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 shit-talking."
"Hey Bar, let me see your birth-SORRY. Force of habit."
And why wouldn't you cry, Donald? Being the president sucks. Everybody hates you most of the time, and you're forced to live in Washington, D.C., which is humid and boring and an elephant graveyard for the ambitions of asshole class presidents who gave up and got a job with the borax lobby. Every day, hundreds of dipstick tourists will invade your house to gawp at Lady Bird Johnson's prized spittoon or who cares. Your whole dumb life is now From The Mixed-Up Files Of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.
You want to fly home to the saturnine embrace of Trump Tower every night (like you did during the campaign), but you can't, because your very presence turns Midtown into a Checkpoint Charlie parking lot -- seriously, the Benihana on 56th Street between 5th and 6th Avenues is so fucked right now -- and because some dingus from Switzerland wants to talk to you about cuckoo clock tariffs at 9:00 p.m. on a Friday. You didn't expect this job, and now you have to study over Christmas break. You would quit in two seconds if you could get the entire planet to legally agree not to make fun of you for the rest of your life. You're debating only Skyping with Paul Ryan, and even then, there's a good chance you're going to try to hoodwink him with one of those motion-sensor witches built to delight trick-or-treaters.
"You want Gingrich's eyes? That's a weird request, but okay."
So yeah, I want Trump to be so overwhelmed with the shock of being forced to live in a museum run by twee furniture nerds that he fucking bawls out in front of Barack Obama. But I don't want to see him emasculated by tears -- that's the kind of macho rah-rah bullshit that got us into this historical punchline in the first place. No, I want our president-elect to be so psychically annihilated by fear of failure and embarrassment and being eternalized for centuries as the biggest putz in the history of the executive branch that he weeps, and -- in a perfect, crystalline moment of absolute humility and vulnerability -- finally learns love and empathy. And not the kind of love a grown man has for a $10,000 Dorian Gray portrait of himself. We're talking about stark, soul-shattering love.