Deat Trent Lott,
I don't think you are fooling anyone with that toupee. While watching you worshipping at the altar of Reagan for the last few days (and BTW, I don't know if you want to linger on that too much -- I mean your current boy isn't quite so articulate and rather suffers by the comparison, if you know what I mean) I have held my hand up to the teevee, covering the top of your head with my palm, imagining your bald dome au naturale. I have to tell you, man, I think it's time to give up the ghost and go with the flesh helmet the good Lord gave you.
Let me make you an appointment with my hair guru, Amy -- I'll see her this evening when I get my roots eradicated -- and she can chisel the glue off your scalp. I think you will find that the rush of fresh air to your head skin will make you think more clearly. And goodness knows, you need all the clear thoughts you can get, buddy.