I really really want Trump to live the rest of his life in constant fear and paranoia, never able to enjoy the things that he loves, isolated from the world and starving for the adulation of the people who will quickly forget him in the prison of his own making as he taps away at his phone on his own little social media bubble, grasping at being relevant again until the day he dies of natural causes and the nation lets out a wet fart of false sympathy and lowers the flags to half staff for the day while the news media puffs him up one last time before they, too, stop giving a shit and we close this chapter of our lives and our nation.
That requires Harris to beat Trump in November, so I need the fucker to stay alive until then.