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What I wish for Donald Trump

Don't read this, Trumpies, it'll only upset you.

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.

Basically he suckered the American people with a good reality show act and boundless ugly aggression – oh, and some white supremacy, misogyny, homophobia and general xenophobia.

What do I want to happen to him now? In an ideal world?

That his covid infection slowly and inexorably gets worse. Luckily he’s doing exactly the right things to make that happen: pretending he’s fine, not getting enough sleep, getting angry and stressed, continuing to “work”.

That he sees his White House staff get sick and some of them, inevitably, die because they caught the virus from a superspreader – him.

That he spends plenty of time in the ICU struggling to breathe. That he goes onto a ventilator and stays there for weeks.

That when he eventually comes off the ventilator, it takes him weeks to recover and he never really does recover because he has the long-lasting syndrome which seems to affect around 10% of people who catch covid.

That the IRS catch up with him. That his creditors catch up with him and make him bankrupt. That he’s conscious enough to know it’s happening, but not able to do anything about it, just like thousands of Americans in medical bankruptcy.

That his loathsome family abandon him and try to save themselves and end squalidly in a mess of bankruptcies and suicides.

That people begin to forget him.

That he becomes the answer to a quiz question.

That he gasps out his days for years in a care home where people are as kind to him as they have time for and some of them make fun of him with old MAGA hats.

No, I don’t want him to die of covid.

I want him to have a looong life, full of humiliation, and then die, forgotten and alone.

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