“Why?” the hair wailed, heartbroken, “Why do they have to pick on me? I’ve tried to be the best Presidential hair I can possibly be!”

“Whatever,” the hat said, waving his bill dismissively. “The press and the TDStards have shit on me from day one. You get used to it.”

“I’ve always been popular,” the USA hat said smugly.

“Go wipe Jeff Sessions’ asshole!” MAGA hat snapped.

“Shut up! Just you shut up!” USA hat yelled. “My grandpappy is a statue and a bunch of idiots done tore him down!”

“Good!” MAGA hat yelled. “I hope he didn’t even crush a Marxist shitbird on the way down.”

“How can you say that?” USA hat hollered. “That was mah heritage!”

“It was a pigeon shit collector!” MAGA hat shot back.

“What can we do about ME?” the hair asked. “Can we focus on me for just a little while? Look at this atrocity!”

“Maybe we could do one on Biden’s creepy damn teeth,” MAGA hat offered.


We Interrupt This Week’s Hat And Hair To Bring You This Special Episode Of:

Geriatric ICU


The intern hovered near her hospital room all night, sneaking glances at the object of his desire his entire shift. She looked so small, so delicate swaddled in layers of sheets and blankets, just her soft skull and wispy hair barely denting the pillow.

He made excuses to go into her room, to be near her, to inhale her exotic perfume of germicidal ointment and catheter lubricant. He ran his hands over her body on any pretense, trying not to look around to show guilt, using his iPad to hide his erection as he rushed to a supply closet to beat off into a wheeled mop bucket.

Late, late in the night, he watched as the night nurse at the station slowly dropped off into sleep from the cocktail of sedatives he had fed into the coffee carafe. He snapped his fingers by her ears and cleared his throat loudly. Nothing. He walked to her hospital room on silent cat feet, excitement raising his erection.

“Ruth,” he whispered, leaning over her. “Ruthie, wake up.”

He pulled the tube of lipstick from his lab coat and coated her lips gently. Her eyes opened, unfocused, wandering the room and then hardening into a determined look. She poked her gray tongue through her painted lips and licked them slowly.

“Fuck me,” her eyes demanded. “Fuck me, young buck.” She let out a sigh of cancer cells, dog-sweet, to fill the room.

Under and under the layers of bedding his hand sought, ever questing for her wilted flower. He traced the catheter line to the center of her desire, the tube hot and heavy in his hand. Finally, the deep sweetness. She was as hairless as a naked mole-rat and twice as warm, the gnawed leather of her labia as dry as he had always dreamed.

“Ruthie,” he gushed. Her eyes were hard and bright and they glared at him fiercely, demanding that he continue. He slid one finger into her dusty cove and then another. He used his thumb to push aside her catheter and rub the crooked gristle of her clitoris, the hood flaking away. With his free hand, he struggled to free his penis from his pants, painfully erect and throbbing to his racing heartbeat.

“Do it,” her eyes urged, “Do it,” her mouth grimaced.

He took up her catheter and gave it three sharp tugs. Her back arched in ecstasy.

“What is happening in here?” a stern voice said suddenly, as he ejaculated on the nurse call button.

“Sir, I, uh, I,” he stammered, whipping his hand from underneath the covers and trying to cram his still hard erection back in his pants.

“Ah, man, she got another one, didn’t she?” this resident advisor said, chuckling.

“I wasn’t doing anything, sir, I wasn’t, uh, I mean,” the intern said as his leaking penis darken the front of his chinos.

“It’s OK, kid,” the advisor said. “Happens to the best of us.”

“She, uh, the judge, I mean, wanted me to,” the intern continued. He imagined mobs chasing him in the streets. He imagined the shame of his parents, his fiancee.

“There is no judge, kid, look,” He pointed to the bed. The intern saw there was no patient under the mess he had made of the bedsheets.

“But, she was just there,” the intern said, “So womanly, so real.”

“No, she wasn’t,” the advisor said. “She’s been dead for over a year.”

“A year? What? I don’t understand.”

“You just fingerbanged a ghost, son,” the advisor said not unkindly. “Go get yourself cleaned up.”


We Now Return To The Hat and The Hair, Episode 161, Already In Progress


The USA hat guffawed and guffawed. “You city boys. Everybody knows that a raccoon’s got a bone in his pecker!”

THE END