The hat let out a chuckle that filled the Oval Office with a miasma of malicious glee.
“What?” the hair asked.
“Oh, you’ll see,” the hat said. “Twitter will ban that account, but I have others.”
“OK,” the hair said, profoundly bored.
“So many others,” the hat said.
“Do you ever think maybe you spend too much time on Twitter?” the hair asked.
“Where is Donald?” the hat asked, ignoring the jab.
“Moping somewhere,” the hair said. “You know, Tulsa.”
“Tulsa doesn’t matter,” the hat said. “Tik Tok is a ChiCom plot. They reserved tickets to ruin his night. Chop suey cocksuckers.”
“And K Pop bands,” the hair said mournfully.
“K Pop… Jesus. Korean faggots dressed up like business lesbians singing about how their tiny little dicks don’t get hard.”
“It’s popular,” the hair said, shrugging his sideburns.
“Retarded globalist pig anus,” the hat spat. “Antifa spent so much time ruining the rally, they didn’t even burn anything down.”
“You sound disappointed,” the hair asked.
“Of course I’m diappointed,” the hat said, rocking back on his band. “Riots are the health of the state. Like a forest fire, they clean out the deadwood and brush, let’s new things have space to bloom.”
“Uh-huh,” the hair said.
“I’ve been very disappointed with the terrorist left. We haven’t had a good fire since Wendy’s. I was hoping they at least had it in them to burn and loot until the 4th of July. Lazy fucks. I guess we know why they don’t have a job.”
“You want riots?” the hair asked.
“Did you sleep through that whole presentation?”
“What presentation?” the hair asked.
“You did, didn’t you?” the hat said angrily. “Fifty fucking slides. I slaved over that PowerPoint!”
Donald walked into the Oval Office with a hang-dog expression on his face. He drained the last of a can of Diet Coke and let the empty fall to the floor.
“Are there any primary results yet?” he asked desultorily.
“You won Kentucky,” the hair said.
“OK,” Donald said hollowly. He trudged over to the couch and sat on it heavily.
“Every burned down store, every toppled statue, every driver pulled out of their car is another hundred thousand votes for Donald,” the hat said. “Hunn’d, hunn’d, hunn’d,” he chanted.
“I’m started to remember this now,” the hair said. “I blocked it out, I think. Disgust amnesia.”
“I’d have choked that fucker to death myself if I knew it would have worked out this well,” the hat said, laughing.
The hair made a gagging sound.
“Oh, fuck off with your moral shit,” the hat said. “This is politics, red in tooth and claw. The rioting and the looting was the perfect antidote to the virus Hillary released to destroy Donald’s economy.”
“Hillary what?” the hair asked. “You believe that conspiracy shit?”
“She’s been in been with the ChiComs for decades,” the hat said. “They cooked up the virus, gave it to her and she was a superspreader. COVID Hilly, the plague twat of Harlem. Why do you think the epicenter was in New York City? That’s her place.”
“You’re nuts,” the hair said tiredly.
“I was hoping the riots would hit New York City harder,” the hat admitted. “Burn out a big chunk for some, you know, urban renewal, if you know what I mean. I was sure I could count on DiBlasio and the NYPD to make everything worse.”
“You’re a monster,” the hair said.
“No, I’m doing what it takes to make sure Donald gets re-elected!’ the hat yelled. “That should be your priority as well!”
The hair groaned.
“We just have to hope we can keep this going until October,” the hat said. “Maybe they will start tearing down statues of White Jesus like Hotep Twitter wants. Or we’ll get lucky and another trigger-happy redneck shoots another homeboy. I mean, it’s been twelve days since Brooks. Where my blue at?”