Donald Trump is a noodle adrift in the chicken soup of his own mind.

He has no idea where he is, what he is, what today is, what may happen next.

Which is a pity because I’d really like him to be able to know what is coming.

A story recently broke that Trump told Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer that he would free up funds for a major transit project in New York City—if Schumer would agree to renaming Dulles Airport and Penn Station in New York City after the president.

To his credit, Schumer, something of a noodle in his own right, immediately rejected the offensive, laughable and insane idea.

Here’s what I want Trump to be able to see: His ideas to p-ss his initials into every snowbank in America will not make him immortal or validate him as he imagines. The sun will come. The snow will melt. The p-ss will blend with that of other animals that had the same idea and then, for the most part, evaporate.

Assuming that the next president of the United States is not Don Jr. or J.D. Vance or some other Trump wannabe—and despite their worst efforts, it won’t be—the speed with which they will erase the manifold ways Trump has defaced our government buildings, our capital city and other parts of America will make our collective heads spin.

Off will come the name Trump from the Kennedy Center.

Down will come the golden urns and tchotchkes strewn around the Oval Office.

Down will come the golden labels and the politicized placards in the White House.

Will the ballroom be torn down? Depending on its stage of construction, probably not. Will it be kept as he envisioned it, a gilded cage for billionaires, the aviary of the oligarchy?

Absof--kinglutely to the nth power not.

But if he names the ballroom after himself, the gold lettering there will be scraped off before the new........

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