“I can’t believe John Bolton’s Mustache would do this to us,” the hat said while gently urinating on the front page of The New York Times.

“Someone has to clean that up, you know,” the hair said.

“They’ll make a movie about this. Betrayed By Facial Hair: The Hat and Hair Story,” the hat said, crawling away from his own waste.

“It’s running off the edge of the desk,” the hair said.

“Did you see Mitt Romney drinking milk on the Senate floor?” the hat asked, dropping down to Donald’s office chair. “Slick-haired Mormon faggot. I knew we couldn’t trust him either.”

“Romney was always a #NeverTrumper,” the hair said darkly.

“Bolton was probably a secret #NeverTrumper,” the hat said darklier.

“The damn mustache was always taking notes!” Donald yelled from his blanket fort. “I can’t stand people taking notes!”

“A mustache ain’t people,” the hair growled.

“A mustache is not a hat,” the hat replied.

“They take their notes and they write their books and they leak their books and then they testify,” Donald whispered.

 

MEANWHILE…

“Do you feel it, Huma?” Hillary asked. “Trump will be impeached and the stars will come right for my Becoming.”

“Yes, my love,” Huma whispered. She hid her black eye behind enormous sunglasses.

Hillary thrashed in her immersion tank and emitted a moaning wail through her fluted vagina.

“More!” Hillary said with her mouthparts. “More impeachment elixir!”

Huma twisted the valve and a fresh wave of Diet Dr. Pepper Cherry flowed over Hillary’s veinous bulk.

 

MEANWHILE…

“Of course I’m electable!” Bernie said, clutching his chest on the Senate floor.

“Just water and milk?” Elizabeth asked for the hundredth time.

“Yes, just water and milk,” Amy said for the hundredth time. “Why did they make me sit with you two?”

“Is just like a debate stage!” Bernie shouted. “I should be in Iowa and instead I’m here!”

“Settle down, Bernie,” Elizabeth said.

“Do they not have raw milk? I love raw milk! Vermont raw milk!” Bernie whined.

“Have some water, Bernie,” Elizabeth said. “You need to stay hydrated.”

Bernie groaned and clutched chest. “Amy?” he asked. “Have you ever been in a threesome with two elderly Senators?”

Amy, her face screwed up even tighter than her normal scowl, moved way from Bernie and Liz.

“Wait, don’t go, give it a minute. That initial nausea might pass,” Elizabeth whispered, winking and letting a little milk dribble into her lap seductively. “You could put whatever you wanted into my swear jar.”

Amy’s womb clenched in disgust.

“We’d let you enact ALL the labor, Amy,” Bernie groaned.

 

MEANWHILE… 

Donald settled himself further into his blanket fort. He muttered, “I’m going to kill that goddamn mustache.”

“No, Donald, stop,” the hat said morosely. “The Babylon Bee already stole that joke.”