“Dammit, Benji! It was my time. MY TIME! I WAS GONNA BE YUUUGE!” he screamed. Ben’s face was frozen in mid-grimace on the enormous televisual monitorscope.
“Oh, fuck… here we go,” his hair muttered.
“Goddammit! Get him to turn me around or put me on or something. I can’t see anything!” the hat said from the couch.
“You don’t have eyes, asshole.”
“Would you shut up about my anatomy? It’s becoming very hurtful.”
“Why are they paying attention to Benji? I was on Saturday Night Live! The whole country loves me!” Donald sobbed. He blew snot into his hand and went back to his mournful masturbation.
“Straighten up, Donald!” his hair said. “You have to be better than this, stronger than this.”
“I don’t want to be strong no more. I want my Mommy,” Donald said. His whine sickened his hair and disgusted his hat.
“Hillary’s off caramelizing Bernie’s apple, you pathetic fuck,” the hat screamed. Donald only cried harder.
“You are not helping,” the hair told the hat.
“They love Benji now. Benji’s gonna be YUUUGE! I could be a doctor. Give me a fucking knife!”
“Uh, yeah, we’re not going to do that,” the hair said.
“NURSE! SCAPEL! SHAVE THE PATIENT! I’M GOING IN THROUGH THE BALLS!” Donald screamed.
“Can’t you shit some Thorazine into his brain?” the hat asked.
“We’re just going to have to ride this out,” the hair said. “Hopefully he’ll be fine by the morning.”
“I got ideas about pyramids, too!” Donald mumbled. “I think they are the three nipples of the Earth and milk will flow if we suck hard enough. Enough milk for everybody. EVERYBODY.”
“Jesus titty-fucking Christ,” the hat said.
“I wanna poop on a pyramid! BUY ME A PYRAMID!” Donald wailed.