The Orange Emperor is Buck Nekkid

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Oh, how the world has changed in the past ten days.

Back on November 2, 2020, Donald J. Trump loomed over our every thought. He cast a shadow larger than Mt. Rushmore. Our every waking moment was filled with the fear of what Trump might do if his desire for a second term was thwarted.

On November 3rd, most of us were filled with a flood of emotions that sloshed back and forth in our hearts. We teetered between terror and joy. All-day, and long into the evening, we cried tears of fear and tears of hope. Would he be defeated, at last, this lying, cheating, self-serving evil spirit of a man? Would we be suddenly freed from the anxiety he’d been creating for the past five years?

Or would his moment of electoral defeat give rise to a surge of violence from his followers? Would we find ourselves plunged into riots, street fights, killing in the name of the American Presidency?

I don’t know about all of you, but I was scared out of my tiny liberal mind.

I even shared a Facebook meme that asked the question, “What are you all planning to wear to the civil war next week?”

Ha. Ha. No.

I didn’t sleep for a moment on November 3rd. I frantically watched TV, monitored Twitter, and baked desserts all day on November 4th.

But then, as the numbers slowly came in, and it began to be obvious that the Donald would be a one-term wonder, a very strange thing began to happen.

The Emperor, the once-powerful orange-faced Emperor, began to fade away. By Saturday, November 7, the name of Donald Trump had lost almost all of its power.

I’m not sure how it happened. I didn’t feel any kind of tectonic shift, but I couldn’t deny the reality of what I was experiencing.

As I celebrated the declaration that Joe Biden had won the 2020 Presidential Election, I found myself seriously NOT thinking about DJT.

For the first time in years, the mention of that name didn’t cause nausea in my gut. For the first time in so very long, the news of what he said and did caused me absolutely no worry.

The demon had been slain. The once terrifying Lord of White Supremacy had been shrunken down to the size of a mouse. The Master of All He Surveyed has been whittled down and reduced to his truly tiny self.

The Emperor had on absolutely no clothes.

Of course, some of us knew it all along. But in the past four years, the power of his lies had grown, and his ability to shape reality into his desired shape had impacted every part of our lives. We still feared his ability to convince the masses of his greatness, his invincibility, his possession of the world’s greatest gleaming suit of clothing.

We had seen him cast his long and damaging shadow across the world, and we feared his power.

But, lo and behold, the mighty Emperor and Ruler of Lies was laid low by the simplest of acts.

Americans voted. More importantly, our votes were carefully counted.

And in the end, it turned out that we had given the big windbag the boot.

His bare naked ass was revealed to all of us, right there on national TV.

The big orange jerk has NO. CLOTHES.

He will no longer be dressed up by the lies he’s been spinning. He will not be empowered by the anger of his disturbed base. He won’t be holding onto the reigns of power, no matter who fervently his acolytes kiss his naked buttcheeks. He won’t convince anyone of his legitimacy, ever again.

For me, it was as astonishing as it was comforting.

The terrible, fire-breathing dragon of an illegitimate Emperor was no longer the giant who threatened us all.

Instead, I found myself faced with a sad, shriveled, frightened little boy, naked in the town square, cowering against the wall and crying that life was unfair.

It was almost pathetic.

The Emperor is totally buck nekkid.

And we are not scared any longer.

I’m good with that.

A Mother, a grandmother, a progressive voter. I write because it’s getting harder to march and because words are my only weapon. I blog at

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