“The God Bless the USA Bibles are selling well,” the hair said as he scrolled through his newsfeed.

“The DJTV?” the hat asked.

“I told you not to call it that,” the hair said.

“It’s the most patriotic Bible ever,” Donald said, “Hand-edited by me, Donald Trump.”

“We’re not filming a commercial right now,” the hair said.

“All the Bible passages that mention America, the greatness of America, and the American way of life are highlighted in red,” Donald said, looking directly into a non-existent camera. “And look at the fine working of the Real Leather™ cover.”

“You tell ‘em, Donald!” the hat said.

“And I took out a lot of the Jew-parts,” Donald said. “Begats? Be gone! Judges you can’t keep track of? Cut for more pictures of me and Jesus together.”

“Can I get an ‘Amen?’” the hat crooned.

“Clocking in a lean 82-pages, the God Bless the USA Bible will be a blessing for any home in the USA and select portions of the shithole countries in the rest of the world.” Donald bared his teeth in a grin.

“Read the people a passage, Brother Donald!” the hat said, swaying back and forth on the desk.

Donald had a bookmark in place. “From the Book of Donaldromeny–that’s one chapters in the Jew part–I did say upon them: Then the DONALD, your President. will make you most tax-free in all the work of your hands and in the fruit of your loom, the little babies of your livestock and, like, wheat and, I don’t know, barley or some shit. The DONALD will again delight in you and make you rich, rich, super-rich, so rich, just as he delighted in your attractive ancestors, if you obey the DONALD your President and keep his commands and decrees that are written in this Book of the Law and turn to DONALD with all your heart and with all your votes.”

“Cite for the PEOPLE, Donald,” the hat cried.

“That’s from Doodleronummary 9-10, which is a classy chapter in the Jew-Bible,” Donald said.

“Read them something from The New Testament, Donald,” the hat said.

“That’s enough,” the hair said.

“You’re right, we should be filming this,” the hat agreed hurriedly.

“Are you on meth again?” the hair asked the hat.

“Who needs meth when we have Donald?” the hat asked.

“Over half of our voter base,” the hair said dryly.

A phone rang shrilly in Donald’s Mar-a-Largo office.

“I said to hold my calls!” Donald snapped. “Wait, can we take that out in post?”

“Who dares calls this late?” the hat said angrily.

“That’s the red phone,” the hair said. “Highest security.”

“It’s 3:30 in the goddamn morning,” Donald said, tossing aside his Bible.

“Answer it, answer it,” the hair said. “It’s sets my very follicles on edge.”

Donald lumbered to the desk and sat down in his complaining office chair. It had cost more than Barron’s feed for a month. Ripping open the lowest drawer of his desk, he grabbed up the receiver on the ancient red Bakelite rotary phone.

“Who is this? It’s 3:30 in the goddamn morning!” Donald shouted into the handset.

“Donald?” Joe asked, “Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” Donald asked sardonically.

“That bridge, the one that collapsed?” Joe began.

“Who is it?” the hat asked.

“Joe,” Donald said, slapping his hand over the bottom of the handset. “I think he’s been drinking.”

“How could anyone possibly be able to tell?” the hair rhetoricalized.

“They let him use the phone?” the hat countered.

“Yeah, the bridge, I saw that Joe,” Donald said into the phone.

“I took that bridge all the time, on a train, I used to take the train all the time,” Joe said.

“That’s nice, Joe,” Donald said.

“I took the train,” Joe said. “A train killed my son, you know.”

The hair, down on Donald’s shoulder to listen, whispered, “I think he’s been crying.”

“What kind of fag cries on the phone at 3:30 in the morning?” the hat asked scornfully. “Does he even know Florida is in the same timezone?”

“I’m not dropping out of the race, Joe,” Donald said. “I’m selling Bibles now. That’s the best selling book in the world. I’m going to make so much money I’m going to have to build a lair. You ever had a lair, Joe? I mean, a classy lair, of course. Like Bond villain classy. I might have pet sharks.”

“Sharks with something on, on, on their whatevers,” Joe said thickly.

“An Austin Powers reference? What the fuck?” the hat asked. He began laughing so hatefully he fell off the desk.

“I have a very tall son that’s not dead,” Donald said.

“Oh, man, oh man, you must be so proud, Ted,” Joe said.

“I think he thinks you’re someone else,” the hair said in a coarse whisper.

“We co-could go the funeral together, man,” Joe said.

“Give me the phone,” the hat said from the floor. “I want to talk to him.”

“No, Donald, don’t do that,” the hair said.

“Joe, I’ve got to get off the phone,” Donald said. “I’ll send you a crate of Bibles, Joe. Enough for the whole Administration!”

“You wrote a book?” Joe asked surprised.

“GIVE ME THE PHONE!’ the hat screamed.