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I first began to suspect that they were onto me when I was headed toward the pizza parlor, to molest and slice up another baby. One of us had kidnapped it from a gas station as its mother, a suburban troll with a TRUMP/PENCE bumper sticker on her Taurus, disappeared inside the store, leaving the snotty brat in its baby seat. My colleague, (name deleted), snatched the baby and by the time the mother knew her spawn was gone, (deleted) had long disappeared. He brought the baby to a safe house whose lease was paid for by one of our mentors, John Podesta, whose wealthy funders include George Soros.

Now, you have to understand we’d been gathering in an underground bunker of this pizza parlor for years, ever since Huma Abedin had that tutorial (in the Spring of 2016) where we learned about Muslim techniques of throat slicing. Huma, a vegetarian, insisted that eating the flesh of Republican babies was not a violation of veganism, but a symbol of worship for “Him” whose name shall not be uttered. (“He” is also the one who sent Obama here, to plunder souls and wreak havoc). We certainly had plenty of babies to use; we imported them (under Chuck Schumer’s guidance) from overseas, and sold them to predators. But we always kept the best for ourselves. Huma, a nice lady who would not have countenanced pedophilia, nonetheless was compelled to step aside when Hillary took over. Hillary and her consort, Bill, were both long practiced in the black arts of pedophilia, and, as events proved, necrophilia.

I was then merely a student in the local community college, looking for thrills. I had flirted with the Dark Side as most students do—you know, drunken seances, Tetragrammatons, Aleister Crowley, that sort of thing. But not really. Only because the boy I liked to have sex with was into it. Me, personally? I thought it was kind of stupid. But then (deleted) started explaining certain phenomena to me, and when the pieces began falling into place, it all made sense.

We met in a secret underground chamber in the pizza parlor accessible only through a broom closet, and you had to know exactly which items to move, in certain precise ways, in order for the broom closet—which was actually suspended in a shaft on elevator cables—to lower itself to our stygian gatheringplace. I cannot even now reveal all the details, but they involved, not only the aforementioned broom, but a bucket, a container of Lysol, and a toilet plunger. Then, a 15-second downward journey, and you opened the door to see—

Well, at first it puzzled me. An all-metal room, of a silver-grey hue, dull rather than shiny. Sinks and aluminum tables set around the four walls. Pipes everywhere. There were drainholes in the concrete floor, and air ducts overhead. The lights, which were phosphorescent, crackled and buzzed, and provided a weird, cold glow. In the center of the chamber, an altar of sorts, also of metal, about three feet high, upon which the unfortunate babies were laid to rest, in preparation for what was to follow. Below the altar, drainage ditches to capture the spillage.

And the photos! All around the walls, photographs of our leaders: Hillary. Soros. Obama. Rahm Emanuel. Joe Biden. Sean Penn. Certain Rothschilds. They had been portrayed in such a way that their eyes seemed to follow you wherever you went, which added to the sense of mystical eerieness. It took me a while to grasp the enormity of what we were doing, which was no less than this: to take over the world. To overthrow all religions, all family values, all norms of decency—God himself–and replace them with “His” perverted evil. Who, precisely, “He” was, was never entirely clear to me, although there were rumors it was Paul Begala. But I never doubted that I served Him, through his vessel on Earth, the Democratic Party.

But now, after dozens of rituals performed in our secret necropolis in the bowels of the pizza parlor, there was this sudden, frightful feeling that “they” were onto me. Who were “they”? That was the problem. We knew we had enemies. Our chief protagonist, obviously enough, was Donald J. Trump. He himself had followers, millions of them, white and often obese men and women who fancied themselves patriots, who open-carried their guns, assaulted homosexuals, spat on Muslims and, occasionally, set fire to mosques and synagogues, or tried to assassinate Democratic politicians. But we weren’t really afraid of them. We thought they were morons, until recently, when the threat level rose exponentially.

Our Facebook and Twitter feeds were hacked. Our personal computers were held for ransom. Once, I was routinely surfing the web for porn, when the screen went black and a message appeared: WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE, LIBERAL SNOWFLAKE. Then the phantom words went away as swiftly as they had come, and all was back to normal. Except…it wasn’t.

