Her door is suddenly kicked in with half-assed drunken force and the President leans against the
frame for support. He leers at Coma incoherently with a birthday cake in one hand.
make ugly shadows across his face. Coma tries to hide Adam's box and the music but her nightgown
just comes open in the process.
"What's that playing? That's not my song..." He loses his frame of thought for a moment staring
at her pale exposed belly and thighs. "Are you too big to love daddy, now? You're all grown up
my little princesss...let me see."
He stumbles toward her and with his free hand begins to grope her breasts. She resists, for what
seems like the first time, and rips open his silk shirt. What she sees beneath is more
disgusting than his pathetic molestation. His almost translucent skin is varicose and wrinkled.
On his shoulders and chest he wears prosthetic pads that are snapped onto his skin with tiny
stainless steel fasteners to augment his youthful, healthy shape. The material his fake muscles
are made of looks wet and gelatinous like raw chicken meat.
He is too drunk to be embarrassed, so he tears away the rest of his clothes stumbling toward her
with some sort of elastic garter that holds his veiny erection upright. The cake with her face
painted on it, smears down his leg onto the floor.
"Daddy, loves you. You know that's why we have to do this."
As he reaches for her arm, she pulls away and grabs a six inch tall marble statue of her father
from her desk. With all her strength and eighteen years of resentment she smashes his across the
forehead with it, breaking the statue and splitting open a large horizontal gash above his brow.
He falls, bleeding and covered in cake.
The gaping wound seems to frown above his closed eyes.
She drops the statue, even though she knows he's still alive.