You Are Joe Biden.

You are Joe Biden. You have just sworn in. You have done it now. Everything you have worked hard for has materialised. Everything you have sacrificed has been worth it. You are here. You are him. The president.

You feel something form in the pit of your stomach. It grows upwards. It burns as it passes through your chest. It feels like panic. But it's not panic. It's pride.

You feel pride.

You are proud of yourself.

You lock arms with your wife. How loving she has been. How supportive. She feels rare. She feels precious. You hold her a little tighter. You don't want to let her go.

Fireworks start crashing into the air. Their bangs explode with optimism. Each flash of colour is a new idea for change, a new potential for hope. A tear forms in your right eye. You hold your wife even tighter.

You are suddenly aware of another noise. It rumbles away behind the bangs. It sounds musical. It sounds annoying. It is Katy Perry. She is singing a song about fireworks. You don't know who she is or what she's doing. You lean into your wife and whisper in her ear.

"Who the fuck is singing?"

Your wife leans back into you.

"Katy Perry."

"Who is Katy Perry?"

Your wife ignores you this time. There are cameras on you. You aren't supposed to talk through the song.

The tear in your right eye has dried up. You are annoyed now. You don't know who Katy Perry is and she's ruining your moment. The bangs no longer bang. The flashes no longer flash. All you can see and hear is Katy Perry. Who the fuck is Katy Perry?

You find it increasingly difficult to hide your anger. You feel that your smile is no longer a smile, it is a grimace. You are tense. The grip on your wife has tightened and she is struggling to breath.

The song finishes. The ceremony is over. Your ceremony. Katy Perry does a pose in her big wanky dress. Everyone turns to watch her. The cameras turn too. Nobody sees you push over your wife as you sprint into the white house.

You blast into your new office. You have always dreamt of owning this office. There were people who told you it would never be yours. There were days you believed them. And yet here you are. In your office. This is the best moment of your life. Certainly better than the day you married that piece of shit wife.

You go straight to your computer and crash down on a desk chair. Thee desk chair. You thought long and hard about this chair. Sitting in this chair. Masturbating in this chair. You planned on cherishing this moment. No time for that now.

You open Google. It is quick. The internet speed in your new office is incredible. But you can't appreciate it. You are still livid. Spit is frothing in the corners of mouth. You wipe it away before typing.

Who the fuck is Katy Perry?

About 207000000 search results pop up in front of you.