“Biden! It’s Biden!’ the hair sang as he rolled around the Oval Office like a manic tumbleweed.

“We don’t know that yet,” the hat said grumpily.

“He can barely even talk! We are going to destroy him in the debates!” the hair said, ignoring him.

“I would rather have had Sanders,” the hat said. “I wanted to talk him into a heart attack.”

“He counted on young people to get out and vote!” the hair chortled.

“OK, yeah, that’s pretty fucking funny,” the hat said and barked out a series of short sharp laughs.

“You need to get the stick outta your ass,” the hair said, rolling to a stop near the credenza. “This is a good day. Celebrate!”

“I don’t like it, I don’t like it, I don’t like it!” the hat said, clenching himself into a pouty ball.

“Donald!” the hair called, “Tell this depressing bastard to cheer up!”

“I’m busy!” Donald answered from the Presidential Shitter.

“He made me do it in public,” the hat said. “In public! There are pictures of it online!”

Donald yelped from the Presidential Shitter and the hat and hair ignored it.

“It’s not so big a change, is it?” the hair asked, lashing out with wispy tendril to climb Donald’s chair to get to the surface of his desk.

“I’m not me no more,” the hat wailed.

“Guys?” Donald cried from the Shitter.

“It strikes at the core identity of my being,” the hat said.

“It’s just until after the election,” the har offered, scuttling sideways to his friend’s side.

“That’s, like, years from now!” the hat wailed.

“Seven months,” the hair said gently.

“You know how long that is in hat years?!?”

“Seven months?” the hair guessed, trying not to laugh.

“Guys?!?” Donald asked again, rising alarm in his voice.

The hat unclenched a bit as the hair rubbed along his crown stitching soothingly.

“GUYS!” Donald cried as he crashed into the Oval Office, nude, glistening, crying and shaking.

“GAH!” the hair screamed.

‘DONALD JOHN TRUMP, PUT ON YOUR PANTS!” the hat screamed.

Donald lurched toward the desk and they both recoiled.

“It hurts,” Donald said. “It hurts and burns and my pee-pee isn’t very happy at all.” Tears streamed from his blood-red eyes and he began to grind his penis against the edge of the desk. The smell of rubbing alcohol filled the room.

“What’s wrong with his eyes?” the hat asked.

“Donald,” the hair asked, “Did you put hand sanitizer in your eyes?”

“Only a little,” Donald moaned. “And all over my penis. It hurts.”

The hat made a gagging sound and backed off the desk and fell onto the floor.

“Not your penis!” the hair said. “I told you that.”

“A bunch got in my peehole,” Donald said miserably.

“Go take a shower!’ the hair ordered.

“But it’ll wash off all the hand sanitizer! I’ll get the Chinee goo!”

“Go! Shower! Now!” the hair said, pointing to the Shitter with a defiant sideburn. Donald closed a hand over his genitals and waddled quickly into the bathroom.

“Are you OK down there?” the hair asked after hearing the shower come on.

“Yeah,” the hat said. “But I’m still not happy. And if USA hat calls me KAG again, I’m going to unravel him.”