If only Hunter Thompson were alive and reporting on the political chaos that was these last four years. How much more suited to the Trump Trauma would his brutally honest, fiercely fuck-it diatribes have been. Four years of journalism trying to uphold some standard of fair reporting, fact-checking and not getting sued while fanning the flames, could have been dispensed with in a gone-all-out gonzo go at it. But today at the crack of dawn, the now-former President scurried up the stairs to his final Air Force One escape to Florida’s Mar-a-Lago, still pompous, but without the pomp, circumstance and military salute desired, since the military needed the 25,000 troops to defend Washington after his riotous mob attacked the Capitol exactly two weeks before. That insurrection did not stop the certification of Joe Biden Jr. (still Jr at 78) as the 46th President today. And what a collective sigh of relief from many Americans and the civilized world! A plan to combat Covid, a return to the Paris Accord, relief for the unemployed, a stop to the Keystone Pipeline, a return to decency, a call for unity, an ability to form complex sentences, an understanding of humanity and sense of compassion. And of course, the wisdom to have chosen Kamala Harris. Madam Vice-President who happens to be Black and of South Asian heritage and brings along a Second Gentleman who is a Jew. It was all just a little too much for the white suprematists who had pledged allegiance to the cult of Trump. Though how quickly they turned—when former VP Mike Pence told the President that he did not have the power to change the election results in his role of certifying the count in Congress—they raged on, noose in hand to ‘Hang Mike Pence’ And today those Proud Boys, upon hearing that Trump no longer cooed “we love you” as future litigations inched ever closer, and even condemned the violence he provoked, decided that he was weak after all. Which would have been a fitting finale to the diatribe, if not to the story of a NYC slumlord and apprentice celebrity, forever remembered by Manhattanites as the short-fingered vulgarian who tried to paint his name in gold on the glass towers of Fifth Avenue.