If it's Trump, all Hell will will break loose, with those rabid Democrat dogs foaming at the mouth all over the place. (I may have to stop reading the paper too.) Even worse, if it's Hillary, the insipid and boundless gloating of her pawns will be unbearable, not to mention having to watch that smug, self-serving threesome -- Chelsea learned from her parents and is now just like them, living in an eleven million dollar apartment in New York City! -- play Lord and Master (which one will be which is anyone's guess) to all of their underlings hoping for a smattering of fairy dust and groping for an invite to a fancy-schmancy White House dinner, no doubt with entertainment by Hillary's new best friends Jay-Z and Beyonce.
Instead I will retreat even further into my own world and create incredible art. This week's plan is to paint our dining room table. That seems so much more rewarding than contemplating the fortunes and foibles of others that have nothing at all to do with my life. Besides, I hate vomiting and the whole political scene makes me nauseous.