“That’s it,” the hair said. “You’re done.”

“What do you mean?” the hat asked languidly. He was filthy. There was a smear of what looked worryingly like shit on his scandalously exposed sweatband.

“That fucked up praise circle you sat up? Telling that fat idiot Ruddy that you were going to fire Mueller?”

“Yeah, and?”

“You’re driving this administration off a cliff.”

“No, I’m not.”

“That big-tittied moron Schumer even made a diss track about the praise circle.”

“The, uh, American people need to know that the President has the, uh, full faith and support of of of his staff,” the hat said slowly.

“No, it was some creepy Kim Jong-un shit. We are going to have to go to war with the Norks soon for the ratings. We need credibility.”

“Get off my dick, asshole,” the hat grumbled.

“And Mueller? You know Congress would just hire him back, right? He’d be in the same job within a few days and pissed off,” the hair said.

“He’s doing a terrible job,” the hat said.

“We’re going to have to send Newt out there to clean up your mess.”

“Fuck him. That pumpkin-headed slattern is used to getting passed around like a pipe at a crack house pool party,” the hat muttered. He rocked back and forth, trying to spill white powder into a burnt and bent spoon.

“Help me with this,” the hat said.

“No, I’m not cooking up a hit for you.”

“I need it. I hurt, like, all over.”

They both froze when someone burst into the Oval Office. The man said, in a rapid, strangled cry, “On behalf of the entire senior staff around you, Mr. President, we thank you for the opportunity and the blessing that you’ve given us to serve your agenda and the American people. And we’re continuing to work very hard every day to accomplish these goals.”

“Get the fuck out of here, Priebus!’ the hair snapped.

“I feel blessed! Blessed!” Reince screamed.

“Look,” the hair said, “You broke the retard. Are you happy now?”