Antonin Scalia has fallen. Many liberals are cheering. I am not.
If you offer up Donald Trump as the heir to the arch-nemesis throne, I will laugh in your face. Trump is a semisentient honey badger we startled out of his decades-long nap when we opened the lid of his tanning bed, where he lay dozing on a dimly understood copy of Atlas Shrugged. If history remembers him at all, it will be as the air-horn blast triggering the cultural avalanche that sends us plummeting into the Idiocracy-style dystopia we deserve. The rest of the pandering clown-car passengers that spill out onto the GOP debate stage don’t even warrant mention.