We soon discovered who “they” were: QAnon. A self-appointed vigilante group, led indirectly by Trump, of course, but more directly by his henchmen: Steve Bannon, Stephen Miller, and, naturally, the spider at the center of all those rightwing webs, Jared Kushner. One day, we were summoned to a group meeting via ZOOM (the pandemic preventing us from gathering in person). Hillary coordinated the meeting. Dressed in a black, head-covering cowl, she informed us we were in mortal peril. These Q-people meant business. They did not hesitate to kill. They aimed at nothing less than eliminating us—all of us, to a woman and a man—and forming a Christian, male-dominated, authoritarian, fascist autocracy in America, under the direction of Trump and his children. We should be very careful, Hillary explained; it was probably best to temporarily halt the baby eating. We should stay away from the pizza parlor, which was thought to be under surveillance by conservative militiamen. We might want to consider increased security measures in our homes.

That night, the night I was aware of being followed, I hid in the bushes at the edge of the parking lot where the pizza parlor was. I was determined to catch my stalker, and, if possible, eliminate him (I assumed it was a male). In my hand I held a kitchen knife. It was dark, with a new Moon. A fine mist moistened the cool air. A black SUV pulled into the parking lot, noiselessly, and parked. Inside its darkened windows I saw the brief point of an orange glow: someone lit up a cigarette, or maybe a joint. The door of the SUV slid open. I saw a booted leg come out, then a second, and then the dark outline of a person in a black uniform. The person looked to the left, to the right, and drew on his cigarette, making the tip glow in the night. Then the person walked slowly toward the pizza parlor. I heard his boots clip-clop on the pavement. I gripped my knife more tightly. He came within ten feet of me. I decided to act. Springing from my bush, holding the knife high over my head, I took two steps toward the phantom, intent on plunging the blade into the back of his neck, when I heard a loud sound. Then I felt a stinging heat in my ribs. That was the last thing I remember, before waking up in this bed, from which I now confess to you, Tucker Carlson, my crime.

A Monday Morning in Hell


SCENE: A fiery cave. Flames lick the walls; the floor flows with molten lava gurgling from mud holes. In the deep interior the red-orange of a blast furnace flickers and crackles. Upstage left is a kingly throne of fire. In it sits the Lord of Hell, Beelzebub, Moloch the Cruel, Set the Voracious, Satan himself, in a cloud of buzzing flies. A gong sounds. From Stage Right a figure emerges, crawling on its belly, prostrate as a servant: the Rev. Jerry Falwell, his face crepuscular with waxen jowls dripping and steaming.

Falwell: My Lord, oh King of Evil, Thee to whom I pledge my faithful allegiance, You have a visitor!

Satan: Who presumes to call upon the Lord of Darkness?

Falwell: A spirit-visitor from the Earthen World, my Lord: Amy Coney Barrett!

Satan: Bade her enter.

(Falwell crawls backwards in respectful retreat. From the shadows emerges a familiar face. It is herself, the Bonded Wife of the People of Praise, imminently to be an Associate Justice of the United States Supreme Court: Amy Coney Barrett.)

Amy: My Lord. (She curtsies.)

Satan: I had a feeling We would be seeing you soon. What brings you to Hell, My protegé?

Amy: I just wanted to let You know, Lord, that I will do Your bidding, now and forever. Please let me know what You would have me decide in any given case.

Satan: That’s My girl! You have not forgotten Our deal.

Amy: No, Sire of Sin. That night in South Bend when You appeared to me from a dumpster as I walked my dog. I was so startled! But You comforted me.

Satan: (grinning) I remember. I was in the form of Michael Pence.

Amy: Yes, Lord. You were naked, and flames shot from Your nostrils, and You reeked of burnt garlic and sulfur.

Satan: My favorite scent. I must bottle it one of these days.

Amy: You asked what my deepest desire was. And I told You—

Satan: –You told Me it was to be on the Supreme Court!

Amy: Yes, my Prince of Foulness. And You told me—

Satan: –I told you it could be very easily done, in exchange for—

Amy: –My soul!

