Murka’s going to soil its collective camo pants when it wakes up and realizes it just elected the millennial P. T. Barnum — a lifelong dem as it turns out– whose sole intent is to rob their hick, hillbilly, house-frau, shut-in and pea-picking asses blind. 

Every four or eight years or so, the pendulum swings and the Murkin Pirate Party sweeps in to our nation’s capital (no typo) to loot the US Treasury. Then, when it’s all been converted into Swiss Francs and squirreled away in friendly offshore banks, the earnest Dems come back in to clean up the mess and put Band-aids on the wounded. Until next time.

Well, it’s Next Time again, and the shitstorm is about to commence. But take heart, my young and not-so-youngish friends, you starry, now black-eyed idealists who labored and believed and sacrificed perfectly good pixels and sneaker latex on behalf of yet another craven oligarch with an okay speechwriter and an inauthentic voice; for Donald Trump is POTUS now, and now the GOP must own him.

They own his jaw-dropping ignorance and his epic incuriosity. They own his vulgar buffoonery and the 24 carat gilt commodes he’ll install in the lavs of the Diplomatic Reception Room. They own his rotten, craven sons and his slimy little shit of a son-in-law, his gaffs, his grotty past and his squinty, pneumatic Stepford Wife, Daughter and Daughter-in-law collection.

Most of all they’ll own his inevitable (and inevitably monumental) fuckups. Every. Last. One. Of them. This can only bode well for the midterms and 2020 when the DNC-as-we-knew-it has long since been hooted into oblivion and the Democratic electorate will maybe have the good sense to nominate a genuine grassroots original like Bernie Sanders instead of trying to force a thrice-rejected Tracy Flick down our throats.

So, you’re saying, Allena, that maybe it’s not all bad; that maybe there’s some entertainment value to be had in what’s coming?

Why yes, (she responds), I believe there is.  To wit:

As The Donald humiliates himself on the global stage and not just the national one, he’ll likely be impeached over all the indictments brought against him by the justice department during Obama’s lame duck session.

He will be inaugurated, of course, because he certainly wouldn’t want to miss all those terrific parties, but then, when confronted by the tedious realities of his office, he’ll either resign de facto –and turn the reins over to that religionist nitwit, Pence– or resign for real to concentrate on looting what’s left of the US Treasury (those random loose bits of it that eluded Dick Cheney).

Ivanka and Jared will be crushed to give up their co-Chiefs of Staff position, but will soon set about spreading the rebranded Trump logo (Scion) across the planet. Too bad the coming trade wars will double the tariffs and triple the prices on their crappy imports, and disgruntled tenants in their budding slumlord empire will be moved to fill their malfunctioning toilets with bags of (now federally subsidized) RediCrete concrete mix as they set fire to the East Village on their way out.

Trump Cable television will launch with Roger Ailes at the helm, and reality TV will finally die a well-deserved death when everyone realizes that Ivanka and the rest of the Trump “princesses” aren’t really blondes, that those aren’t their real noses or jawlines, and that they didn’t grow those tits themselves. Also that they physically cringe and flinch and squirm away when Donnie tries to kiss them.

At least forty-eleven dumpy middle-aged and senior citizen females will publicly claim Donald Trump once bought them an abortion. Trump will be far more embarrassed by the fact that they’re his contemporaries and only 2s or maybe 3s at best than by his breath-taking hypocrisy. He will invite Bill Cosby and that idiot country singer with the gun fetish to all White House social events and pardon OJ Simpson in a sop to “the African-American Community”.

The military and State Department will soon be in open revolt. The IMF will freeze all of Trump Organization’s off-shore bank accounts and holding companies. His mafia-owned bankers will be pestered with unceasing margin calls. His wholly-owned family assets will be seized by the SEC and placed into a blind trust managed by one of Hillary’s squirrels at Goldman Sachs.

The Democratic minority in Congress, having been schooled in the art of brick-wall obstructionism for the last eight years, will go pro — using every parliamentary trick in the book to block his clumsy attempts to dismantle the social safety net and funnel entitlement monies into his own coffers, but at least we won’t have to worry about cronyism; Trump is only out for Trump. Look for a few principled Republicans to jump ship when Attorney General, Chris Christy tries to take away their Congressional parking passes.

Trump will steer the contracts for Rebuilding America’s Schools, Bridges, and Hellish Inner Cities to his construction firms, and reap his trillions therefrom. When he realizes that all those veterans’ ongoing health care benefits are what’s really bankrupting the country, he’ll “put them to work” building shit housing, picking fruit and driving deportation busses for $10/hour.

Mark Cuban(ski) and his billionaire tech/environmental cadre will go rogue, kuking Trump at every turn.  In an ironic twist, the nascent civil war fomenting on the streets will actually be fought by the oligarchy against the oligarchy (the oligarchy doesn’t like short-fingered vulgarians mucking up their well-ordered little world).  Trump is in for a world of social hurt the likes of which he can’t even imagine. He’s always been a laughingstock amongst the People Who Matter; now he will be sniffed at and snubbed where ever he goes — and on a grand cosmic scale no less. But only he’ll see it, because The People Who Matter can inflict their social cuts with surgical dexterity, and it will drive him absolutely crazy.

Anonymous, the hacking collective will have a four-year field day.  A chastened Julian Assange will turn over the really good stuff to the blogosphere and Robbie Mook— who will know what to do with it.

Obamacare will become Trumpcare I.E.; “something terrific”.  The fallout will be immediate and terrible and it will all be his fault. He will come to realize— too late, alas— that people tend to get really, really butthurt when their Abuelita dies because she didn’t get her heart meds.  (Multiplied by oh, about 200 million.)

Armed redneck militias will be surprised when Trump doesn’t welcome them into the People’s White House on inauguration day. When he doesn’t set out enough rum punch, and starts eminent domaining them out of their rust belt backwaters so he can build really, really terrific, absolutely first rate golf courses, they will turn on him with a vengeance that even Barack Obama in his Kenyan nightmares couldn’t fathom.

Women won’t go quietly either; but we’ll certainly go all passive-aggressive on his ass. Dumbfuck picked the wrong fight with this generation of pantsuits, and he’s literally surrounded by rich angry females (who will now have both a national voice and Secret Service protection to keep him at bay). I’m betting they’ve dealt with his piggy bullshit for waaaay too long, and one of them (cough, cough Ivanka) is likely to go ballistic on him in the press if not the courts. That part will be fun.

There’s more– oh, so much more– but it’s a beautiful day out and the system has been turned upside down, inside out, and wrongside up. It’s an anarchist’s dream, but hey, what do we care?  We survived Nixon. We survived Ronnie and Mommy. We survived GW Bush. Hell, our friends in Italy even survived Mussolini and Silvio Berlusconi!  We will survive Donnie BooBoo.  And we will prevail. Maybe.

In any case, WE’LL ALL HAVE RECREATIONAL POT! (And the merciful Gods of the Kind know we’re gonna need it.)

Courage.