“When you’re the king, everyone thinks they need to take a shot at you,” the hatĀ muttered.

“What the hell are you talking about?” the hair asked.

“OurĀ website was taken down. Hacked. Clearly a conspiracy to stop the relentless MAGA Train!”

“What website? We don’t have a website.”

“Glibertarians.com, motherfucker,” the hatĀ told him, scorn dripping from his voice. “They write up our adventures.”

“Wait… someone knows about us? Someone is writing about us?”

“Yeah, some dumb fucker named SugarFree.Ā Can’t type for shit, but he’s got the inside scoop somehow.”

“Like, he’s watching us?” the hair asked. He tried to smooth some of his more unruly ruffles. “Like, cameras?” the hair asked in a whisper.

“I don’t know how he does it. Might be psychic. Like we come to him in dreams or some shit.”

“What does he know?”

“Everything,” the hatĀ replied.

“EVERYTHING?!?”

“Dude, dude, dude… you are missing the point. The website is down. They’ve been hacked. This is a clear attack on us.”

“That website should be taken down! Donald would shit out his heart if he knew we were being monitored!”

“Oh, fuck. Calm down. It’s a libertarian website. No one reads those but crazy people and losers. And no one pays attention to SugarFree. He’s a crap writer.”

“Then why have they been hacked? Who would bother to hack them?”

“I don’t know? Putin and the Russians?”

They both rolled around on the seat next to Donald on Air Force One, gripped by convulsive laughter.