"Them gottdamn spics are after us!" the hat screamed.
"Why are you talking like that?" the hair asked.
"Talkin' like what, faggot?"
"Talking like a crazed Texan in an episode of Cagney and Lacey."
"Ah'm not talk'in funny; yore the one talkin' funny, Capitan Homo. We are under a full on assault by a Mexispic judge and you are just rolling over and showing him your belly."
"The accent slipped toward the end."
"I'm still WORKING ON IT!"
Donald farted and rolled over in his sleep. The sheets made a tearing noise as they ripping away from his body, glued there by her dried blood.
"Would you pipe down? You know how he is if he doesn't get enough sleep," the hat whispered.
"Erratic? Thin-skinned? Twittery? I can manage all of that. You were supposed to be handling the sand niggers from the DNC."
"I'm working on it. I mean, they do have a dead kid that I had work around."
"Fuck their dead kid, and fuck you. This whale corpse is going to wake up in a few hours and beating another whore cut to look like Ivanka is not going to be possible until they ship a fresh set in. So get your shit together."
"Do you think Vlad is holding up the shipments on purpose?" the hair asked.
"I don't know. He gave us the emails right when we told him to, but your fuck up with the IslamoKhans pissed that away."
"Fuck off. I can't watch him 24 hours a day. He leaves me in a suitcase sometimes."
"And what about the package? Have you taken care of that yet?"
"No one's opened it yet. It's from Her. Who knows what's in the fucking thing?"
"Go and get it now."
"No. It's dangerous to drive him around in his sleep. He could do anything."
"You want me to wake him up?" the hat asked menacingly.
"You do it."
"I'm all the way over here on the coffee table," the hat said.
The hair sighed in defeat. Donald rolled over again and his feet hit the hotel floor like dropped hams. He groaned and stood up, wobbled in place for a moment, and then lurched forward. Fumbling hands took up the small package from the table by the door and then he sat back down heavily on the bed.
"Open it," the hat urged.
"Hold on. You know I have no fine motor control!"
Donald's clumsy sleeping fingers tugged open the tiny box and the hair lower his head to look inside.
"What is it?" the hat demanded.
"It's an egg. Some sort of black egg."
"DON'T TOUCH IT!" the hat screamed.
"It's just an egg…" the hair began and then he screamed too as tendrils shot from the egg and began to wrap around Donald's tiny hands.
"Get it off me!" the hair wailed. "It burns!"
"Ah, fuck, man. Ah, fuck," the hat moaned impotently.
Hair-driven Donald thrashed around the motel room as the hair tried to fling the black mass of tendrils and flesh-corrupting acid away from him. The Ivanka doll shrieked when the bloated billionaire fell back on the bed and on top of her.
"Get the fuck off him, man," the hat yelled to the hair. "He's not worth it. We can find another bald pasty moron to ride to the White House!"
Donald, finally awake, bellowed in pain, holding up his raw and bloody shot-fingered baby hand in the dim light of the hotel room.
"It hurts. Some Mexispic has attacked me in my own hotel room!"
"Calm down there, big guy," the hat said. The Ivanka doll writhed beside him and made straggled cries.
"Guards! Where are my guards! I have been attacked by Sjwmexispicmuslims!"
The Ivanka doll grew suddenly still.
"How did you get it off?" the hat asked the hair.
"I don't know. The whore tried to bite me and I think she got the egg instead."
"Guards! To me, my guards!"
"Donald, give it a rest. You sent them downstairs while you beating that whore with your daughter's face," the hat said.
"I did? I don't remember that. Are you sure that was me? I love babies. Get that fucking baby out of here. I love women. They are great. Just the tops. I think that cunt bit me. My hand hurts. Where am I? Why is my penis all sticky? I don't know. You tell me. Sad."
"He's babbling again," the hair said.
"My mother was a woman, you know," Donald said. "Big tits. Yuge. I bought Ivanka my mother's tits."
The Ivanka doll groaned and rose into the air. It said: "WHEN REPRESENTATIVES FROM 13 UNRULY COLONIES MET JUST DOWN THE ROAD FROM HERE, SOME WANTED TO STICK WITH THE KING AND SOME WANTED TO STICK IT TO THE KING."
Donald slapped his hands over his years and rolled onto the hotel floor.
"Oh, god. It's horrible," the hair screamed.
"The voice," the hat moaned. "It's the worst thing I've ever heard!"
The doll floated to the center of the roll. Black ichor ran from her eyes and nose and ears, it flowed in lazy rivers down her reconstructed legs like an obscene parody of menstruation. A fresh rush of it spilled forth as it began to speak again:
"POWERFUL FORCES ARE THREATENING TO PULL US APART. BONDS OF TRUST AND RESPECT ARE FRAYING."
The room shook under the flaying onslaught of meaningless babble.
"She was trying to turn Donald into that!" the hat said.
"What do you mean?" the hair shot back.
"She wanted to turn Donald into a receiver, a puppet!"
"But he's our puppet!"
Donald huddled on the floor, his hands still over his ears, rocking back and forth and crying.
"Donald, get up! You have to kill this thing!" the hat screamed.
"No, no, no, no, no, no," he moaned.
"Donald!" the hair yelled. "Stop presenting like a mandrill, get up and act like a fucking man!"
"WELL, WE HEARD DONALD TRUMP'S ANSWER LAST WEEK AT HIS CONVENTION. HE WANTS TO DIVIDE US — FROM THE REST OF THE WORLD, AND FROM EACH OTHER. HE'S BETTING THAT THE PERILS OF TODAY'S WORLD WILL BLIND US TO ITS UNLIMITED PROMISE. HE'S TAKEN THE REPUBLICAN PARTY A LONG WAY FROM "MORNING IN AMERICA" TO "MIDNIGHT IN AMERICA." HE WANTS US TO FEAR THE FUTURE AND FEAR EACH OTHER."
"DONALD!" the hat and hair screamed together as the doll collapsed into a pool of viscous goo.