An Ode to Orange
When the Orange One flew off in his mighty copter and saluted (no one) one last time, I began to have a nagging feeling. A sort of low rumble beneath the JOY. Something like an itch where you can’t reach. I rolled on my back a lot that day. In my exuberant celebration, sure, but I was also trying to scratch something I couldn’t find. It’s been only getting worse since. And today I figured out what it was. I am mourning the loss of frequent scheudenfreud and daily belly laughs due to Trump being, well, Trump. It’s a loss I am happy to bear, but maybe every now and then he could raise his ugly head and bleat out something hilariously inane. You know, just for kicks.