We’re vomiting out the Nameless One.

And not a moment too soon.

The results of the Special Election in Tennessee’s Seventh Congressional election and all the by-elections this year show a shift of public sentiment away from the Nameless One of a dozen or more percent. Too-clever-by-half redistricting maneuvers, horrifying headlines, economic woes, the abandonment of democracy, and the physical deterioration of our snoozing Snowman will only make things worse. Not in memory have we witnessed such sudden violent revulsion against our Leader. (Maybe Andrew Johnson was similarly disgorged.) The Nameless One’s plans to stage a coup will be toast when his popularity is underwater. The majority will revolt, the military balk, and he and his kids will confront the wipeout of their wealth, maybe their freedom. Rest easy, the first family has arranged spacious dachas outside of Moscow to retreat to if things get too hot but they won’t like it any more than Napoleon did Saint Helena. Scum and anathema, they will rot beneath an eternal mountain of obloquy. Happy days.

You say it can’t happen here, we’re a peaceful nation, not given to violent retribution? Newton’s Third Law of Motion applies not just to physics: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Many were convinced the Nameless One could never be reelected, knowing all we knew. Were we ever wrong. Not only have we been injured by his egregious miscreancy, we’re infuriated by our stupidity having caused this mess. The common cure for humiliation is to shift the blame. It wasn’t our fault we voted for this convicted crook/liar/rapist, he misled us, so to hell with him. Of course he misled us! – that’s what liars and grifters do – they’ll say anything. We have nobody to blame, my friends, but ourselves.

The instant of catastrophe can’t be predicted but we can all feel it creeping closer. There will be a blow-up, and it may be bloody. It can’t be helped because these lunatics won’t relent and can’t be stopped. I’m not certain the Nameless One doesn’t believe in his inevitable dominion – he’s that bonkers – but no one can know for sure, maybe not even the mishap himself.

How should we respond to this calamity? As we do after vomiting. The experience was miserable, but what a relief! The party of decency will again be in charge. But we will not be decent, alas. Power will corrode our morals. The idealism of rescue will be succeeded by grubbing for money and power. Our party may not be as vile as those we’ve dislodged but we will be bad enough. I locate in my own psyche an unsettling sadism. Hurt – for a decade now – I hanker to hurt back.

Is my ghoulish glee premature? Of course. This war is far from won. But I’m convinced now it will be won, that the idea of America will be rescued and my grandkids live in freedom. I’m readying myself for the next phase: how best to be once the terror lifts. Do I preach mercy, vengeance, radical or gradual reform? Or do I leave it to the next generation and retire in peace?

Might my prevision be wrong? Inevitably. The future, wags have noted, is hard to predict. But it must be predicted so we can prepare. From kindergarten to senility, we spend our lives preparing our presentation of ourselves. How do we wish to be perceived? What affect and effect should we aim for? How might we like to be recalled?

I ready myself for the annihilation of the Nameless One and all he has stood for. From this page to God’s ears.