It’s Over, Donnie

Let the record show: Our republic was saved by stout-hearted black and brown women in Atlanta, Detroit, Philadelphia, Milwaukee and Phoenix who convinced their neighbors to stand in line for hours in November weather to cast a single ballot.

By all rights, this was our most unlikely group of saviors. Of all the people in the country, this is a group that might have been expected to stay home, resigned. These are people who have been shit on by the USA again and again and again.

A bunch of mostly white, male galoots who’d gladly burn down the country in order to “save” it then tried to overthrow the government by force Jan. 6 but failed miserably, despite overwhelming numbers and the aid of a president who called off reinforcements for the same police who protected him for four years.

Talk about treasonous behavior.

It was like Vietnam all over again for these old, white boys, with the same, sorry end. It’s what happens when the premise for your actions is a delusion. They went down with the fat, philandering, bankrupt, businessman, posing as president but finally exposed as nothing more than a windbag, buffoon and crook.

It’s over, Donnie. I hate to break it to you. There’s no second-place in a presidential election. You don’t get a silver medal or a slightly lower step on the podium. It’s not the Olympic 100-meter butterfly. It’s a boxing match. You either win or lose.

You lost. You’re not president, vice-president, or secretary of state. You’re not a U.S. senator or Congressman, or a governor or a state legislator or a mayor or alderman or even a dog-catcher.

In the world of government and things that matter, you are zero. Zilch. Nada. You can no longer hide from criminal prosecution behind the White House like the Wizard of Oz hid behind a curtain, bloviating through an image projected by Fox News.

Now a grand jury in New York has charged your outfit with defrauding Uncle Sam for 15 years. Grand larceny.

The most difficult question for them must have been where to begin.

Yes, Donnie, like Terry Malloy in “On the Waterfront,” you could have been somebody instead of a bum, which is what you are.

For a moment, you had a chance. By virtue of a most undemocratic loophole, you became a world leader. But you pissed on people. Way too many people.

You were delusional the way that only very rich, very spoiled kids can delude themselves. Into thinking they’re smart, without being smart. Into thinking they’re gifted, without being gifted. Into thinking they’re untouchable while being so very touchable.

What you were Donnie, was cruel, and the world in time catches up to cruel people.

Only a few tyrants get to escape the consequences of their actions and it looks like you aren’t going to be one of them.

You are going to learn something that your father or mother or sister or brother or teacher or nanny or someone, for the love of God, should have taught you many years ago: You’re not that special.

The sweet irony is that your day in court was brought to you by thousands of black women, perhaps the people in life that you dislike the most. Women who have little money, little in the way of fancy clothes and bling. The kind of person you’ve denigrated most of your life.

If there’s any justice in the world, some plain, poor black person will also be your jailor.