Game over

Consummatum est: It is finished.

The American people have spoken. They have chosen the Man of Sin. Now it is time for them to be punished. I solemnly prophesy that they will rue the day, and that probably sooner rather than later.

This is a great victory for left-wing radicalism, for the culture of death, and for the devil. The Peter Singers of this world, the abortionists, the eugenicists, the homosex activists, the socialists and the tree-huggers have all secured the election of their man. Every demented lunatic, within and without the United States, will be celebrating. In political terms it is as revolutionary an upheaval as when Liénart, on his own authority, grabbed the microphone in St. Peter’s basilica and so set the course of the Second Vatican Council on a trajectory towards chaos—the catastrophic results of which are today a matter of the historical record.

Melancholicus has not listened to the news, for he cannot endure the boorish braying of the liberal media drunk on victory, nor the self-satisfied smugness of the likes of RTÉ and the Irish Independent. He was informed of the unhappy event by his fiancée, from whom he received a text message at 6:20 this morning.

He shall not waste words congratulating the winner, or commiserating with the loser; suffice it to remark that with this election the culture wars have entered an entirely new phase and indeed, have stepped up a gear.

There is nothing that can be done about the present, which is a given. But the future is a matter for much prayer.