“More!” the hat said. “Give him more!”

“He’s had enough!” the hair wailed, the tube of ivermectin paste clutched in his tendrils.

“My mouth tastes funny,” Donald said, President In-Exile of the United States of Real America.

“Rub it on his nipples,” the hat said. “Especially the big one.”

The hair, grumbling, rubbed the greenish paste on Donald’s magenta nipples as the man groaned in delight.

“I will have it,” the hair said, “I will have PRESIDENT CENTAUR for 2024!”

“Horse medicine won’t make him into a half-horse,” the hair said. “That doesn’t even make any sort of cryptozoological sense!”



“Quiet, you! Or I’ll have Leroy take another bite!” At the sound of his name, the giant alligator hissed and then snapped his jaws shut.

“I don’t need it,” Donald said. “I’ve beaten COVID dozens of times. I’ve taken all the vaccines! I made my own vaccine!” He shook a can of 7-up filled with palmetto bugs and aquarium water for emphasis.

“The ivermectin is just to keep you safe!’ the hat said.

“Look,” Donald said. “No one loves ivermectin more than me. No one! Look what it did for my son. Barron is over nine feet tall now. He’s yuge. He’s the start of the coming race. He’s finally big enough for me to love him.”


“That’s why you need to take more!” the hat screeched. He took a long gulping, choking drink of White Claw Mango and then barfed up a zipper.

“Dan-uld! Put ona damn shirt if yew’re gonna be makin’ videos!” Darlene said as she walked into the Oval Oval Office.

“No! Go away!” the hat said.

“Yes, Darlene,” Donald said “It was just a Tik-Tok.”

“Witch!” the hat hissed. “Shirtless is how he gets clicks!”

The hair lay frozen on the Oval Oval Office desk, the smooth Naugahyde of the cushioned surface of the folding table cool against his hairs.

Donald pulled on a filthy undershirt as Darlene opened the can of margarita she was carrying, drained it, belched, and laughed.

“I hate his Florida wife so much,” the hat whispered to the hair.

“Be quiet,” the hair hissed. “She threatened to make me into a merkin the last time she came home from the dog track all fucked up on bath salts.”

“Merkins are an urban myth,” Donald said, the ivermectin on his nipples bleeding through the fabric of his shirt.

Darlene cackled and scratched a scab off the side of her nose.