“Iowa and New Hampshire are ours!” the hat bellowed, drunk on Skinny Girl vodka and unflavored White Claw.

“I’m a genius,” Donald said, prying at the tab on his can of Diet Coke with the comically oversized knife Governor Schwarzenegger had given him when he won the California Primary in 2016. “A goddamn electoral genius.”

“Pride goeth before a fall,” the hair said, drunk on nothing.

“Bible fag,” the hat said and started giggling.

“Whatever,” the hair said. “I apologize for being literate.”

“I can read!’ the hat protested, “I just don’t want to. Reading kills my hat-boner.”

“Ron is gone,” Donald sighed as the can finally opened. He paused to drink the sweet brown nectar.

“We have to get him out of the campaign trail for us,” the hat said. “Meatball needs to work for the winning team from now on.”

“We still need a Vice President,” the hair said. “I doubt we can get Ron to do it, not after we accused him of wearing platform shoes and faking his wife’s breast cancer.”

“Did she get them cut off?” Donald asked. “Did we ever find out one way or the other?”

“Donald…” the hair began.

“I don’t like zippertits,” Donald said. “Even if they get implants, still looks like they stuffed their tits in a garbage disposal.”

The hair dropped from Donald’s head and plopped himself in his desk drawer, pulling it closed behind him.

“Weak,” Donald said, thumping the close drawer.

“There’s Vivek for VP,” the hat said. “Smart, committed, never said anything bad about you.”

“No browns,” Donald said. “They never vote for me.”

“That only leaves Nikki,” the hat said.

“NO BROWNS!” Donald roared, emitting a dense cloud of volatile Egg McMuffin particles into the office. He swept the hat off the desk and watched it land on the floor upside down, the empty turtle making mewling noises as it rocked back and forth to right itself.

“I need someone loyal, someone trustworthy, someone I can count on,” Donald said.

“Those all mean the same thing,” the hair said faintly from his drawer.

“Repetition for emphasis is a common and accepted rhetorical practice!” the hat said.

“Yeah, that’s right, you’re right, I agree,” Donald said, out of breath.

The hair laughed dismissively and Donald laughed triumphantly.

“Who has always supported me?” Donald asked, “Even in my lowest moments?”

“Donald?” the hat asked. “Can you turn me over? I’m afraid a bird is going to shit in me…”

“Pie,” Donald said. “Pie will be my Vice President!”