Category: Hat and Hair

“Nah, see, you aint’s understandin’ my plan,” the hat said rapidly.

“Why are you talking like that?” the hair asked calmly.

“I reopens the government and do the State of the Union and den Nancy has ta give me The Wall,” the hat said.

“Uh, OK,” the hair said.

“See, I’ll gets to give da speech and get The Wall!’

“Once the government is open, why would Nancy give you anything?”

“Because she said she would, bruh! She can’t back out! I’ve trapped her! It’s genius!”

Donald gently snored in his Oval Office chair, his feet up on his desk.

“It’s genius!” the hat said again, bouncing up and down.

“The government is only funded for three weeks, though,” the hair noted.

“It’s all the time I need. Nancy’s trapped. I’ve got her trapped!”

“You keep saying that, but what makes you think she’s going to give money for The Wall not that she got what she wanted. And can blame the government closing in three weeks on you?”

“You’re not getting it!” the hat wailed.

“What happened to your accent?” the hair asked.

“Shut up. I want The Wall. I need The Wall!”

“The Wall,” Donald mumbled. He farted and sat up.

“I want a Wall,” Donald said.

“Yes, a Wall, yes,” the hat said.

“5.6 billion dollars for the Wall,” Donald said. “It’ll be a great wall. Yuge Wall. No fucking slats, either. I want a real Wall.”

“You just had to go and wake him up, didn’t you?” the hair asked.

“Send troops to the border!” Donald said.

“Build The Wall high!” the hat said.

“Troops and a yuge Wall,” Donald crowed. “I want it high in the sky. Like real high! And made out of ice!”

“And the troops,” the hat said. “The troops have to be committed.”

“Yes!” Donald hissed.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you two watch Game of Thrones,” the hair sighed.

“The Spic’s Watch,” the hat said. “They serve for life.”

“Yes, The Spic’s Watch: Killing lettuce pickers and day-laborers and ugly little Inditos,” Donald said.

“Donald!” the hair said, shocked. “Where did you even learn that word?”

“Porn,” Donald said.

“Porn?” the hair asked. “That’s your answer for everything.”

John Bolton’s mustache burst into the room. “Mr. President, we have to do something about Venezuela!”

“Why?” Donald said. “I think the new maid is great. The Presidential Shitter’s never been cleaner.”

“Go away,” the hat said. “We’re trying to do a bit on the border wall.”

“The border wall is very necessary,” John Bolton’s mustache.

“She could be better looking, though. Trump Tower has the best looking maids. Real primo tail,” Donald said.

“Mr. President!” Pie said as she plopped into the room. “Stacey Abrams is going to deliver the Democratic response to the State of the Union!” She struggled to breathe after the rush of words and staggered over to learn on the Presidential credenza.

“You really don’t want to touch that,” said the hair. “Venezuela hasn’t had a chance to wipe it off yet.”

“Who the fuck is Stacey Abrams?” Donald wondered aloud.

“Will none of you motherfuckers respect the bit we are doing?” the hat whined. “I had a Spic’s Watch oath joke all ready to go and everything.”

Pie clutched at her chest and John Bolton’s mustache rippled respectfully as they both paused.

“Well?” the hair asked.

“No, fuck it,” the hat replied. “It’s ruined, all ruined. You guys all ruined it. Ruiners.”

 

 

“Is Sarah really not going to give any more White House press briefings?” the hair asked.

“I’ve canceled them,” the hat said. “I mean, what’s the point? They just ignore her and write what they want.”

“But it’s the White House Press briefing. They’ve all been lies and bullshit since the very first one.”

“Fuck ‘em. Let ’em read the press releases.”

“But what’s going to happen to Sarah? What is she going to do around here?”

“This and that. Cook and clean, I guess.”

“She’s going to look fucking terrible in a French maid uniform,” the hair said.

“Barf, dude. Just barf,” the hat said. “That shit is going to be in my mind forever.”

“Yeah, like that time I walked in on you trying to fuck a grapefruit wrapped up in duct tape.”

“Knock first!” the hat yelled.

“Oh, don’t worry about that from now on! One-hundred percent going to knock!”

Donald walked into the Oval Office, talking into his cellphone. “Ivanka, Ivanka, I’ll be my own press secretary. I’ve got Twitter, baby girl. Straight to the America people. The Real America. Farmers on tractors checking their Instagram accounts, steel mill workers pausing to take selfies with molten ore, FBI agents tracking my movements. FIFH-ty-seven million followers. I’m yuge!” He covered the phone with his free hand. “You boys want to say anything to Ivanka?”

The hair shook itself “no” in a freeform wave of tendrils. The hat said “Tell her to send me a sext. The good stuff this time. Baby-box or butthole.”

