What I wish for Donald Trump

What do I wish for the Orange One, number 45, very probably the worst president in the history of the USA, as he rips off his mask and stomps wheezing into the White House?

No, I don’t want him to die soon, choking on his own fluids, like so many of his countrymen and women whom he despises. I don’t want him even to have a stroke or a heartattack — too quick.

If he dies, his Big-Daddy-besotted base will simply worship him as a martyr and later as a new avatar of Jesus Christ — they’re not far off that now, it won’t take much to deify him.

And obviously I don’t want him to recover so he can boast about it and call the 210,000-and-counting Americans who have died of covid, “suckers” and “losers”, just like the American war-dead.

The man was basically hired to be a disruptor: to break up the poisonous relationships between lobbyists and politicians, to do some trustbusting, to do something about the ever-widening gap between the 1% rich and the 99% poor.

Obviously he did nothing of the sort: he just feathered his nest with federal funds and made a hilarious spectacle of himself on the international stage. His tax records demonstrate that he’s functionally bankrupt. Basically he’s a grifter, running from town to town from the bailiffs.