I dunno. I mean, I know we’re tearing folks out of their homes and disappearing them, and murdering people in broad daylight, and setting the planet on fire, and we hate Canada but think Putin is cool, etc. etc., but for some reason I found it particularly wrenching to watch that backhoe tearing into the East Wing of the White House. I guess because it was a cartoon poster of every other damn thing the bloatmeister has done—eviscerating the people’s government and foreign aid and the rule of law and civil rights and free elections and the national debt and the livable atmosphere and shit, the list just goes on and on. After all, his entire presidency has been the difference between hiring a decorator and sending in an excavator with a demolition claw named Big Balls. All I know is: it hurt.

So I made a rare foray into a right-wing friend’s facebook page—the way you rubberneck at an accident in case there’s gore. The first thing I saw was an unnecessarily rude meme about how whiny the libs are about the destruction of the East Wing. “See here,” it said, “the only thing that got taken down was this narrow breezeway at the end,” and never mind the president had just said he wasn’t even going to touch the East Wing, not even a little tap. And the very next day after this meme appeared the whole wing was gone. Do these people ever notice how fast they are being made fools of? No. The next one went on about how Obama spent even more on renovations in his term, and where was Democratic outrage then?

Well, those were structural upgrades of an aging building, and Congress appropriated the money for the project during the Bush administration, per Dubya’s recommendation. And besides we were saving our outrage for things like Mitch McConnell stonewalling Merrick Garland’s nomination to the Supreme Court. Never mind, Peanut, I know you quit listening a while back.

Trump also said this was a $200M project a few days ago but now it’s $300M and the week is young. But we shouldn’t care because oh boy it’s all being funded privately.

This part is true. One donor, the CEO of Amalgamated Backscratchers, who made his first billion hollowing out the toilet accessory industry by undercutting smaller competitors, slid over a cool fifty mil along with a complimentary box of gold-plated backscratchers, delivered by Bambi P., the junior princess at the toiletry convention and pride of Peoria, who offered a complimentary backscratching in a private room. And slipped the president a note that if he had any sway in the DOJ, it would be nice if they could look into the upcoming antitrust lawsuit brought by Memaw’s Loofah Mart.

So yeah. No worries about the financing. I decided to relax. I realized: hey, the next president could just up and replace it if he wanted. Maybe President Jo-Jo could rip up the concrete that replaced the Rose Garden and put in beans and marigolds, and then knock down the ballroom for a bowling alley. Yes, there is already a bowling alley in the White House but it’s only one lane, and everyone knows that’s not enough if you’re going to be inviting hundreds of dignitaries. Shoo-ee, there could be a hundred lanes, and vending machines and a Keno screen, an arcade to the side, and maybe a Denny’s. It could totally happen. Assuming we get to have more elections.

Meanwhile, Trump gets his wet dream ballroom. It’ll be super palace-y, encrusted with gold-colored things. He believes, as monarchs and other pirates have believed for thousands of years, that gold makes a statement: I am rich as hell and that means I win.

The other statement is that he’s powerful enough to send you to a dungeon in El Salvador if you call it “tacky.” So don’t do that, America! Tastes differ. Celebrate! This is a place for dancing. A big place. 90,000 square feet.

Shoot. Probably room for five or six stripper poles in there.