Groucho Marx, with a somber grin and a flick of his cigar ash, looks at Kamala Harris and says:

"So, you’re in the business of hope, huh? Funny, I thought hope was free. But these days, it costs an arm, a leg, and 20 years off your mortgage.”

Kamala, her expression unreadable, replies,

"Progress isn’t easy, Groucho. We’re trying to move forward."

Groucho chuckles darkly, his eyes sharp.

"Forward? I look around and see people running in circles. And every circle’s just a little tighter than the last."

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Groucho Marx, eyeing Kamala Harris with his trademark smirk, leans in and says:

"So, you're the VP, huh? Tell me—are we any closer to the American Dream, or is that still on backorder?"

Kamala raises an eyebrow, unphased.

"Well, Groucho, these things take time. Change doesn’t happen overnight."

Groucho laughs, leaning back.

"Overnight? It’s been decades! At this rate, the only thing changing overnight is the price of rent! And tell me, are the people supposed to just keep dreaming, or do they actually get to wake up sometime?"

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Groucho Marx, his face shadowed by the dim light, leans toward Kamala Harris with a half-smile, his voice low.

"So, you’re steering the ship, huh? But tell me, where are we actually headed? Because from here, it looks like we’re just rearranging the deck chairs."

Kamala’s expression tightens slightly, but she holds his gaze.

"Groucho, we’re fighting for a better future. You know that change takes time."

Groucho lets out a bitter laugh, his voice heavy.

"Time? That’s a luxury for the ones at the top. But for the people at the bottom, time just means another day to get through—if they’re lucky. So tell me, who’s this future really for?"

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