With a startling and cynical manoeuvre that has left the Democratic congress in tatters, Kyrsten Sinema — miffed when Chuck Schumer advised her, via text: “No third-act redemption for YOU, Little Miss Stonewall, I’m gonna play with the cool kids from now on! Nyaaaaah!” — decided to send everyone at the Capitol a message they wouldn’t soon forget.
Schumer’s text referred to his deliberate exclusion of Sinema from a history-making and very public deal with fellow closet Republican Joe Manchin III. Unable to accept that no one was counting on her support anymore, and that they’d all simply adjusted their expectations and moved on, Sinema let them have it with both barrels by recklessly and without previous warning behaving like a Democrat.
“Look, it’s the kind of shock-and-awe tactic you can only do once, maybe twice if you double down on the destruction of Biden’s hopes and dreams in between,” Sinema explained to reporters, as she took a wet comb and renewed her signature “just finished swimming forty laps” bob.
She quickly changed into a simple two-piece ensemble by Target in a yellow polyester-cotton blend featuring a discreet floral pattern, upscaling it with a simple white blouse with Buster Brown collar and mother-of-pearl buttons by Ted Baker, and rounding off the whole ensemble with some amber-colored costume jewelry she’d picked up at an antiques market.
This was the look her constituents loved: perfect for chairing a PTA meeting, stalling budget reconciliation debates, and thirsty pandering to male fantasies about “Lesbians” without ever spoiling her heterosexual credibility by actually saying the word “Lesbian” or pulling on a pair of dungarees.
Sinema continued, “What I couldn’t stomach was the thought of no midnight calls from Schumer begging me to come on board — no reacting publicly with tears of angry frustration about how my obstructionist behavior proves I’m beholden to corporate donors — everyone just ignoring me completely! Well, clearly I had to put a stop to that kind of aging-Boomer, Chicago-school, anti-el-gee-bee-whatever-AF bullroar!”
The Democrats had been so thrilled to bring Kyrsten back into the fold, enabling them finally to pass Biden’s signature “Dialing for Dollars” bill — which will magically kill inflation by injecting trillions into the economy — that they agreed to drop any silly talk about raising corporate tax rates or closing loopholes allowing corporations to avoid paying their share, thereby all but guaranteeing that corporate greedflation would rage unchecked.
Nancy Pelosi, whose achievements famously include silencing the young ladies of The Squad by threatening to confiscate their car keys and ground them for six weeks with no dessert, was not about to be taken in.
“While it’s nice to imagine Ms Sinema has finally come to her senses,” she sniffed, with the condescendingly patient smile she typically deploys in the presence of reporters or special needs children, “I don’t trust that shifty carpet-muncher further than I could throw her, if I could ever figure out which one she is! Something tells me this is not a true conversion, just another way of stroking those Kochs and sucking up all the attention!”
Pelosi was becoming increasingly agitated. “I’m not above a little school-girl crush myself, during my time at convent school. Sister Mary Rose Quartz! That’s right! You young people didn’t invent it, you know! I’m a master legislator! I’m woke! I’m never gonna die!! I can still manage to go for a pee by myself, mostly!!!”
Sinema meanwhile gratefully sucked up all the attention.
Our canny clotheshorse apparently had a different vibe in mind for the remainder of the press conference. Quickly disrobing down to her panties and push-up bra, she now hastily pulled on black leather corset, topping it with a batwing-sleeved Game of Thrones body stocking, and completing her ensemble with elbow-length opera gloves in suede, and a scarf block-printed with the lyrics to k. d. lang’s “Constant Craving”.
“You see,” she confided, “as a toxic, hard-core narcissist, I need to be in the national spotlight at least two hours every day or I start a weird process of rapid aging. It’s like “The Others.” Look at these dry, chapped hands — you think I got chilblains skiing at Gstaad? Ha! Not this child of poverty who defied the odds, slept in her car for a week, and achieved the American Dream of being in the national spotlight two hours every day!”
What’s this? Our clever chameleon was determined to keep us guessing! Wiggling out of her Game of Thrones outfit, she slipped into a fabulously tailored Christian Lacroix number whose wide shoulders and peplum brought to mind the excesses of the 1980’s.
“Well, it’s time to explain myself to the boys in back room!” she declared with a saucy wink. Then, having adjusted her YSL Ravenous Red lip gloss, she sashayed away on her Louboutin stilettos, teetering first left, then right; left, then right, and —
— if I can speak frankly for a sec, guy to guy — looking like nothing so much as a great, big bowl of Jell-O on springs.
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