“I will never concede,” Donald said from under his desk. “I will never give up this Office or this office. This is my home. They are trying to run me out of my home.”

“We should burn it,” the hat said. “Just set it on fire. The whole White House. Joe can rule from ashes and cinders.”

“Fake election, fake votes, they are stealing everything from me. Everything,” Donald said.

A Big Mac landed on the filthy Oval Office floor beside him.

“Don’t touch it!” the hat cried. “It’s a trick!”

“It’s a Big Mac,” Donald said. “How can a Big Mac be a trick?”

“It’s moving! Look! It’s moving! It’s moving!” the hat screeched.

Donald reached for the Big Mac and it slid away from his hand.

“I told you!” the hat said.

“But I want it,” Donald whined. He rolled over onto his hands and knees a crawled out from under the desk, reaching for the ever-receding sandwich, grunting, stretching, groaning. He finally lunged and grabbed it.

“Now!” he heard a woman say, and the net fell on him.

“No!” Donald screamed, trying to maneuver the Big Mac into his mouth.

“You have to make a public statement!’ Kayleigh said. “You have to go outside!”

“If I go outside they might not let me back in!” Donald wailed, special sauce all over his face and neck.

“You have to!” she said.

“Is the recount over?” Donald asked. “Did they finally admit I won? I won, I won, I know I won!”

“The lawsuits are all proceeding,” Kayleigh lied. “SCOTUS is on your side.”

“More like SCROTUS,” the hat grumbled and then laughed at his own terrible joke.

Donald writhed in the net, seeking to escape, then, exhausted, lay panting on the floor.

“She wants something from you,” the hat whispered. “This is the perfect time.”

“I have the dignity of the office to think of,” Donald said, picking a piece of warm shredded lettuce from his sweaty chest hair and popping it into his mouth.

“Pussy,” the hat said accusingly.

“Kayleigh?” Donald blurted, “Can I see your mastectomy scars?”

“I, uh, you, uh,” she managed before stomping away.

“Ha!” the hat said. “Quick, get out of the net.

Donald began the slow, painful process of getting out of the office net, detangling it from his limbs and head, unhooking it from buttons and cufflinks, trying to get it to let go of his shoes.

“Faster, Donald!’ the hat urged him. “Outrage has a half-life of mere seconds these days. She could be back any minute!”

“I am free!’ Donald shouted, throwing the balled up net out the Oval Office door.

“We have to hide!” the hat said.

“I’ll get back under the desk,” Donald said.

“No, we need a better hiding place,” the hat said.

“What about the bunker?” Donald replied.

“Yes, yes, to the spunk bunker!”

Donald grabbed up his hat and waddled to the Presidential Shitter and pulled the carpet off the hatch.

“Faster, faster,” the hat said. “I hear heels!”

Donald pressed the hat down on his bald head and climbed down to the subterranean tunnels under the White House as fast as he could manage.

“No, no, turn right,” the hat said at the bottom.

“I remember,” Donald said, pouting.

“I hear someone at the hatch!” the hat said. “Run!”

Donald shambled faster, careening off of walls and corners, the dim green light of the tunnels barely showing the way.

PRESIDENTS ONLY the bunker door said.

Donald struggled to turn the huge wheel holding the door closed, then swung the heavy steel plate out of his way.

In the sputtering light of the last working lamp, the hair reared up from the back of the couch and screamed, “You motherfuckers left me down here for TWO DAYS!”