Stormy weather for Donald Trump

It was part of his mythos that fair weather followed President John F Kennedy everywhere he went. They even had a name for it, “Kennedy Weather.” I don’t know the odds against such a thing, but I do know that it was supposed to be windy and rainy in Dallas on, to pick a date, November 22, 1963. Instead it was sunny and practically cloudless. It would have been better if Kennedy Weather had taken a holiday that day.
I doubt there was much to “Kennedy Weather,” and it probably had more to do with the fact that most people liked John F Kennedy and emphasised the days the weather worked for him and forgot about the days it didn’t. For instance, it was bitterly cold on his Inauguration Day, colder than it was for the Coward-in-Chief, who took the whole affair indoors so he wouldn’t have to endure a crowd size so small it would remind him of his penis.
But Kennedy didn’t mind his inclement inauguration weather. He gamely went ahead with it outdoors, and the myth of Kennedy Weather lived on despite such inauspicious beginnings.
According to the latest forecasts, there’s supposed to be dreadful weather Saturday afternoon in Washington DC, including a good chance of thunderstorms. I hope so. The reason I hope so is because I, like millions of Americans, hate Dementia J Trump, and I want it to rain on his fascistic parade, which is slated to begin at 6:30 PM. I want the weather to ruin his bloated, Soviet-style birthday parade of weapons and soldiers of death, so much so as to turn the whole thing into an unwatchable fiasco. I want the weather to work against Trump, so much so they start calling it “Trump Weather.”
But that won’t stop me from privately celebrating Trump’s birthday. It’s a birthday I have been looking forward to for a long time. Apart from the obvious fact that it is a reminder that Trump’s death is gloriously closer, it also means, as of Saturday, that Trump will turn 79 and thereby enter his 80th year.
I plan to use that fact a lot, every chance I get. It’s retribution for the relentless attacks on President Joe Biden’s age by Trump and his whores, and Jake Tapper and his mainstream media whores. It gives me a chance to laugh at them. I’m no ageist any more than I am a fat shamer, but when disgusting hypocrites like Trump are both, they’re fair game for turnabout tit for tat. So there.
Again, I sincerely hope the weather in Washington is so perfectly awful that everyone will go home. I don’t just want it to rain, I want it to pour, to deluge, to cascade. I want lightning like spears of Thor. I want thunder like the Voice of Doom. I want it to rain all the cats and dogs that the good Haitian people of Springfield, Ohio, were falsely accused of eating.
I want Saturday to depress Trump for months and thoroughly screw up his chances to ever hold another horrendous display of jingoistic exhibitionism ever again. Trump’s birthday, the army’s 250th anniversary and Flag Day will never again coincide. I want it all f***ed up by the weather. Will it be? I can only hope so.

Robert Harrington is an American expat living in Britain. He is a portrait painter.