(Both laugh evilly.)

Amy: And that very night, You took me bodily into the Anus of Hell, and introduced me to all of Your Little Devils, and we made obscene chants and did things which I have yet to confess to my master, my husband, and I gave You my soul.

Satan: Yes. I never fail to get a kick when I take possession of a new soul. I’ve done it so many times: Hitler, Attila the Hun, Richard Nixon, Devin Nunes, James Woods. But I must confess, my dear, that when your soul passed into My ownership, I experienced something I never felt before.

Amy: Pleasure, my lord?

Satan: No. A sudden craving for ice cream, something I normally detest. Anyhow, I’m glad you felt the need to reassure Me that you will do My bidding.

Amy: Anything, Satan. Anytime, anywhere. You just call and I’ll be there.

Satan: Well, of course, you’ll start by overturning Obamacare.

Amy: (bows) Of course, My God of Corruption.

Satan: I hate Obamacare! All those people who get their lives extended because they have healthcare insurance, it’s all very abhorrent to Me. I don’t want people to live, I want them to die, so they’ll come here to Hell and be My slaves!

Amy: As You desire, Sire.

Satan: And then, as soon as you can, you’ll overturn that damned gay marriage thing.

Amy: (eyes suddenly huge bright orbs flaring lightning) Yes!

Satan: I hope I’m not speaking out of class, but I made the same deal with some of your colleagues: Rick Santorum, Mike Pence, Clarence Thomas, Matt Gaetz, Lindsay Graham.

Amy: I did not know that, Lord of Lies.

Satan: Oh, yes. I tried to get Pope Francis to sell me his soul, but he told Me he got to the Papacy on his own and didn’t need Me. To tell you the truth, I think he’s gay.

Amy: Oh, yes, My Darkness, I believe that too. Pope Francis is (she drops her voice to a hiss) a liberal!

Satan: Yes, a tree hugger. Well, we’ll see what he hugs when I’ve destroyed all the trees through deforestation and beetles!

Amy: May it come to pass soon! And there’s one other thing You asked me for, Oh Prince of Hatefulness.

Satan: What is that?

Amy: To overturn Roe v. Wade.

Satan: I’d almost forgotten! Yes, we must force these women to have their unwanted babies.

Amy: I promised President Trump I would.

Satan: You don’t say? Now there’s one of My successes.

Amy: Tell me about it, Oh Father of Flatulence!

Satan: I’ve been nurturing him since his childhood. He has always known what his task was: to serve Me and to spread My darkness. Such a good pupil, so willing to learn, to hurt, to destroy. In a way, My very greatest achievement. Of course, he hasn’t yet murdered as many people as dear old Adolf—

Amy: Not yet, Dear Leader of Lamentations.

Satan: A good observation! But give him time. I’m very proud of how far Donald has come. And, of course, even if he dies, I have Ivanka and Donald, Jr. and Jared. They sold their souls to me, in a Satanic Ritual we held in a bathroom at Trump Tower. I’m even thinking of making Ivanka one of my Devil Queens when she comes to live here.

Amy: Oh, Beloved Sperm of Sorrow, I would love to be one of Your Devil Queens!

Satan: (arching an eyebrow) Well, you’re not really my type. But we’ll see! Anyhow, I have a long list of appointments—the Senate Republican caucus is waiting in My anteroom—so I’ll let you go. But thanks for stopping by!

Amy: All hail Satan! (She bows down and exits backwards, as the flies swarm after her. Rev. Falwell re-enters.)

Falwell: Lord, I present to Thee the Republican caucus, led by Senator McConnell!

McConnell: Hello, Mr. Satan. It’s a pleasure to see You again. We haven’t chatted since the Merrick Garland affair.


3 years, 258 days and 22 hours of the Clown Show


At 7:58 a.m. this morning (Monday, Oct. 5), President Trump’s personal physician, Dr. Sean Conley, released the following statement: “The President took a turn for the worse overnight. Shortly after midnight, hospital personnel noticed that his blood pressure had dropped precipitously. Entering the Presidential Suite to examine him, they found the President unresponsive, and his breathing was sterterous. Emergency nurses immediately initiated cardiopulmonary resuscitation.”

