Humans we know when you go to vote they ask the usual questions.” “Are you democrat or republican?” When Bertha arrives, same questions. Bertha leans over with her heaving implants and winks. The male at the desk begins to sweat, he tries to not look, but as she leans in further, things pop out. She snarfs and ignores it, begins to dig for her ID in her large purse. She bends over into the purse with her tits at full salute. The woman is full frontal. No filter, no bra, duct tape or harness. She is halfway into the bag, legs far apart, with her skirt blowing in the breeze. Did we mention she wasn’t wearing underwear? Oh, the crying game was on. The woman was wearing a G string. Now it wasn’t just full frontal, but a full moon rising as well. Screams of “are those real?”, ” Is that Donald in Drag?” “That has to be Mike Johnson.” Bertha turns around, now fully naked. “They are real and they are fantastic.” She snarfs, holds her id in her teeth, gives the gawkers the evil eye and moves forward in line.
The fellow voters are trying not to look. It is warm so she is trying to vent herself with her fan. The heat becomes too much for her implants making them swell. People hear a slight hiss and look around. Things are deflating. Both toucas and tits have decided to go independent. An old codger decides he wants to cop a feel. He staggers over to her and trips right into her tits. Bertha looks at him and winks. “Was it good for you, do you need a cigar?” What is it about people waiting in lines that make them lose their minds? It’s just waiting to vote. You are not going to the moon, waiting for a bathroom stall. You could be, but unless you are renting Chinese, in a bathroom, and you have to wait for the next stall to open, you are just waiting. This is not the big election; this is the small pre-election. You are not deciding are you swinging male or female, you are going shemale. You are picking people you never met, hopefully won’t screw you without drinks first. As she waits in line she spies someone she has known for 2 years, is still in love with, but due to a phone accident that blocked him and deleted him? He pretends not to see her, nor speak with her. It does not matter that she is full frontal, bouncing up and down, making other men drool. He loves her but never wants her to call him again. He sees her, looking dejected and sad. Even her tits have lost their za za zoo. It’s a battle of the eyes, a tango of desire. Its voting. He moves up, she sneaks up to cop a feel. Wrong person, he already voted and snuck out. The poor man whom she groped is smiling. She looks at the poor bastard who is drooling, wildly panting. She snarfs, votes, and walks out. Placing her “I voted” sticker on her tits, she looks around the parking lot. Not seeing her par amour, but hearing ” signora, you lose your behind.” It was the guy she groped. Apparently, she lost one of her toucas implants that deflated. Much like her hopes of regaining her lost love. Ah voting, you never know what you will run into, have to deal with, expose. But would we want things any other way?
This is what separates the Hatfields and Macoys. It is what either brings people close together or makes lifelong enemas of the people. Let’s hope Democracy wins, humans win, and Bertha can finally get her man back.
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