Waiter to Susan Collins: What can I get
for you?
Susan Collins: Nothing too spicy,
but nothing too bland. Not sure yet.
Waiter to Jeff Flake: Are you ready
to order sir?
Jeff Flake: I don’t need a
menu, I’ll have the alfredo.
Two women behind Flake begin chanting.
Two women: Jeff Flake he’s
the best, he would never order without seeing the rest.
Jeff Flake: Perhaps you’re
right. I will look at a menu.
The women begin swaying in unison and
singing.
Two women: Jeff Flake we
love you, oh yes we do . . .
Jeff Flake, eyes misting: This is such an
important decision. I don’t want to be locked in a room and forced into
anything. I’d like to bring my wife down to the restaurant and get her input.
Waiter: What?
Susan Collins: Hmmm, such a difficult
decision. I’m going to call Chuck Grassley for advice.
Collins gets out her cell phone.
Susan Collins: Chuck?
Chuck Grassley: Can’t talk now
Susie Q. Just told a democrat to piss off and it gave me a hard-on. First one since
‘06! Taking advantage and jerkin’ it as we speak.
Susan Collins: Jerkin’ it?
Chuck Grassley: You know what I
mean; you’ve been doing it to Maine for years. Ohhhhh Louie CK! Damn that felt
good.
Susan Collins: Well, he was no
help.
Waiter: I just need a
dinner selection . . .
Susan Collins: I need time to
study this menu. It’s so voluminous it’s like being assaulted. And this
separate list of specials keeps staring at me.
Jeff Flake: My wife is
here.
Waiter: Why don’t you
just have the salmon? It was Mr. Weinstein’s favorite.
Jeff Flake to his wife: Honey, could
you please investigate the dinner choices? Take your time.
Two women: Jeff Flake,
he’s our man, he listens to women . . . sort of
Flake’s wife: I’m doing this
against my will. I’ll be back in five minutes.
Jeff Flake: That’s fine,
but if the beef looks fraudulent in any way, I don’t want it.
Susan Collins to waiter: What do you
think?
Waiter: I wish you two weren’t
my customers.
Susan Collins: Do they massage,
braise, bruise, touch or lick the chicken breast before cooking it?
Waiter: Why would they
. . .
Jeff Flake: Oh good. My wife
is back.
Two women: Jeff Flake . .
. we thought he’d do the right thing
Flake’s wife: Get the Cobb
salad.
Jeff Flake: Did you check
out the kitchen?
Flake’s wife: No.
Jeff Flake: Did you sample
any of the food?
Flake’s wife: No.
Jeff Flake: Did you speak
to the chef?
Flake’s wife: No.
Jeff Flake: Good enough for
me. Waiter, I’ll have the Cobb salad. I feel drunk with power right now.
Flake’s wife: I feel used.
I’m going home.
Two women: Jeff Flake, he
was our man, until he let us down . . . again
Waiter: One Cobb salad.
And for the lady?
Susan Collins: This is the
hardest decision I’ve ever had.
Waiter: It’s dinner.
Susan Collins: The chicken
would be the intelligent and respectable choice. But the T-bone steak just
keeps yelling at me. It makes me feel dirty.
Waiter: So, the steak
then?
Susan Collins: I’m leaning
that way but . . .
Mitch McConnell walks by . . .
Mitch McConnell: Get the ghost
pepper chili Suze, it’ll put hair on your chest.
Susan Collins: I don’t know.
Susan’s seat is surrounded by Lindsey
Graham, Orrin Hatch, John Cornyn and Joe Manchin
Lindsey Graham: Get the chili
Susie, it’s good for you.
John Cornyn: Get her a bowel
of the chili.
Orrin Hatch: It’s what she
wants, and she knows it.
Mitch McConnell: Even Manchin ordered it and he’s a liberal.
Susan Collins: All right, I’ll
take the chili.
Lindsey Graham: That a girl.
Mitch McConnell: Come on boys,
let’s get some beer.
