When the Wicked Witch of the East died after a tornado dropped Dorothy’s house on her, the Munchkins burst out singing in jubilation:

“Ding-dong, the wicked witch is dead,

Wake up, you sleepy head, rub your eyes, get out of bed,

Wake up, the wicked witch is dead!”

When the decrepit and demented wannabe King, Donald Trump, finally dies, shouts of relief and songs of celebration will sound throughout America.

The Wicked Witch of the East instituted a reign of terror in Oz, she tortured her slaves, the Munchkins. Trump has presided over a reign of incompetence, corruption, and authoritarianism, he has demonized the LGBTQ community, terrorized immigrants, prosecuted his political enemies and ignored the concerns and needs of the poor.

Rumors have flooded social media that Trump is dead.  The spotlight-loving narcissist who holds press conferences and delivers speeches on an almost daily basis has not been seen in public for two days, naturally everyone is praying and hoping that he has croaked.

Vice President JD Vance, in trying to quash the rumors, only made it worse, insisting he is ready to take the top job in case of a “terrible tragedy.”

I am fervently praying that Trump’s cankles, bruised hands, unsteady gait, incoherent speech and morbid obesity means that the Grim Reaper has finally caught up with him.

I can’t wait to sing:

Ding-dong, the orange buffoon is dead,

Wake up, you sleepy head, rub your eyes, get out of bed,

Wake up, Donald Trump is dead.