Title: “Costumed BUSINESS, Not Costumed PLAY.”
Author: box_in_the_box.
Word Count: 1,004.
Rating: PG-13/R, for strong language and sexual innuendo.
Characters/Pairings: John/Cindy McCain, Barack/Michelle Obama, Joseph Biden, Hillary Clinton, Sarah Palin, Dennis/Elizabeth Kucinich and Mitt Romney.
Spoilers: Set after the 2008 Democratic National Convention and John McCain’s announcement of his presidential running mate.
Summary: During the 2008 presidential campaign, the candidates and several of their supporters cosplay at a comic convention. Crack ensues.
Warnings: Writing this real-person political fan fiction story is officially the worst thing that I have ever done.

THE WORST THING THAT I HAVE EVER DONE.

So, enjoy.

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“Goddammit, Cindy, could you at least try to smile?” John McCain snarled as he tugged uncomfortably at his uniform, as Col. Saul Tigh from Battlestar Galactica. “Just because you’re … cosplaying as a robot doesn’t mean you should act inhuman.”

“But I am smiling, John,” Cindy McCain insisted placidly, her rictus grin fixed on her face, as she smoothed down her skimpy, slinky red dress, as Number Six. “You should keep the eyepatch,” she cooed, adjusting it for him. “It makes you look … mmmm, rugged.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” John nodded. “It’s a miracle I didn’t lose my eye in ‘Nam … yeah, that’d remind people what I went through, when they try and argue with how I define ‘torture,’ since I’ve actually been tortured –”

“Oooh, John,” Cindy hissed through clenched teeth, rubbing up against him. “It gets me so hot when you get all worked up like this.” Her eyes twinkled as she purred demurely, “Does this mean you’ll be … ‘interrogating’ me again, later on?”

John grabbed her roughly, by the perfectly coiffed hairs on the back of her neck, and pulled her forcefully into an embrace. “What do you think, you traitorous Cylon whore?” he growled, devouring her mouth with an overpowering kiss.
__________

“I like this,” Barack Obama beamed, raising his arms experimentally to test the fit of his black leather jacket, as the Ninth Doctor from Doctor Who. “It’s comfortable, casual but dressy … and you look good,” he turned his gaze onto Michelle Obama, who wore the wardrobe and hairstyle of Martha Jones. “I’m a big fan of you in tight jeans.”

“You’ve always been a big fan of me in tight jeans,” Michelle rolled her eyes with a smirk.

“Should I change out into one of Ten’s suits, though?” Barack wondered. “Only, Nine and Martha never traveled together on the show, although I’m not sure whether they met in any of the tie-in media –”

“Oh my God, you are such a fucking nerd,” Michelle laughed and shook her head, before wrapping her arms around him. “Sure you don’t want to trade me out for some blonde-haired, skinny-assed, doe-eyed little white girl?” she teased, arching her eyebrows.

Barack chuckled, in that deep, throaty tone that sent shivers up her spine, before sliding his arms around her in turn and kissing her tenderly. “Not even 900 years from now,” he assured her, before glancing around. “You seen Joe, by the way?” he checked distractedly. “Only, he said he’d be here by now –”

“I’m the Goddamn Biden,” a gravelly voice announced from behind him, as if on cue, as Barack turned to face Joseph Biden, clad as Batman from The Dark Knight.

“Goddammit, Joe,” Barack wearily shut his eyes tight and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Even among geeks, there’s still a line separating cool from uncool, and no offense, but you just drove over that motherfucker with the Batmobile.”

“No, trust me, this will be great!” Joe gesticulated enthusiastically, albeit stiffly, due to the constraints of his costume. “Hillary and I came to the comic con in matching costumes, like you and Michelle, to further demonstrate our Democratic Party unity!”

“Oh, really?” Michelle perked up curiously. “So, if you’re Batman, then who did she come as JESUS CHRIST!!!” she nearly shrieked at Hillary Clinton’s sudden appearance.

“WHY SO SERIOUS???” Hillary greeted, baring her teeth from behind layers of pancake and prosthetic makeup, as the Joker. “You want to know how I got these scars?” she pointed to the jagged red lines on the sides of her mouth. “I received health care under a Republican administration! HA HA HA!!! Get it?”

“Uh, yeah … great, Hills,” Barack cleared his throat. “Why don’t you and Joe go … work the floor?” he waved them both away, with a wincing attempt at a smile.

“You okay?” Michelle patted his back, as soon as Joe and Hillary had left. “She gave me a bit of a start too –”

“It’s gonna be weeks before I manage to have an erection again,” Barack breathed deeply, clutching his chest. “Seeing her like that gave me a hard-OFF. Tell me we have other people from our party coming here, to balance those two out,” he pleaded.

Michelle cringed. “Well, John Edwards was coming as Capt. Jack Harkness, but –”

“Oh, right,” Barack made the connection before she even finished the sentence. “After the whole … affair, not exactly the best character for him to cosplay as, yeah. What about Kucinich, though?” He snorted with amusement. “This seems like it’d be his scene even more than it is mine.”

“I’m not sure,” Michelle admitted, cocking her head to one side in consideration. “In fact, I haven’t seen Romney here, either, or even McCain’s new VP pick …”
__________

“So … why am I dressed up like Jackie Kennedy, again?” Sarah Palin fidgeted in her pink pillbox hat and (extremely short) matching mini-dress, the latter of which hugged her sizable bust and backside far too snugly for her taste.

“I told you, you’re Dr. Girlfriend!” Dennis Kucinich whined, firmly affixing his artificial eyebrows and goatee to his face with spirit gum, as The Monarch from The Venture Bros. “And you need to make your voice a lot lower, or else we won’t even place in the costume competition! The first-place winners get to meet Jackson Publick and Doc Hammer! Oh boy!”

“That sounds so exciting,” breathed Elizabeth Kucinich, her cleavage and navel both exposed by her skintight catsuit, as Molotov Cocktease, as she stared at Mitt Romney, with the one eye that wasn’t covered by her heart-shaped eyepatch, and ran her fingers through the blonde hair of his Brock Samson mullet wig. “Don’t you agree?” she draped her arms onto his shoulders, her British accent sounding as though it was caressing each syllable that rolled off her tongue.

Mitt swallowed, hard. “Dennis … I officially take back anything bad I ever might have said about you. You are so totally The Man.”