Through my contacts, I’ve been able to piece together the following: When CPR failed to work, the heart stimulant, Midodrine, was injected directly into Trump’s ventricular chamber. This caused the President to spasm, resulting in an attack of severe hypertension. As a result, emergency doctors injected Insulin into the opposite chamber. Within seconds, the President’s eyes opened and were bulging. His blood pressure began to soar, and when it reached 220 over 150, physicians became concerned about new strains on his heart. A quick conference was held by his bedside, with some physicians wanting to administer a massive dose of the angiotensin-converting enzyme (ACE) inhibitor Lisinopril, while others warned that to do so could cause dangerously low blood pressure, which would threaten his breathing and cause other organs, such as the kidneys and erectile function, to fail. When physicians were unable to reach a consensus, the President’s children, Donald Jr., Eric and Ivanka, were called in. The doctors explained that they were deadlocked, and that the President’s children would have to make the decision, since the President’s wife, Melania, was in quarantine and in a medically-induced coma.

Eric and Ivanka wanted the Lisinopril immediately administered, but Donald Jr. refused. Claiming that he was “the Trump in charge,” he insisted that his father be administered a cocktail of hydrochloroquine, bleach and Adderall. All of the attending physicians were appalled, with one, Dr. Rand Romney, stating that to do so would “be the equivalent of a bullet through his brain.” At this, all three of the President’s children accused Dr. Romney of making a death threat against the President. The Secret Service immediately took Dr. Romney into custody.

Meanwhile, the President continued to decline. Nobody knew what to do. Then Ivanka came up with an idea. What if one of the President’s favorite prostitutes, Kellyanne Floozy, was brought in to stimulate him? The Secret Service said they knew exactly where to find Ms. Floozy, since they frequently smuggled her in to see the President at Mar-a-Lago, Bedminster and the White House whenever FLOTUS was absent. She was at her favorite bar. Within 20 minutes, Ms. Floozy arrived at Walter Reed where, amidst the kind of secrecy normally reserved for events of the highest national security, she was brought to the Presidential Suite. Ms. Floozy then entered the President’s king-size bed.

At first there was no response. But then, as Ms. Floozy began to administer her special talents, the President showed signs of revival. At that very moment, a new visitor arrived to see the President: Supreme Court nominee Amy Coney-Barrett. Entering his Suite, she quickly evaluated the scene before her: the President’s children, the doctors, the Secret Service, and, in the bed, her mentor, President Trump, unconscious but showing certain unmistakable signs of physical arousal, and the beautiful Ms. Floozy, attired in flimsy bright red negligée.

This offended Judge Coney-Barrett’s Christian sensibilities. She tried to pull Ms. Floozy out of the President’s bed, screaming “Adultery is an abomination!” The Secret Service tackled Judge Coney-Barrett. The President’s children became involved in the melée, and so did the doctors. The scene resembled something from a Marx Brothers comedy. Fists were flying, expletives uttered, people tried to strangle each other. Then Bill Barr, his hairy bear body naked and sweaty, entered and said, “The career professionals at Justice have asked me to give you this,” and he took a gigantic dump on Trump’s face.

“He’d prefer peepee from a Russian ho,” Ivanka noted, as everyone threw up.

Suddenly, the door flew open. It was Lyin’ Ted Cruz and Lindsay Graham. Teddy was dressed head-to-toe in black leather, which tended to minimize his enormous ass and overfed stomach. Graham came as her drag persona, Auntie Lindsay. In fishnet stockings, a pink tutu and a fluffy feather boa, she looked fierce and yet luridly hideous. The fighting stopped and the crowd parted as Teddy and Auntie Lindsay crawled into Trump’s bed. Auntie Lindsay grabbed Judge Coney-Barrett’s wrist and whispered in her soft southern drawl, “Try it, honey, you’ll like it.” Judge Coney-Barrett said she had to ask her husband, Jesse, if it was all right for her to have a sexual orgy with an unconscious man, a transsexual and a sadomasochistic leather queen. She called Jesse; the two had a brief conversation, and Coney-Barrett said, “Jesse would like to join us. He’ll be here in five minutes.”

