"You did a terrible job, Donald," the hair hissed in his ear as reporters thrust microphones at him like a phalanx of angry foam penises. Donald's teeth creaked and groaned as he ground them together in a smile.
"Ym murfed dif herble gurf!" the hat mumbled urgently from his suit pocket.
"Shut up," Donald muttered through clenched teeth, "Shutupshutupshutup!"
The mass of reporters surged forward at the barest hint he was speaking, a wave of grasping, desperate human heat, human sweat, the sharp animal reek of sex and death, lips parted to show fangs eager to sink into bloody meat.
"Say something," the hair urged, "Anything. It doesn't matter."
"Lester Holt did a great job," Donald blurted out.
"MRR! NRR MAB!" came the hat's muffled scream.