Pretentious nothingness

He tends to flash his hairy bellybutton, drops food while trying to throw it into his mouth. Lacking in basic motor skills, he closes the mouth before the hand reaches up. Sometimes he groans and speaks while pushing food into that hole, so it gets spat out. Far from understanding his excessive displays, he repeats the gestures in meetings.

She boasts a sickly artificial tan to hide nicotine stains and underscore her dirt-colored hair, obviously stacks books under her desk (the ones she wants you to believe she's read), has memorized too many business clichés, uses them inappropriately.

They like each other, to the extent that they can prop up each one's empty shell when facing the Zombie in Chief. Other than that, they loathe themselves (at night), and would gladly backstab their partner if they thought that would help perpetuate their mendacity.

They drop names, and hate it when you're not impressed. So they hit the road one more time to extract more dough from Sugar Zombie. It's been an easy ride, so far. She'll show off her botoxed skin (smeared with ungodly colored creams), she'll lose a few more buttons (push angles of the pumped-up mammaries), ape a cheerleader with stiffly brushed hair (so it sits wig-like). He'll lean back (gotta keep the smelly breath to himself), throw in a few obscure lies (watch the panic in his shifty eyes), loudly pretend to be enthused by the Zombie's half-baked emotions (the louder, the more desperate).

Dimly aware, pushing back the inner fears, rudderless in a self-imposed blindness, angry whenever their masks slip, kept amused by their own pettiness, they sense that they are self-congratulatory frauds. They've hitched their ride to each others pretentiousness.