Soon, the Presidential Suite was the scene of the wildest orgy Washington had seen since the Kennedy administration. People came and went by the hundreds. All sorts of things went down. Mitch McConnell was seen cavorting with Stephen Miller, while Betsy DeVos was doing something unmentionable with a German Shepherd and Susan Collins. Meanwhile, in the midst of the craziness, Trump died. Nobody noticed; they were having too much fun. When Coney-Barrett learned she’d performed a sex act upon a dead man—necrophilia—she had a nervous breakdown and withdrew her name from consideration to the Supreme Court. But Mike Pence, who on Trump’s demise became President, convinced her that Jesus wanted her on the Court. Getting down on their knees, he administered the Oath of Office to Coney-Barrett, as everybody sang The Donald Trump Song:

Clear the streets for the Proud Boys,
Clear the streets for the neo-nazi division!
  Millions are looking upon MAGA hats full of hope,
The day of freedom and of revenge dawns!

                                                                        (translation from the German)

At that point, Kayleigh McEnany came rushing in. “Sorry I’m late, guys. Did I miss anything?”

From the Personal Diary of Donald John Trump


To be honest, Dear Diary—and you know I always am—I don’t see where in the Constitution it says we have to have elections. I mean, I’ve read through the whole damn thing—well, most of it anyway—well, a lot of it—and I haven’t seen a single place where it says, “You have to have elections.” It’s an option, at best. And we all know that during national emergencies in the past, elections were canceled. Didn’t Abe Lincoln cancel the election? And FDR? Well, we’re in a national emergency now, right? With Biden’s emails proving he took money from Lukashenko and sold America out. Why the hell doesn’t the “paper of record,” the failing New York Times, report on that? Because they’re too busy with fake news about me.

Anyway, I love freaking everybody out by saying I might not have an orderly transition. Everybody’s so jumpy! Relax, people. Where’s your sense of humor? These Democrats are so serious all the time. “Oh, we need healthcare for everybody.” No you don’t! We already have too many poor people in this country. They’re everywhere. I see them sometimes when I’m traveling with my Secret Service detail. You can always tell a poor person. They’re so unkempt. Melania hates them. She spends hours every day trying to look her best, with her makeup and her hair and her fashion and accessories. She’s always saying, “Donald, I am the First Lady. I have to look gorgeous all the time.” Why can’t these poor people take the time to look good? Besides, they don’t pay taxes, most of them. They’re takers, not givers. Romney had it right about the 47%. He’s such a jerk, that Mittster. I can’t stand people like that. One of these days he’s gonna get what’s coming to him. In my second term, I’ll—

Well, they’ll find out. Election, shmelection, as Jared might say. Great kid. He’s as ruthless as me. Maybe more so. Ivanka chose well. I don’t know which one of them should succeed me. Maybe it should be Junior. Well, we have some time before I make that choice. We’ve been meeting, me and the family and Barr, planning our strategy. We can’t lose, let me tell you that. I’m not sure exactly how we’ll pull it off, but we have decision trees that include every possibility. There’s no way, repeat, no way I won’t be sworn in next Jan. 20. Maybe I’ll win outright, although my advisors tell me that’s unlikely. But I’ll definitely win the in-person ballots and there’s no way we’re going to allow mail-in ballots to count. Look at what just happened in Pennsylvania! The U.S. Attorney there, Freed, did exactly what he was supposed to do. I remember when I met with him to interview him for the appointment. He was so ambitious. I said, “Freed, I’m gonna appoint you on one condition: you owe me a favor. I don’t know when I’ll need it, but I will. And I’ll expect you to be there for me.” And he said, “Mr. President, you can count on me. For anything. Anything.” And it came a little sooner than either of us thought. Good boy, Freed.

