I’m sorry to be petty and vindictive, really. Maybe I’m just exasperated; maybe I’m not actually better than that. But if it were my wishes, for all the nothing those count for, I wouldn’t care for Trump to die comfortably and be eulogized with presidential honors. If he can’t be expelled in disgrace, he could at least spend long enough in a hospital bed to hear his friends and family squabble over his inheritance, completely indifferent to his final moments.
Because that’s just how the story is supposed to go. Croesus doesn’t declare himself the happiest man ever and conquer his rivals for more wealth and live on as Asia’s greatest king. You don’t get to keep extorting more and more wishes from the fish and live out the rest of your days in luxury. The goose isn’t full of gold, the arrogant frog doesn’t show up the ox, and Yertle the Turtle doesn’t look down on the moon.
And I know life isn’t like a story. It isn’t there to be fair or satisfying or end well. But in talking about the physical incarnation of greed and hubris, mixed with all the other deadly sins into some sort of racist golem con-man, I can’t help but hope for a better ending than “died of old age shortly after becoming president, showing all the power of a wealthy white man chasing his avaricious dreams”.