Scenes from Le charme discret du magnat de l’immobilier

“And I thought sheltering in place in the Oval Office was boring,” the hair said in the gloom of the White House bunker.

“Communists are here to kill us,” the hat said. “Communists cleverly disguised in blackface. So offensive.”

“I think those are just black people,” the hair said.

“Why would black people be protesting Donald?” the hat asked. “He’s the blackest president we’ve ever had. Divorced multiple times, guzzles soda, loves using Twitter to crack on fools, makes it rain in all da clubs, almost everything he owns is gold…”

“Preach, brother!” the hair said.

“Certainly blacker than that nerd Obama,” the hat said.

“No one cares about Obama anymore. Joe Biden is the King of Black People,” the hair said. “He will heal the 400-hundred-year wound that still festers.”

“Stop quoting The New York Times,” the hat said.

The hair giggled and scratched himself.

”I’m more black than Joe Biden,” the hat said, puffing himself to tautness. “In fact, I’m 40% recycled FUBU.”

“That doesn’t make you black,” the hair said. “And you say that all the time.”

“How dare you! My polyester suffered the Middle Passage!” the hat thundered.

“Oh, God, don’t,” the hair said.

“Mine is the cotton that picked itself!” the hat said proudly.

“Bullshit,” Donald rumbled from the couch, laying back, talking with his mouth full. “Black people don’t like Joe Biden. Didja hear him fart on the YouTube? Black people don’t find farting funny.”

“Uh…” the hair said.

***

“All the snacks down here are old,” Donald said. “These Oreos are horrible.”

“I think those are iodine pills, Donald,” the hat said.

The hair scampered down Donald’s arm and took the bottle from his hands. “And they are expired,” he said, shaking himself like a wet dog.

“They wouldn’t let me bring my hydroxy pills,” Donald moaned.

“They were killing me!” the hair shouted.

“I need them,” Donald said petulantly.

“They were making you crazy and gassy and your heart sounded like a garbage disposal with a handful of loose drywall screws in it!” the hat told him.

“Whatever. I out-maneuvered you losers. I drank all the water out of the aquarium,” Donald said. “And ate two of the fish. Parasite-grade hydroxy. The good stuff.”

“Donald!” the hair yelled.

“I can never die,” Donald said. He stuck his tongue out at them and it was dark purple shading to black.

***

“I need to get out this bunker. I think I’m allergic to all the 70s furniture down here,” the hat said.

“We need to stay safe,” the hair said.

“A paisley couch,” the hat said. “Who thought a paisley couch was a good idea?”

“I don’t feel safe,” Donald said. “The toilet down here isn’t Presidential at all.”

“And I don’t mean down here. Like where or when or how was a paisley couch ever a good idea?” the hat asked the dusty air conditioning vent on the ceiling.

“What if I need to do Presidential Business?” Donald asked. “High-level, top-secret, international, maybe really loose Presidential Business?”

The hair jumped off Donald’s head, ran to the hat, and cowered beside him.

“And then there this discharge…” Donald began.

“Did you see how they are making fun of you on Twitter for staying down here?” the hat said rapidly.

“What?” Donald squawked. He began pawing at his phone to unlock it.

“We agreed,” the hair whispered to the hat.

“I know, I know,” the hat said. “But I had to change the subject. Did you want to spend the rest of the day listening to his shits and dribbles?”

“I go out to visit the lesbian’s church and they bitch,” Donald said, “And I stay in here and they bitch.” Donald scratched his crotch with his phone and groped on the floor for his Diet Coke with the other hand.

“Imagine that,” the hair said.

“Tweet at ‘em, Donald!” the hat said. “Rile ‘em up! They’ll never get in here. The White House is completely safe.”

“What if they come up through the tunnels?” the hair asked

“Tunnels?” Donald asked.

“Oh, shit,” the hair muttered.

“Donald! They said you held the Bible the wrong way!” the hat squealed. Donald let out a strangled cry and went back to scrolling through Twitter.

The hair sighed in relief and snuggled closer to the hat.