Merry Christmas, Mr. President

Wednesday, December 18, 2019

Merry Christmas, Mr. President.

You are hereby impeached.

The voters in the 2018 election know it is a bit early to put this present under the White House Christmas tree, but we have a lot to get done before we celebrate the holidays with our families, so we’re giving you this today, a week before Christmas, and hope that you don’t feel slighted by its early presentation.

I know it must seem like Santa Claus is punishing you, but you need to think of it as something you’re very familiar with: filing for bankruptcy protection. Like Chapter 13, this will give you a chance to reorganize things and get reestablished with your creditors in the Electoral College.

Above all, chill.

You need to read my blog entry on November 8, 2019: “The Trump Chess Game: Impeachment as a Speed Bump.” Honestly, Donald, I am very disappointed that you have not sent me a personal note thanking me for my counsel.

Why waste your time writing Nancy Pelosi when you could be sending me a six-page letter, annotating your gratitude?

OK, OK. I get it. Party affiliation makes me your sworn enemy, from your point of view, and it would never do to be seen appreciating any advice given by someone who hopes to vote for either Bernie Sanders or Elizabeth Warren in the 2020 general election.

Not that either has a chance to win. Really, Donald. Get a hold of yourself. Remember 1972? I was so young, naive, and foolish. I totally succumbed to the fantasy that the population of the United States would say, “End this war now!” and vote for George McGovern. Instead, 49 out of 50 states voted for Richard Nixon.

It won’t be any different in 2020.

The same deplorables — yes, deplorables — who voted for Nixon in 1972 are ready to vote for you, again. And don’t forget that those voters in 1972 had children — and yes, there are even grandchildren of those voters who will be eligible to vote for the first time in 2020.

Truly, I know that being impeached must make you wince. It turns out that there are term limits for being an obnoxious human being who holds a major public office. One term, in this case.

But let your indignation show some class: “Honi soit qui mal y pense.”

As a little note on this holiday present, the loose translation should read: “Enjoy it while you can.”