In case you thought I had fun writing all that, well, I didn't. Halfway through, I got too f*****g horrified by the Russia-Bannon-FBI-deportations-pussygrabbing of it all that I had to immediately go to bed, because my only joy these days comes from nightmares about my teeth falling out. Well, that and the news that Barack Obama now has to exasperatedly dad-tutor Trump on being the leader of the free world, because why bother reading a memo if the Manhattan address where your golden elevator lives isn't on the masthead of the stationery? (Remember how everybody was so chortle-chortle-hur-hur smug about Mitt Romney's car elevator? OUR NATION WAS SO YOUNG.)
"It's like we found out Emperor Palpatine was three Ewoks doing it under an old tarp."
Why does this news, this news that America willfully elected a guy who can generously be described as "aggressively unqualified," make me even the tiniest bit happy? Well, my first thought was, "If Obama and Trump end up spending any substantial amount of alone time together, there's like a 100 percent Trump is going to cry in front of the guy he spent the past five years relentlessly s**t-talking."
"Hey Bar, let me see your birth-SORRY. Force of habit."