leader of the Free World looked so haggard, and reeked of cigarettes. He wondered if the AIDS rumors were true.

"I merely came by so our friends in the media can accurately report that I visited my 'biggest fan' and my 'former Secretary of State,'" said Obama. There was a stunned pause before the Clintons and Obama all burst into maniacal laughter, terminated by Obama's coughing fit.

"Hillary, you're looking wonderful," said Obama, not bothering to try and make it convincing. Hillary smiled cynically. Though they despised one another, she and the bumbling President had shared so much -- that night of drunken passion on Air Force One, the Benghazi Deception -- that she was almost charmed by his nefariousness.

"OK, fellas, let's go," Obama told the Secret Service, and instantly they vanished like goblins on Halloween.

"That fucking bastard," roared Hillary, hurling her magazine to the ground. "Where the fuck does he get the balls to come in here and jerk me around like that? Fucking faggot." She jumped up, went to the sideboard, and filled a tumbler with expensive bourbon.

"Now, Hillary," said Bill, pretending as he had so many times, in and out of office, to conciliate, "he may be a deviate but he sure ain't no faggot."

"Oh yeah?" said Hillary, her throat burning from the hefty slug of liquor. "Then how come all the whores he sneaks into the Oval Office are flat-chested?"

Bill shrugged. "He does like 'em skinny," he said in the appraising tone of a practiced whoremonger. "And white. Guess he wants the opposite of Michelle."

Hillary laughed raucously, bourbon dribbling down her chin. "Christ on a fucking crutch, who wouldn't? That fucking beast. She should be in a diorama at the Museum of Natural History. No wonder 'Let's Move' is such a success. Shit, if I was trapped in a room with her I'd move through the fucking wall!"

Bill was laughing so hard that he winced; the excitement was putting a strain on his heart. Hillary noticed this, and considered administering the coup de grace by showing Bill her secret photos of Michelle and Elizabeth Warren having lesbian sex; if that didn't do it, she could show him the even more secret pictures of herself and Mary Landrieu having lesbian sex. But no, she thought, let's save that for the 2016 primaries. Playing the loving wife, she went to him, smiled, reached into her pocket, and offered him a soothing dose of heroin.

"Man," said Bill after snorting it up, "I sure hope these witnesses who always seem to be nearby when we act like this don't ever talk to Ed Klein."