And even if some mail-in ballots survive the onslaught of lawsuits we’ll throw at them, I still own the Electoral College. When they meet on Dec. 6, guess who’s gonna constitute 75% at least of them? Trump supporters, that’s who. I don’t give a fuck what the popular vote is in Wisconsin or Pennsylvania or Florida or Arizona or Michigan or anyplace else. I’m winning all those states. You heard it here, Dear Diary. Besides, by then, I’ll have my new nominee on SCOTUS. That gives me six guaranteed votes. If this stupid election lands up there, my Justices will see to it that I’m elected. And Democrats can just go shove their heads up their rear ends.

It’s good to be President, Dear Diary. So much power. And who knew that the Constitution is so easily manipulated? I can’t believe how previous Presidents failed to take advantage of its loopholes. Nixon should never have given up in 1960. Reagan came close to ignoring it, but in the end he was too timid, too cautious. Not me! Timidity is for losers. Fortune favors the bold. People say I cozy up to dictators. Well, hell yeah! Why not? Dictators are winners! And I’ve said it before, Donald J. Trump is not a loser. I don’t lose. Ever. I do what it takes to win, and if a fucking piece of paper, the Constitution, gets in the way, I tear it up and throw it in the garbage. And what the hell is anyone gonna do about it? The Senate Democrats? Don’t make me laugh. Pathetic Nancy “Pantsuit” Pelosi? I don’t think so. Biden? I’ll shred him next Tuesday, you’ll see. Sleepy Joe is gonna be Sloppy Joe when I get through with him. I’ve got shit on Hunter he won’t believe.

Well, gotta go. I’m playing golf with Tom Selleck and Lindsay. I love that Lindsay. My FBI got some nice little photos of him with another guy. Everybody’s always asking, “Why did Lindsay Graham get so tight with Trump?” Well, that’s why. He does my bidding, the same way I do Putin’s, and for the same reason: Vladimir’s got that videotape of me with the prostitutes in Moscow. Well, that’s okay. I understand how the game is played. This is the big time, not tiddlywinks. Donald J. Trump plays for the highest stakes in the world. And he wins.

Live on Election Night, from MSNBC


(MSNBC reports live on the election results with Rachel Maddow, Joy Reid, Nicolle Wallace and Steve Kornacki at the Big Board)

11:42 p.m.

RM: We’re getting important results right now. Let’s turn it over to Steve Kornacki. Steve?

SK: Rachel, this may be the most stunning call we’ve ever made here at NBC. We’re now projecting that Joe Biden has won the state of Texas and its 38 electoral votes. With 68% of the votes now tabulated, Biden leads Trump by 53.3% to 46.2%. If this projection holds—and we believe it will—it’s the first time since 1976 that the Democratic Presidential candidate has carried the Lone Star State, and an indication of just how fed up voters are with Donald Trump.

RM: Wow. Nicolle, what are you thinking?

NW: I’m keeping my eyes on Maine. Steve, any results there?

SK: Funny you should ask, Nicolle. The Associated Press is calling Maine for the Democratic senatorial candidate, Sara Gideon, which would mean longtime Republican Senator Susan Collins is out after 23 years. NBC News can’t confirm this just yet. Our analysts are working it.

Joy Reid: Well, if Collins is out, it’s hardly surprising. She’s been struggling in Maine for years for what I’d call her slavish devotion to Trump.

RM: Hold on a minute. I’m told—I’m told [tries to listen to her headphone] – we’re getting – let’s go back to Steve at the Big Board.

SK: Rachel, I can now report than NBC News is calling Pennsylvania, Michigan and Wisconsin for Joe Biden. The results all look like landslides. Look at this: in Wisconsin, which Trump won in 2016 by less than one percent, Biden is slaughtering the president, with almost 58% of the vote now counted. That gives Biden ten more electoral votes. Let me switch over to Michigan—if I can get this thing to work—oh, okay, there we go. NBC News is calling Michigan’s 16 electoral votes for Joe Biden. What’s interesting here, Rachel, is the suburban vote, which went for Trump by 8 points in 2016. This time around, they’ve flipped almost completely: for instance, the suburbs of Lansing went to Biden by nearly 40,000 votes, out of 70,000 cast. And wait for this—the big enchilada, Pennsylvania. With 20 electoral votes, we’re now calling it a Biden victory, and it’s not even close. Look at this—the former Vice President ahead by nearly a million votes.