“Yeah, baby girl,” Donald said into the phone. “I gotta go. Make sure to send a sext later. Bye-bye. Daddy loves you, he really does. Tell Daddy you love him. OK, bye, sweetie.” The hair made a gagging sound and the hat giggled.

“Ivanka said we fired Pie. Is this fake news?” Donald said, turning to glare at the hat and the hair.

“Not true,” the hat said.

“Of course not,” the hair said.

“I just canceled all future White House press briefings until the stupid reporters learn to be respectful,” the hat said.

“Why wasn’t I informed of this?!?” asked the man who was informed of it numerous times.

The hat and hair looked at one another. The hat coughed.

“I’m tweeting about this,” Donald said.

“OK,” the hat said.

“I mean it,” Donald said. “I’ll tweet about it unless you stop me.”

“No one is going to stop you, Donald,” the hair said.

Donald took off his pants and then typed furiously on his phone for a few moments.

“My thumb is right over the “send” button!” he said.

“Just make sure to call her Sarah,” the hair said.

“Sarah? Who the fuck is Sarah? Donald asked.

 

‘Podium?” the hair asked, reading over the hat’s brim. “Isn’t it actually a lectern?”

“You stand on a podium, you read from a lectern. They aren’t interchangeable,” the hat said snidely.

“But he puts podium in quotation marks,” the hair said. “Is he saying it really isn’t a podium?”

“Like a fake podium, a pseudopodia?” the hat asked, laughing at his own pun.

“Fuck you both,” Donald said. “Seriously.”

 

“I am not a Russian agent,” Donald wailed, ripping a copy of The New York Times to shreds with hands shaking with indignation.

“Of course not, Donald. Of course not,” the hair said.

“I was going to do the crossword, you know,” the hat said.

“How could the FBI think that?!?” Donald asked the empty Oval Office.

“Well, you are pretty close to Vlad…” the hair ventured.

‘It’s not like that between us,” Donald said. “We’re just… friends.”

The hat let a small, strangled laugh escape.

“It’s all nonsense,” the hair said. “Nonsense,” he repeated, putting on a weird Britsh accent.

“Oh, nonsense, is it?” the hat replied in his own bad Cockney.

“Piffle,” the hair said. “Piffle and poppycock.”

“I have never felt more insulted,” Donald said quietly.

“Piffle, poppycock and profiterole, I say!” the hat replied, switching to a high-class twit accent straight from Monty Python.

“I think that last one is a dessert,” the hair pointed out.

“I say, I say,” the hat went on. “Harrumph, harrumph. Bring me my pipe and dressing gown! I say!”

“I wish Vlad was here,” Donald said.

“Oh, c’mon, big guy,” the hat said, slipping back into his Long-Island-meets-gravel-road voice.

“Yeah, Donald, don’t be sad,” the hair said.

“Let’s call Jeanine,” the hat suggested. “Jeanie always cheers you up.”

“I think Jeanie is mad at me,” Donald said.

“No, never,” the hair said. “Jeanie loves you.”

“If she loves me then why did she send me that horrible picture?” Donald asked.

“Horrible picture?” the hat asked, perking up.

Donald put his phone down in front of the hat and he used his bill to flip through the pictures app.

“Dear God, what is that?” the hat asked.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Donald said. “But it don’t look right.”

“Why didn’t you delete this?!?” the hat asked.

“What is it?” the hair asked, sliding over to look.

“A burn victim pulled out of a week dead in the ocean?” the hat suggested.

“I think it’s the underside of some sort of spider,” Donald said. “But whatever it is I don’t know why she would send it to me if she wasn’t mad at me.”

The hair started giggling, a tiny forest of follicular mouths opening.

“What?” the hat asked.

The hair kept giggling, his whole tangled mass shaking. “It’s a sext, guys,” the hair finally managed to say.

“No,” Donald said, pulling back from the phone.

“It can’t be,” the hat said. “It just can’t be.”

The hair snaked out a tendril and pointed to places on the phone’s screen. “See?” he asked. “Those are the nipples and that down there is her, you know.”

“That can’t be,” Donald said in dawning horror.

“What did she do to it?” the hat asked in horrified wonder.

“Is it upside-down?” Donald asked.

“Is what upside-down?” the hair asked.

“The whole thing,” Donald said. “Is it all upside-down or something?”

“It seems like she hates him,” the hat said. “There’s no other reason to send someone a picture like this.”

“Be nice, she’s like in her 80s, you guys,” the hair admonished. “And she’s our strongest ally in the press.”

“I still think she hates him,” the hat muttered.

 

Good evening. I appreciate the opportunity to speak directly to the American people tonight about how we can end this shutdown and meet the needs of the American people.

