Please Die in Exile, Mr. President
I send you this proposal as a private citizen of no particular consequence, and one of little interest to yourself in particular. I voted in California and Colorado and I lived in New Jersey for most of your administration, and it’s my understanding that you neither recognize blue-state residents as constituents nor as human beings (if you’re capable of recognizing anyone as either).
Likewise, I won’t claim to be someone you can trust as a source of counsel, because I hate you. You tried to steal this beautiful gift we were given by the sacrifice of countless generations and then poisoned it to cling to power. Your willful inaction has put up midsize-genocide numbers of unnecessary American deaths, and when you were in the midst of your own richly-deserved hospitalization, I was overjoyed at the prospect that you were going to die.
You have no reason to trust me, a liberal Democrat, and I have no reason to trust you, a treasonous international criminal and sociopath.
However, as you’ve made it clear that you’re willing to destroy the United States rather than admit you lost, it’s obvious that you see no way forward that could allow the rest of us to move on. Fortunately, I’ve thought of just such a negotiated solution, and I’m writing to offer you a compromise that will let both of us get what we want: me, the rebuilding of America, and you, to save your own considerable ass from ever once experiencing consequences.
Mr. President, I’m sincerely asking you to flee the United States of America.
Let’s lay out the simple facts of your situation: You are leaving office and will no longer have the shield of executive invincibility afforded by that OLC memo. You cannot stop the New York fraud prosecutions, and more importantly, you can’t stop them from breaking the seal on America’s taboo against prosecuting former officeholders. That means you will go to federal court for the obstruction charges at least.
And there has to be more, just going on all the crimes you’ve blatantly committed during your term. You’ve tap-danced all over the only bribery statute the President can actually violate, because you spent four years selling your office with evident pride. Though the likelihood of criminalizing the conduct of the presidency is low (for moral-hazard reasons) perhaps there’s enough paper to hang some negligent homicide charges on you for deliberately allowing 1 in 1,000 Americans to die as a messaging strategy. Ditto for the ethnic cleansing.
But that would be a reach. Your transparent and incessant pay-to-play corruption is bad enough, and thanks to your tax returns, we all know why you gave Teapot dome to anyone with a briefcase full of cash. You don’t have enough money to cover your own expenses or $400M in debt, let alone your legal bills. You can’t afford the re-filing of the Mueller Report as United States v. Trump, let alone the rest of the suits that will likely keep you in federal court for the rest of your life.
On the topic of the rest of your life: we both know there’s not much of it left. The public will find out soon enough why you went to Walter Reed last year (good luck arguing that Secret Service reports are covered by HIPAA) though your unsolicited insistence that you didn’t suffer “a series of mini strokes” gives us a clue. It’s hard to tell where your lifelong idiocy ends and your dementia begins — your speed addiction makes admittedly effective cover — but between your weird leans, somehow-still-worsening self-control, and inability to drink water, we both know that you are in wholesale neurological collapse.
So why would you spend the rest of your life powerless, defeated, and hunted, when you could live out your remaining summers as Russia’s greatest hero, and your remaining winters in palatial luxury on the shores of the Gulf or the Red Sea?
You know you can’t handle prison. Just in case that infinite well of self-delusion has you thinking you’ll be making Sunday gravy à la Goodfellas in your cell with all of your old Cosa Nostra pals, let me assure you that most of those guys are dead, and that American prisons are dangerous, disease-ridden shitholes in which you would be trapped primarily with those you’ve targeted. That means Mexican drug gangs, all those MS-13 and Muslim terrorists you cared about at one point, and a whole lot of Black dudes who — at the risk of indulging in a contemptible trope to trigger your most primal fear — will forgive a lot of other physical shortcomings for an ass that big.
Granted, I understand that dexamethasone may have made you gay enough to bring you around to the idea, but the environment will be inhospitable nonetheless. The Russians will want you silenced once you’re inside, and according to many of your supporters, they managed to kill Epstein pretty easily with the whole world watching. Why not you?
That brings me to the worst part, at least from your perspective: your only reliable source of protection will be the Aryan Brotherhood. Horror of horrors, you’ll be forced to interact with your mud-person supporters more directly than your staff has ever allowed. You’ll have to have conversations with people who are actually dumb enough to respect you, in close proximity to these white trash Nazis day and night, smelling their breath and seeing their methy little teeth. It will be your own personal hell.
However, it doesn’t have to go down like that. Your friends across the ocean are waiting to take you in their loving, journalist-murdering embrace.
