enter sandman

Donald Trump has finally been sworn in as President of the United States of America.
For two months since his electoral victory last November. I have enjoyed seeing bedraggled flocks of Irish Times reading liberals and leftists wandering around the internet and the streets looking like the sky just fell on them.
It's a rum feeling of enjoyment because unfortunately I happen to share their concern that Mr Trump is not fit for office.
Okay.
Let's be clear.
I do agree with Mr Trump's stated policies on the necessity of reestablishing our borders, enforcing immigration law, deporting gang bangers, preventing Muslims from mass migrating to our countries at a time of worldwide Muslim terror war against humanity, and making it clear to the corporate business community that businessmen need to provide jobs at home and not overseas if they expect to live among us.
I have no problem with any of those policies.
They are in the best sense of an old fashioned phrase, the bleedin obvious.
My seismic reservations about Mr Trump stem from: his links to the Cosa Nostra Mafia; the illusory nature of his personal fortune; his constant increasingly juvenile and unstable vilification of political opponents; and the manner of his election victory itself which was in my assessment, a Russian government smash and grab on American democracy and on the world.
I don't think Mr Trump won it.
Look at me tonight bold readers.
I am like the old British politician Enoch Powell, disporting myself an antique Roman gazing on the Tiber and seeing it flecked with blood.