I can do this, I can do this, Nancy thought. I’m the Speaker of the House. The sexy, sexy Speaker of the house.

Sadly, much of what we have heard from President Trump throughout this senseless shutdown has been full of misinformation and even malice.

Yeah, sexy. Way sexier than Donald and his hair.

The President has chosen fear. We want to start with the facts.

The fact is: On the very first day of this Congress, House Democrats passed Senate Republican legislation to re-open government and fund smart, effective border security solutions.

Smart and effective like me. In bed. No, don’t giggle. Don’t giggle. You’re the Speaker of the House. You speak for the House! Speaking! You’re speaking!

But the President is rejecting these bipartisan bills which would re-open government – over his obsession with forcing American taxpayers to waste billions of dollars on an expensive and ineffective wall – a wall he always promised Mexico would pay for!

The fact is: President Trump has chosen to hold hostage critical services for the health, safety and well-being of the American people and withhold the paychecks of 800,000 innocent workers across the nation – many of them veterans.

He promised to keep government shutdown for ‘months or years’ – no matter whom it hurts. That’s just plain wrong.

That’s just plain wrong! That’s sort of language that will get through to those drooling rubes. Wrong. Wrong. Just plain wrong!

The fact is: We all agree that we need to secure our borders, while honoring our values: we can build the infrastructure and roads at our ports of entry; we can install new technology to scan cars and trucks for drugs coming into our nation; we can hire the personnel we need to facilitate trade and immigration at the border; and we can fund more innovation to detect unauthorized crossings.

The fact is: the women and children at the border are not a security threat, they are a humanitarian challenge – a challenge that President Trump’s own cruel and counterproductive policies have only deepened.

Why did I think about Donald’s hair? It always gets me wet. Stupid, Nancy. stupid stupid stupidstupidstupidstupidstupid Just finish your speech. Just finish it. 

And the fact is: President Trump must stop holding the American people hostage, must stop manufacturing a crisis, and must re-open the government.

Did I say “the fact is” too many times?

Thank you.

OMG. Chuck just touched my pooper!

 

Thank you, Speaker Pelosi.

America? Tonight I sexy stare you into submission.

My fellow Americans, we address you tonight for one reason only: the President of the United States – having failed to get Mexico to pay for his ineffective, unnecessary border wall, and unable to convince the Congress or the American people to foot the bill – has shut down the government.

I am tough and all Senanantoriabel (Sentoreeryal? Senatorical?) and I will glare at the camera so you know I am super serious.

American democracy doesn’t work that way. We don’t govern by temper tantrum. No president should pound the table and demand he gets his way or else the government shuts down, hurting millions of Americans who are treated as leverage.

Oh, crap, I just farted. I hope the mics didn’t pick that up. Must close my anus. I am the master of my anus; my anus is not the master of me. I am the master of my anus; my anus is not the master of me.

Tonight – and throughout this debate and his presidency – President Trump has appealed to fear, not facts. Division, not unity.

Unity. Unity of my anus halves. Closed. Close. Close.

Make no mistake: Democrats and the President both want stronger border security. However, we sharply disagree with the President about the most effective way to do it.

No! Anus? Another fart? Traitor! Traitor anus!

So, how do we untangle this mess?

Mess. Yes, mess. I definitely pooped a little.

There is an obvious solution: separate the shutdown from the arguments over border security. There is bipartisan legislation – supported by Democrats and Republicans – to re-open government while allowing debate over border security to continue.

There is no excuse for hurting millions of Americans over a policy difference. Federal workers are about to miss a paycheck. Some families can’t get a mortgage to buy a new home. Farmers and small businesses won’t get loans they desperately need.

I’m literally marinating in my own feces at this point. Marinating like a big Chuck roast.

Most presidents have used Oval Office addresses for noble purposes. This president just used the backdrop of the Oval Office to manufacture a crisis, stoke fear, and divert attention from the turmoil in his Administration.

My fellow Americans, there is no challenge so great that our nation cannot rise to meet it. We can re-open the government AND continue to work through disagreements about policy. We can secure our border without an expensive, ineffective wall. And we can welcome legal immigrants and refugees without compromising safety and security.

Wait, where am I? Where’s the last page of my speech? Fucking Jenny. I’m going to make that cunt intern lick my ass clean. C’mon, Chuck. You can wing this. America. America. Immigrants. Wall. Wall. Wall. America. 

The symbol of America should be the Statue of Liberty, not a thirty-foot wall.

YEAH, CHUCK! FART PANTS AIN’T GONNA HOLD YOU BACK!

So our suggestion is a simple one: Mr. President: re-open the government and we can work to resolve our differences over border security. But end this shutdown now.

Thank you.

It’s running down my leg.