I hear there are some last-minute changes in the way President Trump will leave Washington tomorrow morning.
It turns out Air Force One won’t be available until 1 p.m., when Trump will no longer be president. Since Trump wanted the pomp and ceremony of leaving when he was still in office, he was given two choices.
First, a half-dozen Secret Service agents would drive them to Florida in six clown cars not being used by the circus. The caravan would be called Car Force One, and driving around the clock could probably get them to Florida early on Friday.
Trump probably won’t like that option, especially since he would be required to wear clown makeup, big floppy shoes and a bulbous red nose.
The second option would pay homage to American tradition. Call it Train Force One. Of course the schedule as it is has no passenger train heading where he was headed in a timely fashion. So he would honor tradition more and the Secret Service would load him into an empty boxcar.
They would call him Boxcar Trumpie, but he probably wouldn’t go for that either.
If he insisted on flying, I believe pilot Tyler Fitzgerald would be available with his own small plane.
Of course he probably wouldn’t be sober, so co-pilot Buddy Hackett might have to take the controls.
I don’t think Trump would like that, and I’m pretty sure hitchhiking is out of the question. He might get picked up by John Candy and Steve Martin.
So with all those options gone, it looks like Trump and his family will head down to Union Station, where there are more than just trains. Washington’s Greyhound Bus Terminal recently relocated there, and even though riding the bus is no longer considered cool, the Big Grey Dog was a major form of middle-class travel from the ’30s to the ’60s.
Trump might be as unfamiliar with bus travel as the Jeffrey Jones character was in “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.” Of course it isn’t all bad. If Donnie is lucky, someone will offer him gummi bears that are warm and soft from being in her pocket.
If you look at Trump’s age and his real weight, you might figure he would have an enlarged prostate. That’s no fun on a bus trip to South Florida, but he could arrange for a seat at the back across from the toilet. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but he’d likely get to his destination.
Which would definitely leave him better off than Ratso Rizzo.
At this point, getting out alive might be the best he can hope for.
A lot of us were hoping for the same thing.
For ourselves.