“Incompetent! They called me incompetent!” Donald fumed. “The entire country is only alive because of me!”

“Will no one rid me of this troublesome press corps?” the hat asked the sky of pitiless blue.

The hair coughed and raised himself on Donald’s head, tendrils digging into his scalp as he twirled around and then settled himself back into place. The spring breeze in the Rose Garden ruffled him slightly and he sighed contentedly.

“They said you never do press conferences and they were all bitching about that,” the hat said.

“And then I do press conferences every day and they bitch about that too!’ Donald said.

“There’s no winning with these assholes, Donald,” the hat said.

“How can I be incompetent when I’m the only one that hasn’t done anything wrong?” Donald asked. “Every move has been perfect, just perfect.” He shook his head and the hair giggled softly.

“Fauci,” the hat said darkly. “He’s poisoning the press against us.”

“Fauci,” Donald repeated, spitting the name out like like a curse.

“To the camps with him!” the hat said.

“What camps?” Donald asked.

“Build the camps!” the hat screamed. “And then send him to them!”

“Not so loud,” the hair said sleepily.

Donald looked down at the hat, riding his raised right fist. “Fuck him,” the hat said. “I’LL YELL AS LOUD AS I WANT!”

“Why is this called The Rose Garden?” Donald asked. “No one ever told me.”

“It has roses it in, Donald,” the hair said tiredly.

“This isn’t a rose,” Donald said, pointing an accusing finger at a tulip just minding its own business.

“Yeah!” the hat agreed.

“There’s more than just roses…” the hair began.

“Not a rose! Not a rose!” the hat chanted.

“Look!” Donald said, poking the stamen of the tulip. “I’m Gropey Joe!” He forcefully jammed his fingers into the tender interior of the tulip over and over until all the petals fell onto the mulch of the flower bed, bruised and broken.

“Ha!” the hat said.

Donald bent over the naked stamen of the tulip. “No one will want to marry you now,” he said. “Not even a bee will come by for a nickel pollen job.”

“Can we go back inside now?” the hair asked.

“We’ll go in when Donald wants to go in,” the hat said acidly.

“Still more to do?” the hair asked. “Indulge in a little casual daffodil racism, perhaps? Watersports with the peonies?”

“You ruin all my fun,” the hat and Donald said in petulant harmony

As the three of them walked back inside, a Secret Service agent jammed an NDA form on the bare tulip stem and ordered the flower to sign it.