“First 100 Days! Woo!” the hair said in the pre-morning dark of the White House storage vault.

The hat didn’t respond.

“First 100 Days! Woo!” the hair screamed, “C’mon!”

“First 100 Days,” the hat replied quietly.

The hair turned on the television that they had bullied Reince into installing. The opening tones of The Today Show filled the vault. The hat groaned.

“Oh. Em. Gee,” the hair squealed, “Look at what Savannah is wearing! It’s not only baby-shit tan, it makes her boobs look like gargoyle nutsacks.”

“Yeah, it’s terrible,” the hat agreed.

“And there’s Willie Geist with his big ole melonhead,” the hair noted, “I mean look at it. It’s like an old pumpkin.”

“Yeah, it’s terrible,” the hat muttered.

The hair sighed loudly.

“Maybe you should see someone,” the hair said quietly.

“I’M FINE!” the hat yelled.

The hair gathered himself into a tight ball and swore to himself that he wasn’t going to start crying again.

The bolts holding the vault door shot open and it swung open.

“The Germans hissed at her,” Donald said, “they fucking hissed at her.”

“Who, Donald?” the hair asked.

“Ivanka,” he said. “They hissed at her. How could they hiss at a piece of primo trim like Ivanka? Have you seen the body on that girl? Three Jew kids and she’s still hot as fucking hell in a bikini.”

“No, yeah. That’s bad, Donald,” the hair said. “Why don’t you go ahead and put me on. We got a lot to do today.”

“No, seriously,” Donald said, “let me get my phone. I got some breastfeeding shots that are just tremendous. Her tits look even better than they did when she was a teenager, I swear.”

“That’s OK, Donald, really,” the hair said. “We should really focus on North Korea today.”

“North Korea, yeah, North Korea. We should bomb them again.”

“That was Syria, Donald,” the hat muttered.

“Oh, he speaks, does he?” Donald asked sarcastically, “It’s about time you got back in the game. I’ve been having to send my own tweets all the time. I got president shit to do. Like dinners and shit.”

“OK, Donald,” the hat said.

“‘OK, Dahnald,’” Donald said, mocking in his best retard voice. He lifted up the hair and jammed it onto his head.

“Hey, careful with the goods, dammit,” the hair said.

Donald muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” the hat asked a small spark of his old fire flaring.

“Nothing,” Donald said sullenly, “I want McDonald’s for breakfast. I want the Big Breakfast.” Donald stroke his belly fat like a beloved pet.

“OK, whatever you want,” the hair said as it settled on his head.

“And two McGriddles. I want a Big Breakfast and two McGirddles. A sausage and cheese and egg McGriddle and a bacon and cheese and egg McGriddle.”

“Yes, of course,” the hair said. “Get your hat and we’ll go get you all that. 4000mg of sodium is a perfect way for a 70-year-old to start his day.”

“I don’t want to take the hat,” Donald grumbled.

“Take the hat or no breakfast, Donald,” the hair warned.

“I don’t want to go,” the hat said.

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” the hair said, “We have a fucking country to run. Donald! Hat! Now!”

Donald picked up his once-beloved MAGA hat and stuffed him into his suit pocket. He shuffled away from the vault thinking only of breakfast.