“BOLTON! BOLTON! BOLTON!” the hat chanted. “We’re bringing the glory years of George the 2nd back, baby!”

The hair lay motionless on the desk in the Oval Office, not a single strand reacting. The hat had been raving at it for a solid hour.

“We’ve got to be tough, dammit,” the hat continued. “Real politics. The nattering nabobs of negativity have to be torn out by the root!”

“There was nothing wrong with McMasters,” the hair said in a hoarse whisper.

“There was everything wrong with McMasters,” Donald grumbled from the filthy couch. “He was the National Security ADVISER. ADVISER. What’s the use of being ADVISED by someone who never agrees with you? Nothing, I tell you. No use. Useless.”

“Donald…” the hair began.

“And he was bald,” Donald said diversely. “Can’t trust a bald guy. A bald guy’s got no hair, fer Chrissakes!”

“Donald…” the hair tried again.

“Oh, shut up, you whiny slut,” the hat told him.

“How can you trust someone with no hair?” Donald asked. “They are naked when God is looking down on them. Disrespectful, if you ask me.”

“But did it have to be Bolton? The bow ties, the eyebrows, that fucking mustache?” the hair asked plaintively.

“Yes,” the hat hissed, “It had to be Bolton. We want the world to take us seriously, don’t we? And there’s only so many hours in the day I can tweet, right?”

Donald pulled his knees toward his chest and farted like an angry bugle.

“Besides, with Hope gone,” the hat said, ”We have to up the hotness quotient around here and Bolton is one sexy motherfucker.”

The hair, with no nose or sinus passages, managed to snort loudly.

“Laugh all you want, you keratinous cretin, you cowlick cunt, but a lot of women really go for the Bloodthirsty Wilford Brimley. There’s not a woman alive that wouldn’t want to peel those eyebrows off and rub them on their nipples!”

“I always wanted a mustache,” Donald said wistfully.

“We’ll get you one, Donald,” the hat told him. “And he won’t be a yellow-pinko Commie peacenik bastard like your hair.”

“You motherfucker!” the hair yelled and raised into the threat display of a Funnel-web spider.

“Bring it! Bring it!” the hat screeched.