“I don’t know, Donald,” Donald’s hat said. “They are probably just jealous of your genius and your money and you gorgeousness.”
“And your hair,” Donald’s hair said. The hat snorted in disgust.
“Everyone hates Mexicans, right? I mean, they are filthy and rapey and smell like old corn. Everyone knows this. I just want to keep them out of the country. I just want to keep the country pure.”
“Of course, Donald,” his hat said.
“And Muslims. Everybody hates Muslims, right? Everyone knows they all want to kill us. Every single one of them. Why can’t I keep them out? Why can’t I be the big brave dog that barks at them to keep them out of our yard?”
“You will be, Donald,” the hat said. “Only you are smart enough to know that they all want to kill us. Letting them walk around is just like putting a gun to your head and pulling the trigger.”
“Jesus,” the hair mumbled.
“Shut the fuck up, twat. I’m running the show now. Listening to you let that mumbling retard doctor rise in the polls,” the hat hissed.
“Nobody knows how hard it’s been on me,” Donald whispered. “What a struggle it has been.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice to just burn all your troubles away?” the hat asked.
“Burn?” Donald asked.
“Fire is clean,” the hat said. “Fire is pure. Fire tempers out the weakness in even steel. We have to make America strong again. Make it great again.”
“Do you even know what you are starting?” asked the hair.
“I said shut up. I have the morons on my side now, those too weak to see that they will be next. They will do what I say,” the hat said, its brim gleaming in the far off light of the sunrise.
“Burn,” Donald whispered. “Burn. Burn. Burn. They’ll all burn.”