Enough already! Enough with the lingering anticlimax! For the love of Christ, he lost. Doesn’t that mean he’s supposed to stop being President? You lose and you leave, right? So when does that happen? When, oh when do we get to be rid of the bastard? Why is he still dominating the news cycle? How is it that he’s managed to raise 170 million bucks since November 4? How many recounts can they demand? How many pressers at how many unfortunately named landscaping companies? How many goddam courts can possibly remain to be vexed by Donald’s transcendently idiotic legal team – do judges at the trial and appellate levels in all 50 frigging States have to laugh the pinheads out the door? What, we need to throw ourselves on the mercy of the Roberts Court – goddam SCOTUS has to decline to hear the last gasp appeal? If it does, then will he go away? Will the right wing media ever tire of hearing the moron whine? Will Twitter finally suspend his account? OK look, straight up – are we in Hell?
You heard the latest, right? The bribery-for-pardons investigation? Of course! Of course he thought about selling Presidential pardons! They’re valuable, you know. It’s never surprising and it never ends. Why should he let up now? Still plenty of time, and remember, he’s still got plenty of fans. The mother #*&^@*er got 73 million votes, from an enormous population of brainwashed mouth-breathers the bulk of whom believe Trump actually won the election, and why do they believe that? Because Donald says so. Silly. If Donald says so, that’s good enough for them, no matter who says different, even if it’s Republican election officials, or Republican Governors, or Mitch McConnell himself – though who am I kidding, Mitch won’t say a damn thing, and neither will all his Senate buddies, but it doesn’t matter anyway. Even Bill Barr jumped off the bandwagon today, admitting on air that the election was lost fair and square, and it didn’t make a ripple. Nothing can change it now. The die is cast. The election was rigged. Donald was robbed, and by God he’s going to stick around and complain for a while. Then a while longer.
I’m not saying he won’t clear out of the joint come January 20. Never said such. Not for me such exaggerated worries based on doomsday scenarios, you know that’s not my style, for goodness sakes and gosh geewillakers. The thing is, though, that it’s now December 2. December 2 is weeks and weeks back of January 20 on my calendar, and that means we’ve got Pouty Pants in the big chair for almost two more months. It’s ludicrous. Sadly, though, it’s Holy writ, the absurdly long transition period being just one more gift from the parchment that keeps on giving, the crappy 18th Century US Constitution, authored by guys in silk breeches and funny hats back when America was mainly a bunch of farms. As written back then, it didn’t even fix a date for the transfer of power – that didn’t come until the 20th Amendment in 1933. The founders figured it would take what it took, and who could say how long that might be, when you had to give the local boys time to gather all the ballots together and count ’em – they’d arrive at a snail’s pace from all over, probably in little boxes strapped to the backs of mules, which took a few days – and then you had to give the new President time to find out he even won, which also might take a while, what with the news travelling literally at a large quadruped’s walking pace. Then, best to allow a few more weeks for the winner to make his leisurely way to Washington on horseback. Nothing much was riding on it anyway. What’s the rush? What can possibly happen in just a few months? Heck, they probably thought, a fixed period like, say, eleven or twelve weeks, might not even be enough. What if it snows? Best to leave it open-ended. Time was, it didn’t happen until March.
So you see, we’re lucky to have any date at all fixed in the damnable document.
It might seem odd that the purported geniuses of the Enlightenment didn’t think it was important to actually specify when a new President should replace the old, with somewhat sooner being better than much, much later, but what do you expect from the brain trust that gave us the Electoral College, and decreed that every State in the Union would get two Senators, and two only, no matter how many people lived there? You expect their stuff to be future-proofed? Maybe I’m being unfair. You have to remember context. It wasn’t even 1800 yet. They didn’t know there were going to be not one but two sparsely populated Dakotas, with four Senators between them. They couldn’t guess that there’d be a place called Wyoming with ballpark 600,000 denizens, and another one called California, way the hell over there on the Pacific Freaking Ocean, which would have a population about on a par with Great Britain. Don’t you think they’d have done it different if they’d known that? You think they wanted it to wind up with 30% of the country getting 70% of the representation? They were supposed to be Kreskin or something? Shit, man, they didn’t even get that slavery was going to be frowned upon one day, what did they know about 21st Century demographics?
Besides, it’s not their fault that when somebody finally got around to using the built in amending power to fix their Founding Mess, they still set an absurdly long transition period.
Anyway, here we are, just a little better off than the Founders planned it. It had to happen, but I still had hopes it wouldn’t be quite this bad. Maybe we’d finally get some peace and quiet, I thought. It seemed plausible. Some of the pundits were saying Donald was going to skulk off to Mar-a-Lago to lick his wounds and never be heard from again. Yeah, well, they were wrong. He’s still in the West Wing and he’s still on the grift, and Fox and Friends are still taking his calls, as he makes his lunatic claims of electoral sabotage. It was Hugo Chavez! No, George Soros! Both of them! And others! The machines were tampered with, the votes were hacked, plus the mail-in ballots outnumbered the envelopes, and you know what that means! The cheaters who counted the ballots were on the take, too, you could tell because people are saying that most of them were wearing Black Lives Matter T-shirts, with not a MAGA hat to be seen, so there you go right there. On and on, yadda yadda yadda, he won’t shut up.
Swear to God, if he sticks around to run again in 2024, I’ll know it’s true – we really are in Hell.
It would explain a great many things.
Oh well, maybe he’ll come out to hold court from behind that wee little desk again, that was fun. You gotta figure whoever coaxed him into doing it that way, instead of glowering impressively in the Oval, or standing all Presidential-like at a podium or something, was finally unable to quell the diabolical urges produced by a wonderfully malicious sense of humour. Maybe next they can get him to drop his pants and dance. That wouldn’t make the next 50+ days worth it, but it’d help. I’m still going to lose my marbles, sure, but no reason they can’t let me have a couple of good yuks while I’m at it. I demand yuks! Quickly, ye wags of the interweb! More Twitter memes like this one!!