It can’t end any other way. You live by the sword, you often die by the sword. You treat people like shit, then few will go out of their way, ultimately, to treat you any differently.

I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long, Donald. It’s been nothing but dysfunction since day one. You have exposed the vile underbelly of human behavior, I’ll give you that much. You’ve helped reveal that there are any number of people willing to compromise values and go all servile, propping you up, saying you’re great when you’re the farthest thing from that. You were just their ticket to bigger and better.

It’s been amazing to watch, though also unbelievably hard to watch. Since 2015, it’s been a daily dose of incompetence and grift, embarrassment and incredulity over so many being so deceived for so long. Your tenure has been a gargantuan and unconscionable waste of time.

You’ve strung people out, Donald, kept them on some sort of tether, fed them just enough so that they wanted more, or threatened them with banishment to the hinterlands. Lindsey Graham and others have been like strays that keep coming to the door in hopes of getting the next morsel of indolence, the next tidbit of one empty promise or another, not to mention a healthy dose of paranoia and racist garbage.

And lies? You have been the champion of liars. No one has done it better or with more unapologetic aplomb. Lying has always been your forte, like breathing. But now it seems as though it’s all catching up with you, as it should, as it must—at least in the minds of all of us who hope that there is such a thing as karma. Payback. Justice.

You were handed the public’s trust and you’ve endlessly, blatantly abused it, Donald. What do you think is going to happen?

It’s a sad situation when so many people are rooting for your collapse, your failure. Your political demise. But the sadness has a shelf life, since the person in question has made it so easy to wish him ill. He’s practically forced us to hate him, which, apparently, he also loves to do. Governing? Not so much.

It’s been such a maddening stretch of unnecessary angst, brought on by a man child who reportedly likes winning, who appreciates gold leaf and marble and all things glitzy and superficial. He’s an angry, small, hollow man, gutted in his formative years, seasoned in the ways of manipulation and indifference, seemingly incapable of feeling anything but pity for himself. And he’s been elected for a SECOND time to the highest office in the land.

He’ll go to his grave, if he ever dies, thinking he was wonderful and rich and powerful. Or maybe he’ll know, deep down, that he wasn’t all that great, and a few people will reluctantly go to his funeral. Much will be made of his controversial existence. Certain select bootlickers and ass kissers might try to spin the ugliness by saying that his intent all along was to force the country to take a good, long look at itself. But most of us will know that he was merely in it for himself. An aberration, a useless coward.

Meanwhile, Roberts and Miller and Thiel and the rest will be wondering who the next front man, the next puppet, is going to be.

We’ve been watching our four local grandchildren all week, and I think after our son and daughter-in-law return from a well-deserved stay at Disney World, my wife and I will be coming home to at least a day of just hanging out, and maybe savoring the peace and quiet.

I love our grandkids dearly, but it’s been a reminder that there is wisdom in that saying about having children when you’re young. It’s been a mix of momentary chaos and quiet time, of catching the school bus, of reading books and working on craft projects and playing with blocks and taking the dog out and making sure homework gets done and getting everyone ready for bed.

In the midst of an average day, when civil play can turn into a conflagration in a matter of seconds, when mealtime is a series of negotiations mixed with plea deals, it’s nice to know that, come Saturday, we can get up, make breakfast, take our meds, and just chill for a bit.

Regardless of what Donald Trump spews, there is a climate crisis that is careening toward a tipping point. People might treat it like some sort of exciting show, something that’ll make life interesting—more rain, stronger winds, meaner storms, insanely high temperatures, all the while ignoring the fact that the earth is trying to tell us something. Others may buy outright into the whole hideous hoax smokescreen.

People may be hungry for anything that makes life less boring…

Until boring is replaced by Oh no… and folks realize, too late, that the tree-huggers were on to something.

It’s impressive, in a perverse sort of way—how much crap Trump needs to keep track of, stay ahead of. One could think that it takes up most of his day, time that would be better spent actually governing, taking care of the country’s legitimate business instead of his own.

Now Trump is insisting on releasing the Epstein files, which must mean he feels comfortable with the efforts the FBI put in redacting the pages and erasing any place where his name showed up. He’ll lie to us and emerge smelling like a rose. Again.