Christmas is over.
The trees are gone.
The lights are stashed.
And hundreds of thousands of Elves on the Shelves have been returned to their boxes, glumly reduced to the shadows of a musty garage.
But there is hope.
I bring you … Con in the John.
Or, put differently: About a year ago someone presented us with the gag gifts of a Donald Trump mug, Donald Trump toilet paper, a Donald Trump squeeze head and (yes) a Donald Trump bobble head. And, interestingly, I love bobble heads. My house is home to several, including a Ron Kittle bobble, a Chris Mullin bobble, a Jackie Robinson bobble. But, lord, I detest the 45th president. And after a year of placing him in odd spots, positioning him atop the plates of unsuspecting dinner guests, moving him left and right, up and down, well, I decided he needed a new home.
So this morning I stashed him in my bag, brought him to the nearby Corner Bakery and positioned him in his proper place—atop a urinal.
What happens next, in the words of Jerry Falwell, Jr., is God’s plan.
[Or the guy who cleans the bathroom every few hours. Who, were he a government employee, would likely be home not getting paid right now.]