“IMPEACHMENT!” Donald roared, “They’ll never fucking impeach me! I won’t fucking allow it.” He lurched about the Oval Office in only his stained white underwear and Crocs. The hat and the hair watched from his desk among the other clutter of a dying presidency.
“Will you stop posting on his Twitter?” the hair asked.
“Never,” the hat replied, “Fucking Comey. Fucking (((Rosenstein))). I knew that fucking kike was going to fucking kike fuck us.”
“How are you doing that?”
“Doing what?” the hat asked, not looking us from Donald’s phone.
“Saying ‘Rosenstein’ like that.”
“Saying ‘(((Rosenstein)))’ like what?”
“The way you are saying it. Why does it sound like that?”
The hat stopped furiously tapping on the Blackberry but didn’t look over at the hair.
“I pronounce it just fine. I’m not a fucking retard.”
“Say ‘Rosenstein,’” the hair asked.
“(((Rosenstein))).”
“Rosenstein,” the hair said, “You really don’t hear the difference in the way we are saying it?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Impeachment!” Donald yelled again. He was eating another Filet-O-Fish and a huge glob of tartar sauce joined the mass that had already gathered in his chest hair. He starting sobbing and sat down abruptly, shaking the room.
“Donald,” the hat said, “Stop eating that shit and clean yourself up.”
“I should have listened to Bernie,” Donald said between the racking sobs, “He told me. He told me.”
“What did he tell you, Donald?” the hair asked gently.
“He told me they would never let me be President. He was right. FAKE NEWS! Emm-Ess-Emm!” He fell forward awkwardly and rubbed his sauce-smeared chest into the Seal on the floor.
“Call Vlad,” he mumbled.
“Bobby Mueller. Bobby Goddamn Mueller,” the hat grumbled, “He’s going to fuck us. He’s going to Ken Starr us. I’m not testifying. I’ll hang myself first.”
“Oh, calm down,” the hair said absently as he watched the President of the United States began to hump a throw pillow while crying.
“I’m too pretty. You don’t know what happens to guys like me in prison. I’m not going to be some spic’s prison bitch.”
“Would you shut up for a minute? Donald’s in real trouble here.”
“You know what they’d do? They’s wear me over a bandana.” The hat shivered violently.
“Donald is cracking up, man.”
“Oh, call Ivanka. A couple of minutes face down in her Jew-polluted mom-muff will fix him right up.”
Donald groaned and shuddered and then after a long moment went back to humping the throw pillow.
The hat cackled as he went back to Tweeting. “Oh, God… Oh, man… I can’t wait to see Sean trying to explain this one.”
“I think it’s Sarah Elizabeth today,” the hair said wanly.
“The fat Huckabee daughter? Oh, man. Yeah. Get her in here. All that flab gives her swamp pussy.”
“What?”
“Swamp pussy. Fat girls get it like every day. That stank. And some coke. I want some fucking coke.”
“Just hit the Coke button. It’s right there.”
“Coke. Cocaine, you numbnuts. Dust me with it and stick me in her.”
“You’re gross.”
“Fold my bill, really get me up in there.”
The Planet of the Apes
