The handlers: THEY got titties all the time!
THEY got all the pussy!
and it was his handlers, his closest advisors, who seemed to be walking around in a beer-induced haze almost constantly.
Where is the president's pussy? Where is the titties for the prez? C'mon! They wont even let me have the can of beer that got shook up!
'Just design the flag. We'll handle it from here,' they told him.
'Jee-ZUS,' Mort thought to himself, 'I don't even know how to sew!'
And his jaw was starting to droop again, too.