Good To See You Go
I’ve got the shakes big time and I’m breaking into a cold, cold sweat. I feel like I’m going to die. I need a fix. I need a Trump tweet or a Trumpian insult or at least an outrageous, over the top Trumpian lie. I’m having Trump withdrawal.
It’s already starting, the press is in a state of panic and I am too. Today, just a week after the election, there were only a few Trump-related stories on the front page of the N.Y. Times. The rest were bland stories about boring issues like the COVID 19 pandemic reaches record numbers in the U.S. and how U.S. relations will change with China, the most populated nation on the planet, under Uncle Joe Biden.
The future will be devoid of those sensational, idiotic, lunatic tweets that we have all come to crave like really greasy hamburgers or coffee with 10 lumps of sugar while we universally call them the rantings of a maniac and we wait, salivating, for the next rancid tweet. Reality will once again become such a bore.
No really stunning tweets or insults or lies were featured from the Trumpaverse today, unless you count Trump’s claim that there were millions of fake Democratic votes counted and that Trump really was elected president; yes, that counts as stunning, vintage Trump, a real attention grabbing lie but soon it will all be a thing of the past, just like the Edsel.
I fear the next four years will bring no juicy sex scandals, no revelations of presidential payoffs to porn stars, no claims of rapes in dressing rooms, no stories about ogling Miss Universe contestants, no clandestine meetings with Russian agents, no news conferences in parking lots of landscaping companies next to sex stores and certainly, no golden showers.
Foreign countries and their leaders will no longer be the target of mean-spirited name-calling. No more tragic photos of young children being kept in virtual cages because their parents were undocumented. Yawn.
There will be no more salacious books by insiders claiming the president of the United States is a lunkhead, a thief and a phony who bases his decisions not on experienced, brilliant advisors, but on advice of dumb-witted sons and daughters and other sycophants who will gladly kiss the king’s rings. Such trauma of Shakespearean proportions will be a thing of the past. What a shame.
Instead get braced for mind-numbing tomes about the honesty and resilience of the Biden family and how they have against all odds, rebuilt their lives in the face of tremendous tragedies. Wake me when it’s over, please.
I want to squeeze every bit about Trump into words because soon all I will have as fodder is Uncle Joe, who, while a nice, warm cuddly person, is not exactly a scintillating character, to say the least. I expect the closest we’ll get to scandal will be when the White House dogs have to eat store-bought dog food or if Joe can’t find his reading glasses. True grist for controversy this is not.
Soon all I’ll be left to write about are issues that may just put you to sleep, like climate change, unemployment, health care, COVID 19, education, improving law enforcement, fixing the roads and bridges, nuclear disarmament. Yawn.
No more scandals, no more skeletons in the closets freed to be highlighted along the airwaves. Say it ain’t so.
Will we hear Uncle Joe bragging about being the smartest and the fittest president ever while he shanks yet another shot on the links? Will Uncle Joe rant about the cabal that is trying to destroy him, claiming that nobody is smarter than him and that all of the scientists are part of the same conspiratorial hoax? Hearing Joe wax on these subjects is about as likely as a wild bear taking a dump in your toilet.
Will Uncle Joe endorse taking large doses of Mr. Clean to cure COVID19? Will he stride to the top of the steps to the Capitol, Il Duce-like and rip off his face mask with unmatched histrionics. Maybe, but with Joe, not in this universe. No witch doctors here. And there will be absolutely no kissing of rings or certain posterior parts of the anatomy. Uncle Joe will be polite. Euuuuu.
Think of all the adjectives I will have to store away for another Republican and of all of the suddenly, unneeded, irrelevant, unemployed fact checkers. How sad, how unfortunate. Oh, the humanity.
Back to the news of the day, the recount is in and the corrupt election has been corrected and the numbers show that Trump won Guam and that’s about all and it was a close Guamian vote. Since the stunning announcement, the president-wannabe dictator for the next three months has been nowhere to be found, persona non grata. He seems to have disappeared, maybe just fizzled out.
There are reports of an elderly gent with a balding pate exposed from a lost combover who was seen stumbling down Pennsylvania Avenue in the wee hours in his pajamas and bathrobe and ranting about Hillary and Hunter.
But there is hope for a return to insanity that sells as the loser has hinted he may try again in 2024, 2028 and 2032, while he has plans for a TV show called “Idiot’s Delight.” And then there are those persistent rumors that the man himself has been cryogenically preserved and will be awakened for a 2220 run for the White House.
Oh, Donald, we hardly got to know ye. But it’s time to move on and hope to never hear from you again.