You don’t have to plan out your escape at all, really — just call your pilot and tell him to gas up the plane — and you don’t even have to go through the trouble of resigning first. There’s a part of me that would actually prefer you took the chaotic evil route, if only for the right-wing emotional shock that would ensue. I feel a little guilty for the Secret Service agents who would be statutorily required to join you whether you’re still president or not, thus becoming hostages of the Russian Federation, but I doubt Vlad would be vindictive enough to hold them for more than 72 hours.
After all, Russia got four years of decapitated America out of the deal, and your Arab-Israeli buddies got the end of JCPOA and an isolated Iran. You’ve done the job they paid you to do, and your bosses will properly reward that. You’ll be put up in Dachas appointed with the finest hardwoods and sun-drenched palaces wrought from Carrara marble. Between Tsarist opulence and contemporary Islamist-potentate palace construction, you need never want for your beloved gold leaf again.
They’re well-appointed for your favorite pastimes, too. Dubai has some of the world’s most beautiful golf courses, and though your Arab patrons can’t give you the 72 virgins that they explicitly promised the 9/11 hijackers, Lord knows that crowd can put together a world-beating stable of trafficked Latvian 16 year-olds without any visible track marks.
Granted, there won’t be independent reporters for you to scrap with in Russia or Saudi, but you can still shit-talk Al Jazeera reporters —like yourself, they are also owned by Qatar — and you can let the foreign press come to you for some incoherent Frost-Nixon action. You can likewise host your dictator buddies and the many American visitors who make the pilgrimage to see their fallen hero. I feel confident that the Bonginos of the world will stand by you in the face of your overwhelming guilt, like the NXIVM chicks outside of Keith Raniere’s trial.
More important is that you and Ivanka (and possibly Jared) will be safe. Our existing military relationship with the Saudis will undoubtedly suffer if they give you the same deal as Idi Amin, but the situation will still be too complicated for a Spec Ops exfiltration mission to be possible. Unfortunately for Jarvanka, the inverse is true of Israel — they will never let any of you set foot there again — but you can be sure that Moscow’s Russian-Jewish Mafya community will welcome you all with open arms, just as they have since the mid-80’s. Mother Russia is a vast country with heavy air defenses that our special forces could not penetrate, so you should be safe there as well.
That’s not to say I would offer you any promise of safety, even if I could. As I said in the opening paragraph, I want you to die almost as much as I want the rule of law upheld. If you ever slip up and board the same sort of Red Sea pleasure yacht where the Arab half of this nightmare all began, it’s frogman time: the SEALS you presently command will be the last thing you see before the black bag goes over your head. All the same, our Operators and Special Forces are going to be pretty busy fighting a secret war against Russia that you surrendered four years ago, so I don’t think you have to worry about being too much of a priority.
I’m not asking you to do anything that goes against your nature. Quite the opposite. I’m asking you to run away from your problems and betray everyone who’s ever trusted you or worked with you in the past five years. I want you to treat the GOP like those contractors and investors in Atlantic City, sticking the whole miserable lot with all the financial, electoral, and moral cost of getting in bed with you. Like you always do.
Once you’re off American soil once and for all, you won’t have to care about the pain you’ll cause to any of the people who now worship you. Millions of Trump fans will doubtless be gripped with crippling shame after you come out as a traitor, especially your sons (who I assume you’re not bringing). You won’t have to listen to the agonized death wails of the GOP when everything they’ve built around you collapses on itself in an instant. You can maintain that you did nothing wrong, and chillax thousands of miles from the political carnage.
After all, it isn’t your fault you lost. It’s the Republican Party’s. To paraphrase your predecessor, the GOP failed you in the great racial struggle and therefore deserves to die for its weakness. Your soldiers are barely even fighting for you now. They’re allowing the democratic process to take hold and depriving you of the sweet nectar of the world’s constant attention. They deserve nothing from you, and they certainly don’t deserve any rallies in Georgia. By the way, if Mitch promises you non-prosecution in exchange for doing that, I just want to remind you that he is powerless to stop the DOJ whether he wins those elections or not.
No one can save you now. No one. The office can’t protect you anymore. There is no reason to keep us in this emotional prison after our sentence is ended. Stop trying to cling to power. Stop trying to fight inevitability. The walls are going to close in around you, so you should get out while you still can.
After all the harm you’ve done to this country, the least you could do is prove to the world that it was all a lie.