“Don’t smack me you old bitch,” the hat grumbled.
“Shut up, you drunk fool,” the hair said, perched as he was on the sweaty head of the president-elect as he made his way to the podium.
“Whatevs. Did you hear Hillary on the phone? She sounded like she had been gargling hot glass,” the hat said.
“The mics are going to pick you up,” the hair said.
“Fuck you! I want another glass of champagne. Get him to pour another in here! No, wait. Take me back to the TV! I want to watch Hillary’s little kids crying at the Javits Center!”
“He has a huge erection,” the hair observed.
“Of course he does!” the hat yelled over the roar of the crowd. Melania hit his pocket again.
“Vagisil, you Slavic witch,” the hat snarled. “Lube up or he’s going in dry.”