"The Adventures of Sampson, Donald Trump’s Toupee"
Chapter 1
Few people know that super heroes truly exist. Even fewer people know that one of these super heroes is an inanimate object by day that comes to life by night to protect the United States from threats both foreign and domestic, using super strength, speed, and stealth to subdue its enemies.
This hero can appear in many different forms, depending on the strength of the wind or copious amounts of hair spray used the previous day. Each follicle, painstakingly chosen from the fine mane of a champion, thoroughbred horse is strengthened to a consistency of iron through a series of “not yet government approved” hormonal injections. Using the jet streams to travel at super speeds from one point on the globe to another, the myth of a powerful hero has begun to circulate around the United States’ criminal underground. This hero, strong, fast, and stealthy, is none other than Donald Trump’s Toupee.
Resting perched atop the dome of one of the richest men in the world, Sampson, as called by Donald, waits patiently for the sun to go down and Donald to go to sleep, that it may once again strap on its United States Flag bandanna/cape and save the world from certain disaster.
This Friday night, started like many for Sampson. After a day of debates, interviews, political schmoozing, and a good brushing by Donald, Sampson found itself itching, not from dander, to once again patrol the skies over America, searching for people to save. Once Donald finally lay his head atop his pillow in Trump Tower and began to snore softly, Sampson knew its time had come.
It gently crawled off the top of Donald’s head, being careful not to wake him, and then glided down from the bed and landed quietly on the floor. Sampson then used its super strength follicles to form two arms and two legs so that it could propel itself gracefully across any surface it happened to come across.
Sampson strode confidently to the window. It was Donald’s toupee after all, why shouldn’t it exude confidence. Using its newly formed hands to crack the window open a hair (pun intended), Sampson prepared to leap into the night sky.
As the gusts of wind from the window tussled its fine mane all over, causing a chill to creep around its crown, Sampson realized that it had forgotten the most important item to take with it this night. The worn and tattered American flag bandana it used as a cape.
The cape was paramount to Sampson. When it fought criminals, defended the nation from terrorists, and helped balding men across the street to a late night, secret meeting at a toupee shop, the cape stood as a symbol of all the good that is in this country. Yes, that cape, the American flag, gave Sampson even more strength than it already possessed.
With the cape fit snuggly around its now formed neck, Sampson leapt from the window, immediately catching an updraft and went soaring into the night sky. Little did Sampson know, that tonight would be one of the closest “shaves” of its life.
Most people’s perception of an “evil lair” would not coincide with Hillary Clinton’s personal office located inside her election headquarters. Photos of the former First-Lady/ Secretary of State with foreign dignitaries and heads of state hung from her office walls in expensive wooden frames.
The noise of a flushing commode filled the large office space as Hillary came out of her private bathroom. She muttered under her breath as she entered the room, “I am never eating Mexican food again. Talk about feeling the Bern!”
The phone on her office desk rang. She answered and heard the clicks and beeps on the other end letting her know that she was being transferred to a secure line. She did not say hello or greet the other person on the line, she only listened. A deep, baritone voice filled her ear. “We have finally captured the object. The world will now know the truth of Donald Trump’s hair. We will be bringing it to headquarters shortly.”
Hanging up the phone without a word, an evil smile spread across Hillary’s face as she heard the news. The notorious do gooder Sampson had finally been captured.
Trailing in the polls, and hoping to become the first female President of the United States, Hillary knew that the capture of Sampson could possibly gain her some much needed votes as election day drew near. With the capture of Sampson, the United States would now see Donald Trump as a liar, never being able trust a man that lied about such a beautiful head of hair.
Hillary walked to her desk and hit an intercom button, rousing her Secretary in the other room to answer her call. “Yes, Madame President,” the secretary said. Hillary insisted that all her staff refer to her as Madame President even before the election began. “Please bring a pack of bobby pins, hair ties, a curling iron, and a fresh pant suit into my office. I am going to be in here for a while.”
