Boy did we mess up. This is what happens to one’s predictive abilities when one lives in a bubble. My bubble is a nice apartment 14 floors above 8th Ave in Manhattan’s tony Chelsea district, mixing only with over-educated like-minded limousine liberals, and ensconced in a political campaign where optimism is the only valid currency.

A fellow volunteer called on Tuesday night of the election, in hysterics, and asked me: “What are you thinking, David?”

“Well I keep thinking about the immigrants (legal like myself, and of all horrors: illegal), our gay friends, science, the horrible implications of all this for everyday Iranians, and the terror of millions of honorable, oppressed people living in countries darker than our own, whom we will abandon now we’re only with the strong.

I imagine Champagne bottles popping in the Kremlin and the Chinese politburo members quietly grinning. I mutter about “Hate Trumps Love,” “Trump Loves Hate,” or about gender and racial equality – soon to be nostalgic fantasies like jet packs or universal medical care. But foremost, I see the most dangerous man on earth being handed a business card with a few red numbers on it – the codes that can summon Armageddon: a real one, not a “Jesus” Armageddon. And the mind wanders to Brexit and Bradley effects, white suburban women, and my head spins. And, enraged, I feel like killing Nate Silver.”

I feel a very personal failing here: Did I not work hard enough at Clinton High Command in Brooklyn? Should I have volunteered more hours manning the phones? What about our ”Wonderful ground game?” Pursuant to The Cause, did I not write enough articles empowering more people to actually vote? Just last week I had one published to help confused voters at the last minute get affidavit ballots.

But I guess you can’t convert 60 million religious folks, many of whom voted for fetuses over foreigners. Did you see the incredible Evangelical vote for this un-Christian, indecent man? If your value system counts Creationism, virgin birth, and talking snakes as real things, I guess you can be taken in by a grifter. Is our country like those poor old folks conned out of their life savings by snazzy showy criminals? We’ve seen them on that program “American Greed.” Are half of us just chumps on a national scale? Maybe these are the disappointed ramblings of a young starry eyed optimist swept up in his first political campaign. But I’m 45.

Recently I wrote an article entitled “Comedian in Chief” about the comic appeal of President-elect Trump’s absurdity. At least that article will be prescient because amid the disaster, the sheer gallows humor of the next four years should be sickly hilarious. Our new Entertainment President won’t disappoint in the TV ratings –“believe me.”

I also wrote a futuristic parody of the fictional Trump Presidential Library & Casino being torn down after next year’s impeachment. Funny stuff, David, funny stuff.

That is what I told my fellow volunteer who called me Tuesday night. I kept talking, but she had hung up the phone.