“Stay on point, Donald,” Donald told the crowd, “Stay on point.”
“No, you idiot,” the hair hissed to the hat.
“Don’t blame me!” the hat whispered in an urgent aside.
“Stay on track, Donald,” Donald told the crowd, “Stay on track.”
“Who told him to say that?” the hair squawked.
The hat squeezed his head tightly to try to quiet the candidate. The hair brushed the candidate with tender tendrils to try and smooth them. But the crowd just laughed, their eyes glazed with stupidity, and both the hat and hair relaxed.
“Hillary Clinton is unhinged,” Donald said. “She is the candidate of the yesterday. We are the movement of the future. I am the future. Flying cars are the future. Blankets that turn into capes are the future. Laser guns and wookie hookers are the future. I am the future.”
“Shut him down! Shut him down!” the hat screamed.
The crowd was growing uncomfortable, quiet and shifting their weight nervously from foot to foot. The speech was veering from the playbill they had been given when the handlers had flushed them off the bus. The applause lines were off schedule. They just wanted to go to an Indian casino like they had been promised.
“I will replace my yuge penis with a cattleprod in the future!” Donald continued. “Can I hear an ‘Amen?’”
“Amen?” the crowd mumbled, more a confused question.
“I love you, Ohio!” Donald told the Floridian crowd. He turned stiffly and walked awkwardly and heavily to his tour bus.
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