Quick! Someone Inject Him With Bleach!

From the Department of Chickens Coming Home to Roost: the President, Donald Trump, has Coronavirus, and the schadenfreude is both sweet and savory.

As for myself, I am torn. On the one hand, it would be sweetest irony for Trump to die of the pandemic he’s so consistently downplayed and handled so terribly, putting his fellow Americans — his own supporters most of all — at risk and wrecking the country and its economy.

On the other hand, I want him to live long enough to lose the election, and for his hundreds of millions in debts to come due, and for all the prosecutions waiting in the wings for when he isn’t President anymore to indict and convict him for all the crimes he’s so blithely committed, so he can spend the last years of his life broke and in prison, as would happen in a just world.

Either how, I suppose irony isn’t completely dead after all.

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