Now what?

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I woke up Nov. 9 to someone pounding on my door. I reached for my bathrobe, and ran downstairs only to find Uncle Nunzi holding my Daily News. He seemed agitated. “Oh, it’s you,” I said, rather ungraciously. “You were expecting Christine Flowers?” he replied.

I really was not in the mood for Uncle rubbing my face in last night’s Trump victory. But Uncle was not a Trump fan, and that was not his purpose. I think he wanted to make sure I didn’t have any sharp implements around me. I half-expected he would force me to give him my belt as well. Beneath his breath, Uncle muttered, “The spaccone won.” This morning was no time for bacon and eggs, so as Bob Dylan once sang, “We started out on burgundy and soon hit the harder stuff.” The “harder stuff,” in this instance, was a prune juice bottle filled with Uncle’s homemade wine, the kind of stuff you drink out of glasses that once held grape jelly.

As we sipped the wine, we started imagining the unimaginable. I began speculating what a Trump victory might mean — Rudy Giuliani as Attorney General wearing his Yankee cap with a smile that reminded you of the undead. Newt Gingrich, the crazy uncle that you were forced to invite every Sunday for dinner, as Secretary of State. Chris Christie as Secretary of Transportation manipulating traffic on I-95 every time he got peeved. Melania Trump as First Lady, Uncle added. “Well, maybe it’s not all bad,” I remarked. Uncle hit me with the rolled up copy of my Daily News. But Uncle smiled because my weak joke meant that his stoonad of a nephew would probably survive after all.

How did I feel, he wanted to know. I felt as if I were being forced to eat meatloaf during a chemotherapy treatment.

“How’s that for imagery,” I said. “You REALLY don’t like meatloaf, do you?” Uncle replied as he poured what must’ve been his fifth glass of that murky amber substance he called wine.

“This is really not getting us anyplace,” I said. Uncle asked if maybe it weren’t wise to take a nice trip somewhere. I began singing “Leaving On A Jet Plane,” the Peter, Paul and Mary version. Uncle reminded me that if I were thinking of going to Canada, they do make their own prosciutto there. Although he quickly added that it couldn’t compare to that which was imported from Parma. “That’s because they cure it with maple syrup,” I said. I was feeling snarky, not gracious in defeat. Canada was probably contemplating building a wall to keep out the Democrats.

I have this image of Donald Trump giving his inauguration speech, his orange hair blowing in the wind, while the crowd shouts, “Lock her up!” The Obamas are seated nearby, Michelle contemplating her victory garden being replaced by slot machines, Barack with his head buried in a barf bag.

Oh yes, the transition should really be something. When the Clinton staffers left the White House for George W. Bush and his family, they removed all the “Ws” from the typewriters (yes, they had typewriters back then). I have a feeling that the Obama staff might hang photos of Mark Cuban on the walls of the Lincoln bedroom.

As the new president, “The Donald,” as headline writers will likely refer to him, was going to have a few challenges ahead. He made so many promises about what he was going to do his first day in office that he wasn’t going to have time to go to the bathroom or discuss foreign affairs with Bobby Knight. The only question is just what will Trump do first? Rip up Obamacare? He can “liberate” millions of Americans (many of whom no doubt voted for him) from having medical insurance. Those 26-year-olds currently covered by their parents’ insurance can feel the new breath of freedom, too. No more coverage. And insurance companies can be unshackled by government bureaucracy long enough to reinstate pre-existing conditions.

(Trump thinking) Maybe I’ll first rip up the Iran Nuclear Treaty, the one that removed the threat of that country getting nuclear weapons in the next 15 years. I do have other choices on that first day. I can send out a notice that from now on NATO is obsolete or that our allies in Japan, Korea, and Germany should get their own nuclear bombs. But hey, what am I saying? The first order of business should be to build that big wall on the border and send Mexico the bill — “And don’t think you’re paying for it in pesos, my amigo.”

I don’t think I can make abortion illegal on that first day in office, but my Supreme Court appointments over the next four years can handle that for me. It might take me a week to renegotiate all our trade deals and shut down the flow of Chinese goods into this country. Hope that doesn’t close down Walmart. While I’m at it, I’ll impose a tax on egg rolls and wonton soup.

So much to do. Promises to keep. Where did I put my secret plan to defeat ISIS? I need to save some time to spy on all those mosques. Memo to myself — I’ve got to get Putin’s phone number.

Wow! I see that Vladimir’s already sent me roses. SPR

(Tom Cardella can be seen along with Paul Jolovitz on MONDAY NIGHT KICKOFF next Monday night at 6, streaming on wbcb1490)