Chapter 3
The moment Sampson leapt from the window and soared into the air, it knew something was wrong. The air above Trump Plaza seemed thick and sticky. In fact, there seemed to be a fog of some type enveloping the rooftops of the famous hotel.
Sampson’s flight began to falter and it found itself falling helplessly to the roof of the Plaza. Panic clutched Sampson’s magnificent follicles as it hit the concrete beneath it with a thud. Strong hands grabbed Sampson’s arms and legs and then restrained them with a metal ponytail holder.
Sampson felt a blow to the back of its crown, and as it slipped into unconsciousness, the last thing it remembered seeing was a man with a black knit cap pulled down over his face, a can of Big Sexy Hair in one hand, and a brush with several of Sampson’s follicles stuck in the bristles.
How did this man know that the only thing on Earth that could stop Sampson was the hair spray Big Sexy Hair? It made his follicles immobilized in one position for hours on end. In this physical state, Sampson would never be able to return to Donald’s head before he woke the next morning. This would prove that Sampson was not real but something created in a lab, thus exposing Donald as a liar to the world, ending his chance at President
Chapter 4
Sampson awoke on top of an unfamiliar head. It was tied up with several bobby pins and hair ties. The Big Sexy Hair spray still kept its follicles immobilized. The head beneath Sampson’s body seemed large, but not as large as Donald’s.
Suddenly, Sampson felt the heat of a curling iron traveling along its restrained body. The hot iron was not quite touching Sampson, but the heat of the air around Sampson said it was in the area. A maniacal laugh, followed by an all too familiar voice pierced the silence. “Hello, Sampson! I have been trying to capture you for some time.”
Sampson finally realized whose head it was it was sitting on top of and whose voice it heard, Hillary Clinton. “Dear Sampson, I am so glad I finally have you,” said Hillary. “With you here and Donald hairless, the presidency is all but mine. Now, if you try to escape, the next thing you feel will be this curling iron burning your genetically enhanced follicles.”
If Sampson were capable of crying out for help it would have. It struggled against the bobby pins and hair ties, all the while fighting the hair spray’s immobilization agent, but to no avail. It was trapped, with no hope of returning to Donald’s inviting scalp, and no hope of keeping America safe from harm.
To top it off, Sampson felt naked. In fact, his bandana/cape had been removed by Hillary before she placed Sampson atop her head, laying it on a table in front of the mirror in which she sat. This was her one mistake.
Sampson’s strength came from a lot different factors, but the one factor that truly made Sampson strong, was his love of America. As Sampson gazed down to the table from Hillary’s head, the cape came into view. With this vision of the American flag, the desire and strength to “Make America Great Again” stirred Sampson to fight the Big Sexy Hair spray. Sampson felt life in its follicles once again!
After a moments struggle, Sampson broke free of the hair spray hold, grabbed its cape, and soared into the air, flying past the curling iron that Hillary still held angrily in her hands. Sampson flew into the air vent in the ceiling above Hillary’s head, narrowly missing the hot wand of the curling iron. As Sampson disappeared into the vent, Hillary knew that her chance to gain on Donald was over. She unplugged the curling iron, sat down at her desk, and proceeded to cry into her folded arms.
Epilogue
As daylight made its first appearance into the bedroom of a bald and resting Donald Trump, a brief rush of cold air was felt as a window in the room quickly opened and closed. Donald began to stir as he felt the cold air rush across his face. “My goodness, what a chill,” he said. “I better go to turn the heat on.”
Donald turned over and rolled out of his bed, excited for another morning on the campaign trail. As he walked toward the thermostat he passed a mirror attached to a dresser. “That is odd,” he said. “I must have slept with my American flag bandana on again. Oh, well, it is what it is as people say.”
As Donald untied the bandana and lay it in a dresser drawer, he felt hope. Hope that America could be safe under his watch. As he walked back to bed, he began to whistle one of his new favorite tunes, ‘Hail to the Chief”.
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