“What’s so wrong with kissing a man?” Donald asked. “I was at a rally, I’m immune to the China Virus and he wanted a kiss. Where’s the harm?”

“I’m not sure he wanted it, Donald,” the hair said.

“He was at my rally, wasn’t he?”

“I’m not sure that means…”

“Look, you come to one of my rallies and you are asking for it. ‘Kiss me, Donald! Kiss me!’ They’re all begging for it. Like the gold star families. Handsy. Handsy people.”

“It just sends the wrong message,” the hair said.

“What wrong message? That I love my people? That they love me? Whatever. I’m going to express that.”

“I’m worried about the evangelicals, Donald. Especially this close to the election,” the hair said.

“Evangelicals?” the hat said, finally controlling his convulsive laughter. “They’re all gay as hell. One meth binge away from rent boys and felchkakke.”

“But they can’t be seen as supporting a gay President,” the hair said.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” Donald said. “I’m not gay. I just kiss men at my rallies. Nothing gay about that.”

“Donald…” the hair starts.

“Especially the guys with beards,” Donald said. “I love how it tickles.”

“He’s exploring his sexuality,” the hat said to the hair suggestively. “You know how that is.”

“It was just one night,” the hair replied defensively. “She was bald! How was I supposed to know?!?”

“I experimented at Wharton,” Donald said dreamily. “Kissed a fat girl, which is like kissing a guy.”

“I don’t think…” the hair said but Donald cut him off.

“Huge breasts. Mountainous. A little hair in the cleavage, but you get used to that when you date Slavic women,” Donald said.

“Well, I think she sounds lovely,” the hair said.

“Cleaning lady,” Donald continued. “I think one of the fraternities owned her. Used to strap a keg to her back and make her walk around at parties.”

The hat made a small retching noise.

“You said this was safe space,” Donald said. “No judgments.”

“I’m sorry, Donald, do go on.”

“No. You ruined it. We were having a nice night and you ruined it.”

“Don’t be like that,” the hat said, burrowing into his armpit to snuggle.

“I was having a nice time,” the hair said from Donald’s other armpit.

“Snuggle time is sacred,” Donald said, laying back on his mound of pillows. “I’m not going to let you sleep in bed with me if you can’t respect it.”

The hat and the hair lay with Donald, warm and content until he began to snore.

“Felchkakke?” the hair asked in a whisper.

“You know how every gay orgy has a felcher? The guy going around sucking everyone’s asshole?”

“Uh, that doesn’t sound right.”

“Every gay orgy has one. Trust me. I saw it on USENET. Anyway, when that guy, the felch guy, is full, the gay orgy is over and then comes time to crown the Fag Queen of the Orgy, the guy who took the most men up his ass.”

“What are you talking about? This wasn’t on any episode of Queer As Folk I ever saw.”

“The felcher crowns the Fag Queen by vomiting all the shit and lube and gay cum in his stomach all of over the Fag Queen. Just drenches him. Felchkakke!”

“That’s stupid. That doesn’t happen.”

“Go to bed,” Donald rumbled and made kissing noises until he fell back asleep.