JR: What’s the latest total electoral vote, Steve?

SK: Right, let’s switch over. Here we go. Keep in mind, these are the states we’ve already called. It’s Biden 186, Trump 74. But look at this. So Biden needs 84 more electoral votes to put him over the top. Where are they likely to come from? Well, now, all eyes are turning to Ohio, Texas, Georgia, Nevada and, obviously, Florida. But we don’t have anything yet. Back to you guys.

NW: This could be a long night.

JR: Lucky we have our coffee machine [all laugh].

RM: If it is a Biden blowout, then we’re going to be talking about the demise of Trumpism starting tomorrow morning.

JR: And possibly the demise of the Republican Party.

NW: It’s true. They put all their chips on Trump, and it’s beginning to look like they bet on the wrong guy.

RM: Sorry to interrupt, Nicolle. Another call. Steve?

SK: Another stunner, Rachel. Who would have believed this just a few weeks ago? Mitch McConnell, the Darth Vader of the Senate, the Republican Majority Leader, has been defeated in his bid for re-election to the seat he’s held since 1984. NBC News is calling Kentucky for the Democrat, Amy McGrath. This is a real mindblower, guys. Hang on a minute—we’re getting calls in fast and furious now—I’m trying to keep up—what? Okay, we have another Senate call, this time from Colorado, where NBC News is projecting the Democrat, John Hickenlooper, has defeated incumbent Cory Gardner in a lopsided race, 54.5% to 44.3%. This is a huge Democratic pickup.

NW: Steve, how many seats do the Democrats need to regain control of the Senate?

SK: Well, if they can pick off four Republicans and hang onto their 45 seats, plus the two independents who usually vote with them, they’ll take control. We’ve already called Maine and Colorado for the Democrats, so they’d need two. But the Democrat in Alabama, is in trouble. He’s currently trailing his Republican opponent by about 2 points. So the outcome for control of the Senate is in doubt.

JR: If Jones loses, then Democrats need to take three more states. Which ones are likely?

SK: Well, Arizona, obviously, where the incumbent, McSally, is in a tight race with the former astronaut Mark Kelly. And then you have North Carolina, whose Republican incumbent, Thom Tillis, is currently trailing Cal Cunningham, although by a razor-thin margin. And finally there’s Steve Daines in Montana, in a neck-and-neck race with his very popular Democratic challenger, Gov. Steve Bullock. If Arizona, North Carolina and Montana flip, then we’re going to be talking about Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer. But of course if Jones holds on in Alabama, then the Dems only need to take two of those states.

RM: Ladies, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for another espresso!

Nov. 4, 12:46 a.m.

RM: We’re still here. It now looks very much like control of the U.S. Senate will pass to the Democrats, who also have increased their majority in the House of Representatives from 232 to at least 248, for an absolute majority. But we’re still waiting for the presidential results.

NW: I can hardly believe Trump can pull this off. All the signs point to a Biden victory.

JR: Well, it ain’t over ‘til it’s over, right? Oh, wait a minute—this is huge—a big, big announcement. Let’s throw it over to Steve at the Big Board.

SK: This is the one we’ve been waiting for. NBC News is now projecting that the winner of the 2020 Presidential race is the Democrat, Joseph R. Biden, Jr. With Florida’s 29 electoral votes, his total now sits at 292, 22 more than the 270 required to win. And we still don’t know the results from seven other states all of which Biden is leading in. So we’re now announcing that America has elected its 46th President, Joseph Biden. He’ll be the oldest person ever elected President.

JR: Wow.

RM: Ditto that.

NW: This is an historic moment, guys. Let’s just take a moment to let it sink in.


RM: I’m reading this off a note my producer just handed me. President Trump just tweeted that the election, quote, “has been illegitimized by massive voter fraud, with the help of Chinese hackers. Your president—me—is not going to allow this travesty to be imposed on the American people.” Guys, it looks like what we’ve been talking about and worrying about for months may be in the process of happening: Trump refusing to recognize the results of the election.

JR: Now what?

NW: I think we’re going to find out soon enough…

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