Those of us who understand just how important it is to rid the White House of its current occupant are in a bit of a conundrum: when to celebrate Joe Biden’s landslide victory over Donald J. Trump in the 2020 presidential election?
November 3? Early returns were in Trump’s favor. But if one looked at the trends of in-person versus mail-in voting, it seemed plausible that Trump’s lead in various swing states would evaporate. But plausibility was little solace for those Americans who’d been so traumatized by the past four years that it seemed nothing good would ever happen again.
Nope, no parties yet.
By the end of Nov. 4, it already appeared that Trump’s endless and bizarre complaints about mail-in voting had backfired. Mail-in voting, he’d claimed, would be a “scam,” “a disaster,” a “terrible time for this country.”
In order to understand his hysterics, we must keep in mind that, within Donald’s cranial Palace of Versailles, “country” equals “Trump.” By his illogic, mail-in voting would be unfair simply because it would be the preferred method for Biden voters, as doing so was less likely to spread the virus than in-person voting.
Naturally, a significant number of Trump’s fearless followers obeyed his orders, ignored mail-in ballots, and voted in person. Early returns were always going to show Trump with the mirage of an early lead.
But it’s best to save the party until the mirage has evaporated.
By Nov 7, enough votes had been tallied to declare Biden the landslide winner. Here’s what Biden said on December 11, “We had a massive landslide victory, as you know, in the Electoral College. I guess the final numbers are now at 306.”
Oh, wait. Biden didn’t say that. Trump did, in 2016. Apparently, not all 306 to 232 landslides are equal.
But we still couldn’t truly celebrate, because Trump is incapable of grace. Gimme what I want, he whines, or I’ll destroy everything. So he invited a cast of clowns to file dozens of ridiculous lawsuits that repeated unsubstantiated claims of voter fraud. Something like fifty of those lawsuits (which is to say, virtually all of them) have been withdrawn, denied, or laughed out of the courtroom, proving that no matter how many judges you appoint, reality still matters, sometimes.
As of this writing, the electoral college has just certified Biden’s win, which, in a sane world, would be the final word on the matter. Bring out Kool and the Gang, it’s time to CELEBRATE!
Except…in the insane world, the president tweets things like, “Tremendous evidence pouring in on voter fraud. There has never been anything like this in our Country!”
(Thanks to this sort of never-give-up-on-the-fight-to-destroy-democracy hutzpah, Trump has raised over $150 million via donations to his “Official Election Defense Fund.” Did his donors read the fine print? Seventy-five percent of that money won’t actually go to the defense of anything. Rather, it could be used in any way he sees fit: to pay down his campaign debt, or to fund a sham 2024 presidential run, or to commission a brand-new golden toilet with “I won 2020 by a Landslide” engraved on the lid. It must feel good to give money to a billionaire.)
Further complicating our party plans, we still have to endure more than a month of absolute dereliction of duty as Donald J. Trump golfs, whines, pardons his pals, manipulates weak-kneed congressional Republicans into licking his boots (Hey, Cory, how’s the job-hunt going?), and watches Nazi swine protest on his behalf. Keep the cork on the champagne.
Even on Jan. 20, after he’s been evicted from the White House and Joe Biden has been inaugurated, I still caution you to hold off on the celebrations. Because as soon as Trump’s gone, the right-wing nonsense factory will rev-up their ludicrous claims that Joe Biden and his nasty vice president want to turn America into a socialist/Marxist hellhole. Oh, and Hunter. Don’t forget Hunter!
I’ll know it’s time to celebrate on the day that I wake up and say to myself, “Donald who?”; the day when I can’t remember the last time I wasted a thought on this creature George Will described as a “sad, embarrassing wreck of a man.”
Only then will Donald J. Trump have gone the way of his fellow cartoons Rocky J. Squirrel, Bullwinkle J. Moose, Homer J. Simpson, and, yes, John J. Rambo. Only then will Donald J. Trump, whose soulless husk cares only that we recognize him, have ceased to exist.
