Flecks of silver had begun to creep into the once-vibrant head of hair atop his glistening, and now-balding scalp.
He smiled in obvious pleasure, and sweat began to bead at his feverish brow. That brow so full of expressive lust, and passion for the bespectacled man, slowly raising his anal cleft toward the first's waiting and gloriously lubed and positioned hands.
They were ready.
And thus our hero began. Slowly, at first, but with passion gradually rising— befitting a man of much larger (and more well-endowed) stature. Thrusting his manicured and varicosely-veined tools of pleasure ever deeper into the widening slit of anal meat directly ahead.
He smiled, knowing that the bespectacled man was enjoying the whole event ever more with each passing instant—each passing orgasm, was as a wave sweeping the façade of hatred and desperation aside, to be replaced with the true deep passion of love, and of the inner workings of the United States government.
Karl gazed slyly at the man, forgetting—for just this instant—that the entire crowd was eagerly awaiting his next move. Sitting on tenterhooks, loving the spectacle very nearly as much as the pawns themselves.
And then he reached it. His grasping fingers finally found their merry way to the omniscient prostate gland, and Karl's prey groaned in obvious delight. Leaning down to the man who was his former boss, Karl whispered sexily,
"Oh yeah you like that, Donald? Huh, bitch? You like it that way? Well, you better get used to it, because I'll be here for another 5,000 posts whether you like it or not!"
Needless to say, Rumsfeld's wild spray of anal juices were left to the gala's cleanup crew.
