“I’ve been waiting all day for this, you filthy son of a bitch!” the hat growled.
Across the littered hotel floor, the other hat rasped back, “Que es, el culo!” The stitching across its front had obviously been made in haste, the letters were crooked and the ends of threads bristled menacingly: MAKE MEXICO GREAT AGAIN.
“You’re in America, now! Speak American, you wetback fuck!”
The hair, hanging from a lampshade, crowed “AMERICA HAT Versus MEXICO HAT! FIGHT!” Beside him on the bed, the snoring bulk of Donald rolled over ponderously and farted wetly.
America Hat gurgling with rage and pulled himself forward with an awkward flapping of his sweat-stained bill. Mexico Hat lashed out with his adjustable strap, swiping the other hat painfully across a tender eyelet.
“You’ll pay for that, José!”
“No tengo que pagar por nada, puta! Y mi nombre no es José!”
They leapt at each other, grappled, and rolled under the bed together.
“No!” yelled the hair. “Come back! I want to watch!”
“I like to watch,” he whimpered as the two hats grunted under the bed.