“You have to prepare for the debate, Donald,” the hair said.

“What prepare? I don’t need to prepare. Sleepy Joe is the one who should be prepared. I’m going to go in there and be like Bam! and Pow! and Take That Old Man! and he’s going to stroke out and shit himself and die and I’ll be President for twelve more years.” Donald walked over the Oval Office window and waved to the crowds outside the White House who weren’t there.

“Twelve more years! Twelve more years!” the hat chanted.

“I survived impeachment and I survived COVID and I survived a thousand betrayals,” Donald said. “Nothing can stop me.”

“Donald…” the hair began.

“No, I said,” Donald said. “It is Hope’s birthday and I don’t want to think about this debate nonsense.”

“They are going to mute your microphone!’ the hair said.

“I can talk louder than any microphone, sign language faster than any fingers, and masturbate more thoroughly over Zoom than any Toobin ever did,” Donald said grandly. “I am Donald Trump and I approve this message.”

“Hold old is Hope today?” the hat asked.

“32,” the hair said.

Donald turned on him. “You lie!”
.
“She’s 32, Donald. That’s just how old she is,” the hair told him.

“Fake news,” Donald yawned.

“Pretty women should stop getting older,” the hat said. “It’s really a problem for their brand.”

“Everyone ages,” the hair said.

“I don’t,” Donald said, hobbling to the couch and sitting down heavily.

“Have you seen Ivana lately? She looks like a hooker corpse dredged out of East River,” the hat said.

“OK, OK,” the hair said.

“She looks like someone sculpted her neck out of sweaty nougat,” the hat continued.

“Maybe I should pass a law to keep women from aging,” Donald mused.

“Well, hot women,” the hat said. “Fatties and uggos can’t be helped.”

“You two are the worst,” the hair said. He slid down the back of Donald’s head and dropped to the floor.

“Look at Mr. Simp, over here,” the hat said. “The White Knight.”

“Who cares if Hope is 32? She’s smart and loyal and a good friend to us,” the hair said.

“At the end of our Presidency, she’ll be 44,” the Donald said.

“Twelve more years! Twelve more years!” the hat chanted again.

“Maybe an executive order?” Donald asked. “Sign it with Pelosi there to show why we need it?”

“Be careful,” the hat said. “I hear her mouth used to be full of teeth.”

“Guys…” the hair whined.

“Go drink some soy milk!” the hat yelled and he and Donald fell out laughing.