There’s an old Yiddish insult: May you be like a chandelier — hung by day and burned by night…

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May you be like the fountain at the Bellagio — collecting spare change and regularly spraying liquid from multiple holes.

May you be like a college student on a gap year — broke and wandering aimlessly somewhere in Europe.

May you be like NBC after May 6, 2004 — not making any new Friends.

May you be like three extra-large Domino’s pan pizzas — Serving 15-20.

May you be like an Alaskan oil pipeline — cold and in the ground.

May you be like an argument rationalizing QAnon — incoherent and poked full of holes.

May you be like an overambitious contestant on The Great British Bake Off — in desperate need of more dough and ridiculed by Hollywood.

May you be like the heated blanket in my living room — in a chair with electricity running through you.

May you be like a misplaced library book — completely forgotten about and slammed with long overdue fees.

May you be like mixologists at trendy gastropubs — behind bars.

May you be like a Christmas tree — thrown out onto the street in January with all of your green quickly fading away.

May you be like a classic Disney movie — locked in a vault and unreleased for decades.

May you be like an American Express credit card — accepted few places and rapidly accruing debt.

May you be like mitochondria — doing intensive labor in a cell.

May you be like the McDonald’s McRib — here for a limited time only.

May you be like one of your sexual assault accusations — ignored by your base and hastily buried.

May you be like an HBO Max subscription — on trial and then canceled forever.

May you be like a Clemson football player — wearing orange and getting paid nothing.

May you be like the ‘u’ in ‘colour’ — silent and not in America.

May you be like a bleached bedsheet — hung out to dry and only fashionable at a KKK rally.

May you be like sour grapes — left hanging when Fox loses interest.

May you be like one of Darwin’s finches — eliminated by your competition and permanently prevented from tweeting.

May you be like a Blockbuster gift card — irrelevant and irredeemable.

May you be like a high school student trying to read Faulkner — struggling to make it to the end of an impossibly long sentence.

May you be like a bridesmaid at my hip sister’s wedding — doing lots of uncompensated work in an unflattering jumpsuit.

May your public presence be like your pandemic response — minimal and quickly discontinued.

May your family be like the Knicks — at a court in New York getting their asses handed to them.

May your enablers be like the vampires in What We Do In The Shadows — unable to look at themselves in the mirror, and not invited into anyone’s homes.

May your voter fraud lawsuits be like gas inside of Rudy Giuliani — mostly hot air, reeking of bullshit, and offending anyone listening when brought forward.

And may your 2024 campaign be like your Mexico border wall — a pointless endeavor that never really gets off the ground.