What I want to see in November 2020

Hello, America. Would you take my order, please? Here's what I want.

I want Donald Trump to win reelection by the largest landslide in history. I want the magnitude of Trump's triumph to be so breathtaking that it makes the ignominious defeats of George McGovern (who ran against Richard Nixon in 1972 and carried only Massachusetts and Washington, D.C.) and Walter Mondale (who ran against Ronald Reagan in 1984 and carried only Minnesota and Washington, D.C.) look like resounding victories. I want the Democrats' drubbing to be so total that people will be talking about it for years to come.

I want the entire Democratic leadership to spring the length of their chains and sink their fangs into one another. I want the Democrats to have their teeth sunk so deep into one another's throats that if they ever parted they would all bleed to death.

I want the Republicans to retake the House. I want them to retake every single seat lost to the Democrats in the last election, by returning all those seats – and then some! – to the Republicans. And when the wise men in the media are asked by the anchormen what caused this breathtaking debacle, I want them to lay the blame squarely at the feet of the Democrats, whose years of lying eventually caught up with them. I want them to raise their voices and let the world know that you can hide the fire for a little while, but what are you going to do with all that smoke? I want them to emphasize that when you care more for your political party and your personal standing in that party than you care about the United States of America, the political trouncing will sooner or later catch up with you.

I want to get a good look at Adam Schiff standing there at the podium, smugness fitting him like a jockstrap, as the numbers come tumbling in. Then I want to see him dart out the back door and seek asylum in some place like the Nigerian Embassy.

I want one of those nerds with an annoying grasp of minutia to interrupt, even before the sun sets, and point out that the Democratic candidates' concession was delivered earlier in the evening than any other in American history. I want to hear the sore-headed losers desperately try to put a salubrious spin on the evening's developments. I want them to abbreviate their remarks and then, with a wan smile, slink away with their heads touching the carpet. I want to hear the cheers of my fellow Americans resound and be heard even after we turn off our televisions and radios. And I want the spinmeisters to realize that if they pour the finest French perfumes upon a skunk, they may achieve a certain momentarily pleasing fragrance, but it's a losing battle.

I want to see Nancy Pelosi put on her well-rehearsed but nevertheless patently phony smile as she hands the speaker's gavel back to the Republicans.

And I want to see and hear it all in full-color Super-Duper Panavision and Dolby Digital Super-Duper Surround-Sound!

The Trump team insists that the president has done nothing wrong. Why do I believe that? Because I am convinced of Washington's inability to keep lurid, scandalous and damaging gossip secret. Their very egos and self-esteem are based on advantageous leaking. You get no master-points for knowing raw, hot and devastating information about Trump and not leaking it! There's too eager a market to leak what you know, especially if you have some bone-marrow-curdling poison to repeat. And so far what we know comes nowhere near "high crimes and misdemeanors"!

Trump must feel a kinship to that unfortunate Russian who found himself thrown into a Soviet jail cell for no apparent reason. As the door slammed behind him, his cellmates said "How long are you in for?" "Twenty years!" he wailed.

"And what did you do?" asked a cellmate. "Nothing wrong," he replied. "Absolutely nothing!"

"C'mon now! Tell us what you did!"

"Nothing!" he replied. "I tell you I did absolutely nothing wrong!"

"Don't lie to us. Everybody knows you only get ten years for that!"