When it was reported last night that Air Force One, en route to Switzerland, had unexpectedly turned back to the U.S., some of us experienced some… um… irrational exuberance.

The internet was abuzz with an entirely premature and, as it turned out, unfounded giddiness. I was already mentally inventorying my refrigerator, trying to remember if we had a bottle of bubbly on chill for the glorious day the Stark Fist of Removal comes for you-know-who.

We don’t, and we really should. I’d love to have a specially branded bottle of Champagne on hand for the occasion, maybe showing That Fucking Guy dancing in the flames as Satan (the South Park version) prods him with a pitchfork. There’s a business opportunity there for somebody in the beverage line.

Which reminds me, today I happened to see the cover of Wish You Were Here, and doesn’t the guy on fire look just a little like a younger, sharper version of Whatshisname?

Well… possibly seeing him there is a sign of derangement, and possibly the 5–10 minutes of unmitigated joy I felt last night indicate a deep inner disturbance. I’m going to go ponder these matters and maybe go for a nice healthy walk. I want to be here when the great day finally comes.