They'll never know all that I do for you

“No comment!” the hair screamed at the reporters pursuing him to Marine One.

“No comment, you vultures!” he screamed but no one could hear him over the rotors spinning. He dug into Donald’s scalp painfully to keep them from blowing him away.

Donald waved at the reporters off as his guards kept them from rushing the helicopter as he boarded. When the door was shut, he flipped him off knowing they could see it or his shit-eating grin.

“I’m your hair, godammit! Me!” the hair wailed.

Donald settled the headphones over his ears and the pilot immediately asked him where he was going.

“Just take it up.”

“Sir?”

“Just buzz the city or something.”

“I have to file a flight plan, Mr. President.”

“Fine. Take me to New York. Take me to Melania. I’ve been missing her little swamp pussy.”

“Sir?”

“New York! New York! Take me home!” Donald screamed into the microphone, stamping his feet and balling up his fists.

“You don’t take Rogaine,” the hair wailed, “I eat it. Can’t we tell them?”

The hat chuckled from Donald’s suit pocket.

“Go fuck a rat turd,” the hair snapped at it.

“I told you it would get out,” the hat said.

“Shut up.”

“And I told him to buy it under the table, like he does Viagra.”

“Shut up!” the hair screamed, “They think he uses Rogaine! It’s so humiliating.”

“Keep your eyes on the prize, furball. It’s all happening. MAG-A! MAG-A! MAG-A!” the hat chanted.

“Yeah, I guess,” said the hair morosely.

“Soon Rex will be feeding you all the Rogaine you want. The really thick and creamy kind too. The good stuff.”

“Just leave me alone,” the hair said and fell limp against Donald head like on a humid Mar-a-Lago day.

it is now too late to reform the wayward sinner

"Have you heard about this groundhog?" Donald asked the crowd of carefully chosen people. "Have you heard about this dirtpig that thinks he controls the weather? Supposedly saw the shadow of a black guy and got all scared. I don't know."

The crowd laughed dutifully as the applause sign blinked overhead. The hair squirmed around so much he was afraid Donald would clamp his hand down.

"This giant rat thinks he controls the weather. The wea-a-thur. I don't think so. America controls the weather. I control the weather. Elections have consequences, rodents."

Kellyanne stood beside him, ramrod straight, her slack face sliding downward like her deflated breasts. She stifled a sigh and peed just a little. Her pelvic floor was a horrid ruin.

"It's Black History Month and I don't think Pugilnastion Phil or whatever his name his should be saying that black people scare him. The inner cities are horrible places. Humans can barely live there. And we have Iran firing in-ter-con-tin-en-tal ballistic missiles full of weather-controlling groundhogs at black people to send them terrible weather. So much for global warming."

Behind Donald, a homeless alcoholic from a film noir sway side-to-side and smiled as he watched a heavily-armed drone circle the city. Steve knew that Steve was going to be alright.