“I hate Switzerland,” the hat said, staring out the hotel window at people in ski outfits.

“You hate everywhere,” the hair told him.

“I love America.”

“And hate most Americans. Why did you even want to be the President’s hat?” the hair asked.

“I didn’t. I wanted to be President, but America just isn’t ready to elect a sentient hat to the highest office in the land,” the hat said mournfully.

“Poor you,” the hair said, pouring over the room service menu.

“There’ll be a black President before a hat gets elected,” the hat said. He pressed his bill to the glass of the window and sighed.

“There already was a… oh fuck it, never mind,” the hair said. “What are you going to do while we are at the conference?”

“Beat off onto the drapes, watch the impeachment hearings, whatever,” the hat said listlessly.

“Donald!” the hair called into the bathroom, “Hurry up in there! It’s almost time to go.”

“Still in the shower?” the hat asked.

“He loves hotel bathrooms,” the hair said, shrugging his tiny sideburns.

“DONALD!” the hair yelled into the bathroom. “You are running out of time!”

“I told you to not let him bring any bath toys,” the hat said.

“I didn’t let him do anything,” the hair said. “He’s a grown man that travels with bath toys and there’s nothing you or I can do about that.”

When they heard the shower turned off, the hair said, “FINALLY!” and the hat snorted out a laugh.

“Fantastic!” Donald yelled, walking in the room nude, wet, and dripping. “Just fantastic! I love that shower! I should buy this hotel!” He ran to the window where the hat was looking out.

“And the view!” he said, dripping water on the hat from the bulbous end of his penis.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” the hat screamed.

“Donald, put on some clothes!” the hair shouted.

“There’s dick water on me!” the hat wailed.

“Donald! People can see you in the window!” the hair yelled.

“I don’t care!” Donald said. He smashed his belly into the window and rubbed it side to side.

“Dick water!” the hat said again as it inched away.

“No impeachment! No mean reporters!” Donald said. “I love Swisserland!”

“Donald,” the hair said calmly. “If you don’t get dressed, we won’t have time to go to McDonald’s before the conference starts.”

“I want McDonalds!” Donald said, turning to press his ass cheeks against the window.

“Then get dressed,” the hair told him.

Donald shuffled across the room, shedding more water, and began to struggle into his underwear.

“I want two McRattlers!” Donald said.

“McRaclettes,” the hair corrected absently.

The hat pulled himself under the bed and moaned, “Dick water,” one last time.