The Grimmest of Grim Reapers

It’s been more difficult than usual to keep track of all the outlandish conspiracy theories.

Was the shooter a groyper or a trans activist? Is antifa coming to burn your city down? Will taking Tylenol cause your head to explode?

You may have lost track of the myriad rumors that swirl into our minds every day, courtesy of our friend, the internet.

But do you remember this conspiracy theory from a couple of weeks ago?: Trump is near death, and the White House is covering it up.

Yes, it seems like the distant past when everyone was posting pictures of Trump’s hands and asserting body doubles were on the Oval Office and conjecturing like mad. It was so long ago that, back in those halcyon days, we still believed in the First Amendment.

I know — ancient history, right?

Well, the most obnoxious and unpopular person to ever lead a major nation is alive and kicking, thank you very much, and he showed off how non-dead he is by delivering the most unhinged, bizarre, and befuddling speech in the history of the United Nations.

I can assure you that this was no body double, my friends.

However, the rumors have led to the inevitable question about the inevitable end that all of us face. Someday, whether days or years from now, Trump will no longer be around.

Now, I’m not wishing harm upon our illustrious president.

Do you hear that, all you government goons and right-wing busybodies who are scouring the internet for any sign of dissent? I am not wishing harm upon the guy.

In fact, I’ve said many times that I hope old number 47 continues to thrive in great health. I want him to live to be 100, when he will be an ancient and withered symbol of the nation’s descent into insanity and a living refutation to all those people who deny they stood by or applauded while this country spiraled into fascism. Ideally, Trump will celebrate his centenarian birthday in prison, surrounded by his yes men and fellow failed authoritarians.

But I digress.

What happens when Trump exits this mortal coil?

I mean, besides dancing in the streets. That’s a given.

Well, whenever he dies, it will be a liberal plot.

He could keel over a decade from now while eating a cheeseburger, and right-wingers will claim lesbian folk singers poisoned him. The man could impale himself on a golf club in 2040, and conservatives will insist an immigrant college professor speared him.

From a media perspective, he will not go quietly.

His passing will be a landmark in US history. It may be greeted with a collective sigh of relief or a violent attack. It may usher a period of shame and reflection, or it could provoke mass executions.

We don’t really know. Nor do we know what will happen to his most zealous followers, who will have to face life without their domineering daddy figure.

Like all things Trump, I am wary of this development, as unavoidable as it is.

And like all things Trump, there is no way to prepare.