The hair heard a giggle tinged with mania and the soft rustle of the hat masturbating under the desk in the Oval Office.

ā€œAre you watching the drone strike footage again?ā€ he asked the hat.

ā€œShut up. Almost there,ā€ the hat grunted.

ā€œOh, no. Donā€™t, ugh, donā€™t talk to me during,ā€ the hair groaned.

ā€œShut up,ā€ the hat said again, and reaching a rhythm, ā€œShut up, shut up, shut up, uh, shut up.ā€

ā€œDonā€™t make me part of this!ā€ the hair yelled.

ā€œSHUT UP!ā€ the hat screamed and then moaned.

ā€œDid you justā€¦ā€ the hair began.

ā€œI want a cigarette,ā€ the hat said, ā€œ And maybe a little bit of snuggling.ā€

ā€œJesus,ā€ the hair said.

ā€œI want everything Iā€™ve always seen in the movies,ā€ the hat said softly.

ā€œYouā€™re disgusting,ā€ the hair said.

ā€œThat boy got done blowed up good,ā€ the USA hat said from the bottom of the umbrella stand.

ā€œHe looked like stew meat,ā€ the hat crowed.

ā€œYou are both disgusting,ā€ the hair said.

ā€œPfft, whatever,ā€ the hat said, pulling himself up into Donaldā€™s office chair. ā€œWe just fired a missile at him, but heā€™s the reason the car blew up like it did.ā€

ā€œWhat?ā€ the hair asked.

ā€œA Persian? On vacation?ā€ the hat said. ā€œYou know he probably had thirty bottles of cologne in the car. A little spark from a teeny-tiny missile and BOOM!ā€

The hair groaned and the USA hat guffawed from the umbrella stand.

ā€œYou know Iā€™m right,ā€ the hat told the hair. ā€œYou know he was drenched in it. Probably smelled like Miami.ā€

ā€œThatā€™s not really the pointā€¦ā€ the hair began.

ā€œAnd the funeral crowds, so fake,ā€ the hat continued. He turned on the Oval Office television to show throngs of mourners on a loop. ā€œCNN is just slurping up Iranian propaganda.ā€

ā€œHe was a popular general,ā€ the hair said, tired, thinking about sleep, dreading four more years of this.

ā€œAnd they keep zooming in on the women. Woof. So ugly,ā€ the hat said. ā€œMost of them have an ass-mustache.ā€

ā€œHow do you know their asshole has a mustache?ā€ the hair asked, bored and reading in a monotone from the teleprompter.

ā€œNo, like a milk mustache, but one you getting from eating ass,ā€ the hat said, giggling.

ā€œASS-MUSTACHE!ā€ the USA hat crowed. ā€œYore funny. Can ah leave the umbrella stand now?ā€

ā€œNO!ā€ the hair and the hat said together.

ā€œAll those idiots bunched up in one place,ā€ the hat said wistfully, watching the television. ā€œWouldnā€™t take much, wouldnā€™t take much at all.ā€

ā€œWhat are you talking about?ā€ the hair asked.

ā€œCouple of Hellfires, maybe a Daisycutter. Teach them to mourn a terrorist.ā€

ā€œThose are civilians. Thatā€™s a war crime,ā€ the hair said.

ā€œWeā€™re not at war,ā€ the hat said flatly. ā€œThereā€™s been no declaration by Congress. Too busy with the fake impeachment.ā€

ā€œAnd itā€™s mostly women,ā€ the hair said.

ā€œUgly women,ā€ the hat said. ā€œNo loss.ā€

ā€œYou canā€™t do this!ā€ the hair cried.

ā€œWeā€™ll ask Donald when he gets up from his nap,ā€ the hat said darkly. “And we’ll see if you’re right.”