Returning to Reality

Will Trump’s next term be “15 to life”?


Okay, I can breathe now. Biden and Harris won. I can promise you it will be better having a reality-based president who doesn’t make up everything on the spot—including scripture, his crowd sizes, and his net worth. He is Twitter’s problem now. Hell, even Fox News dumped him.

If you’ve managed to keep a loose grip on the facts through the Trump years, you’ll notice that the first few weeks after he lost this election were like the first few days after he won in 2016. You know, back when he was snorting about how he had more people at his inauguration than had ever shown up at any inauguration in the history of the world. Combined. Seriously, he insisted (add them all up) that Lincoln, Grant, both Roosevelts, Hoover, Truman, Eisenhower, Turner (are you still counting?), Caesar, Person, Woman, Man, Camera, TV. . . whatever that total is, Trump says he had more. 

So you go look at his inauguration photos again (for the seventh time, because it never seems like you can see that many people) and . . .wait, President Turner?

That’s how he does it! He sneaks in things and you accept them as fact because your mind is mangled by the absurd premise of his original tirade. So last month, he was counting votes instead of people standing around outside of the Capitol.

I think Trump’s biggest fear is that the only thing keeping him out of jail (or the bottom of some lake in Russia, wearing concrete shoes) is his presidential immunity and his Secret Service protection. And after he exposed 130 Secret Service agents to COVID, they’ve decided to give him two guys named Fast Eddie No-Last-Name and Gus ‘The Elbow’ Frontage to cover him when he’s out of the White House. 

Honey, the most that Trump can hope for now is “herd impunity.”

A full week after the November election, I saw a guy in Conroe, Texas, (right up the road, mind you) still proudly flying those Trump flags in the bed of his pickup truck. “Honey,” I hollered at him, “you have to fly those at half-mast now. It’s the law.” He didn’t think it was near as funny as I did.

I would have also suggested he could raise a few white flags (since I was sure he already had some white sheets in his closet), but I was in Conroe and didn’t want to start dodging bullets.

You can imagine my disappointment when it became obvious that Trump would only serve one term. Of course, he could still get another term, most likely when a judge announces it’ll be “15 to life.”

I’m a Southern girl, so when I saw Mitch McConnell, John Cornyn, Lindsey Graham, and Ted Cruz holding a joint press conference to accuse Democrats of cheating to win the election, I knew one thing was for certain: these can’t be the men that Dolly Parton begged Jolene not to take. Jolene can have these suckers, and we’ll even throw in clean underwear for ’em. 

And of course, thoughts and prayers go out to Jared and Ivanka as they pack up and head off for their own first season of Schitt’s Creek.

With any luck, we’ll all be celebrating the end of an awful year this month. Maybe we can even start using 2020 as a swear word, as in “What a stinkin’ load of 2020,” or “Don’t 2020 me!” or ”Abso-2020-lutely!”

Six things to look for when 2020 is gone and Trump is not president:

• Trump’s tweets will sound more and more like the Wicked Witch terrorizing Dorothy, but his flying monkeys will be  impotent and have colitis.

• Brussels sprouts will taste better. (Still no hope for kale, however.)

• Life will be discovered on another planet. But before you get your hopes up, they elected Joel Osteen as their president.

• Pussies will start grabbing back.

• “Believe me. . .” is the new international phrase to signal that whatever you say  next is a lie.

• In the good old days, the probability that you would be watched was directly proportional to the stupidity of your act. But now you’re being watched all the damn time, so don’t waste any stupid!

Until next month, be sure to keep some mistletoe handy, because you never know who you’ll need to kiss. Also remember that anything is possible when you don’t know what you’re talking about.

This article appears in the December 2020 edition of OutSmart magazine.


Susan Bankston

Susan Bankston lives in Richmond, Texas, where she writes about her hairdresser at The World’s Most Dangerous Beauty Salon, Inc., at
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