“Why did you let me get so drunk on that stuff?” the hair asked, miserable, perched on Donald’s shoulder like a parrot about to vomit.

“I didn’t let you do anything,” the hat said. “I’m not your Cracky.”

“I miss that guy,” the hair said.

“We all miss that guy,” the hat said. “He was always himself, you know?”

Someone was talking to the Secret Service officers outside.

“Get up there,” the hat hissed. The hair wobbled up to Donald’s head, circled once, and then settled.

“Mr. President?” Pam called. Tapping on the half-open door.

“Pam?” Donald answered. “Get in here.” He picked up the hat, who giggled softly, and settled him over the hair.

The blonde woman walked in slowly, eyes darting to the ceiling, an instinctive defensive hunch.

“Stephan’s gone,” Donald said.

“I don’t like seeing him in the daylight,” Pam said, shuddering. “It’s unnatural.”

“It would be impossible to be an Orthodox Jew vampire,” the hair whispered.

“Are you doing 90s stand-up?”

“Tell me about Minnesota,” Donald said.

“We could have a strike team there in 10 minutes,” Pam said. “Are you sure we should go down this path?”

“All they drink is blood,” the hair said.

“He’s defied me for the last time,” Donald said, pounding his desk. “I want him brought here. I want to look him in his eyes.”

“His piggy eyes,” the hat whispered.

“I want to look him in his piggy eyes,” Donald said.

“Use trussed,” the hair said, vocabularilly.

“I want him trussed up and brought before me,” Donald said.

“Tim will like that, I bet,” the hat said.

“And then I want the entire miserable city surrounded with, like, tanks and stuff.”

“Does Mercedes make a tank?” the hat asked. “That would be classy.”

Pete chadded into the room. “Operation TAMPON is a go!”

“Did you two come up with this while I was passed out?”

“And then,” the hat said, pausing dramatically, “We take Canada!”

“Why?” asked the hair.

“Because fuck Canada, that’s why!”