We woke up Sunday morning to learn that Donald John Trump was still alive.

214,280 other Americans were dead from the virus he has ignored and belittled, but not him. Yet.

We check this number daily, Americans dead from Covid-19. We know this number is only attributed cases, that the real number is likely much higher, but the odometer is bad enough.

It was bad enough at the end of March, fewer than four thousand Americans lost, when we publicly wished that Donald John Trump would die.

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You have to wonder what it will take.

Let’s set aside the polls showing that half of white folks still plan on voting for Donald Trump, despite everything. Last we checked, he was holding a ten-point lead over Biden with the melanin-deficient — half his 2016 margin among haoles, so there’s been some improvement.

The rest? Lost souls. You may have encountered a few on Facebook.

So when we wonder what it will take, we’re not talking about them. We’re talking about the rest of us. And we’re asking, well, we’re asking how long the rest of us will put up with this shit.

Or at least enough of us.

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The only thing fixed in stone — or the Constitution — about the Supreme Court is that it exists. Nothing about its size, and, famously, nothing about its authority.

Judicial review of laws? Marbury v. Madison, 1803. But you knew that.

Unanimous decision, as it happens. 4-0.

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6:00 am: “I got you, babe…”

6:01 am: Throw clockradio against wall, shatter it to pieces. Don’t worry, it’ll be whole again tomorrow.

6:05 am: Coffee!

6:08 am: Christ, he tweeted again.

6:09 am: Retweet from 2013 saying the exact opposite.

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Westbrook Pegler, a name you may barely recognize at best, coined the term “bleeding-heart liberal” in 1938. The occasion was a bill before Congress, proposing an action he felt unnecessary.

Curbing lynching.

“I question the humanitarianism of any professional or semi-pro bleeding heart,” he wrote in his syndicated column, “who clamors that not a single person must be allowed to hunger but would stall the entire legislative program in a fight to ham through a law intended, at the most optimistic figure, to save fourteen lives a year.”

It’s not that Pegler was racist — heavens, no! — but that the bill pandered to “crowded northern Negro centers”.

That’s what he said, anyway.

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One of the popular online parlor games of late has been wondering whether Donald Trump will give up power if he loses.

You know how it works: Someone says he’ll just squat in the White House. Then Defenders of the System rush in to say that can’t possibly happen, the Secret Service will escort him from the grounds, and besides, his term ends January 20 one way or another, and if there’s any question about succession, Nancy Pelosi steps in.

Fear not! It’s in the rules!

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Here’s how elections work: Votes are cast, ballots counted, winners declared, the Republic endures.

Oops, we’re sorry. That’s the Schoolhouse Rock version.

That elections — our elections — don’t work like a simple cartoon, or a Capra movie, or a high-school civics class, well, that’s a problem, isn’t it?

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