“How long have we been driving?” asked Queen Victoria XXX.
“No idea,” said Chester A. Arthur XVII. “Clock’s broken.”
“It feels like we’ve been driving for days.”
“That’s just because the sun’s been all out of whack since Mars fell into it,” said William H. Taft XLII. “It goes down more times in a day than a two dollar prostitute with bad ankles and an inner ear problem.”
“Also because every now and again when your knees hit your face you knock yourself unconscious,” added Chester A. Arthur XVII.
“Is that why my shirt’s covered in blood?” asked Queen Victoria XXX.
“No,” replied Chester A. Arthur XVII. “That’s not your blood.”
“Oh, right. Right,” she said. “We should probably stop somewhere so I can get some new clothes.”
“You could just take your shirt off,” suggested William H. Taft XLII.
“I do that and you get strangled with it.”
“Yeah, that’s a good point,” said William H. Taft XLII, turning to Chester A. Arthur XVII. “Maybe we should look for a store.”
“I don’t know,” replied Chester A. Arthur XVII, “I think I’m okay with that option.”
“Strangling you is step two, buddy.”
“Yeah, bullshit.”
“You wanna try me?”
Chester A. Arthur XVII reflected on just how well he knew Queen Victoria XXX and how sated her inner sociopath currently was. He weighed this against how she’d look topless.
“I’m a little concerned that my being strangled is taken as a certainty,” commented William H. Taft XLII.
Chester A. Arthur XVII didn’t hear him. He was reflecting on his options thoroughly.
“Seriously, guys,” continued William H. Taft XLII, “why is my brutal murder at one of your hands never an issue?”
Very thoroughly.
“Your continued silence is not helping to alleviate my fears.”
“Hush, Billy,” said Queen Victoria XXX. “The grown-ups are talking.”
“You know,” Chester A. Arthur XVII finally said, “we’re all getting a little ripe. New clothes probably wouldn’t hurt.”
“Pansy.”