“Do it,” the hat whispered from Donald’s suit pocket, quiet yet insistent. “Do it.”

“No!” the hair said.

Melania, lemon-faced, eyes narrowed, grimaced and reached out her hand.

“Take it, Donald,” the hair said.

“Fine,” Donald grumbled and took her cold hand.

“Do it,” the hat whispered. The words slithered through Donald’s mind and coiled, ready.

Donald and Melania stood in the doorway leading out to Marine One.

“I hate waiting,” Donald said. “I’m still the President aren’t I?” He tugged Melania’s hand and pulled her outside.

“Do it!” the hat hissed.

“No!” the hair said.

“Just two for the press,” the hat said. “He betrayed us, he betrayed all of us! Hang Mike Pence! Hang Mike Pence!

“Donald! No!” the hair said.

He and Melania approached the small knot of press corp.

“It’s been a great honor, the honor of a lifetime,” Donald mumbled with no enthusiasm.

“Good, good,” the hair said. “Just like we practiced.”

“Cuck,” the hat said. “Beta male loser simp cuck.”

“Shut up!” the hair said.

“Fags,” the hat snapped. “Both of you. He watches you shower, you know.”

“He leaves me on the back of the toilet!” the hair said, outraged.

“Quiet, both of you!” Donald said, turning back to the helicopter. He had wanted a color guard, he had wanted a 21 gun salute. At least I got my red carpet, he thought and the hat laughed cruelly.

“Stop muttering to yourself, Dahnald,” Melania said.

“I’m still the President!” he said. “You can’t talk to me like that. You wanna go to Guantanamo?”

Melania spat a guttural string of Slovenian.

“Do I even want to know?” Donald asked the hat.

“Roughly, you are rapist of goat’s virginity,” the hat said.

“Is the goat at least a girl?” Donald asked.

“Unclear, but I don’t think so,” the hat said.

“I hate Florida,” the hair said as the four of them boarded Marine One.

“We know!” Donald and the hat said simultaneously.

“Wave for the cameras,” the hair said.

“I don’t want to,” Donald said. “I’m still President of the United States of America and I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.”

“I still say you should have left Biden an upper decker,” the hat said.

“I couldn’t do it to the toilet, so classy and magnificent,” Donald said, not sitting down, lurking near the pilots as his luggage and hangers-on boarded the plane. “8.6 gallons a flush, like an airplane engine in reverse.”

“Wave, Donald, wave!” the hair urged.

“Give them the half-dab, like Nixon!’ the hat screeched.

Donald, dyspeptic, stepped out and waved a couple of times. Then he lumbered to his seat.

“In just a few months, we’ll be back for Tiffany’s wedding,” the hair said wistfully.

“Who?” Donald asked as the rotors began to roar.