The 2020 election is the guest that simply refuses to leave the party, long after the gin has run dry and the host has fallen asleep in his own vomit. It is the political equivalent of a Victorian ghost story, haunted by a protagonist who insists that if we just look at the wallpaper long enough, we’ll find the hidden map to his stolen crown. Donald Trump, a man whose relationship with objective reality has always been one of mutual restraining orders, has once again decided to shake the jar of wasps that is his base. His latest proclamation? That individuals will 'soon' be prosecuted for the 2020 election. It is a masterclass in the sunk-cost fallacy, performed by a man who treats legal threats like a cologne—he sprays them liberally to mask the stench of his own irrelevance.

To the uninitiated, this might sound like a significant development. To anyone with a functioning prefrontal cortex, it is merely the latest chapter in a book of fairy tales written for the lobotomized. The claim relies on the absolute vacuum of memory that defines the American electorate. We are a nation of goldfish, swimming in a tank of lukewarm resentment, being told that justice is just around the corner, much like the infrastructure week that never came or the healthcare plan that remains perpetually 'two weeks away.' Trump knows his audience. He knows that his followers do not require evidence, or logic, or even a plausible legal framework; they require a bedtime story where the 'bad men' go to jail and the golden king returns to his throne. It is pathetic, a political 'Coming Soon' trailer for a movie that was canceled four years ago due to a lack of a script and an excess of ego.

But let us not allow the other side of the aisle to escape the acid. The Democrats react to these pronouncements with the choreographed horror of a silent film actress finding a mouse in her pantry. They lean into the 'existential threat' narrative because it is the only thing they have left to sell. Without Trump’s brand of performative lunacy to point at, they would be forced to explain why the middle class is being ground into a fine paste between the gears of inflation and indifference. They need Trump to be the monster under the bed so you won’t notice they’ve sold the mattress. It is a symbiotic relationship of mutual incompetence. The Right provides the circus, the Left provides the outrage, and the taxpayer provides the funding for a tragicomedy that has outstayed its welcome by several seasons.

The idea of 'prosecuting' the 2020 election in the year of our lord 2024 is a special kind of temporal insanity. It suggests a belief that the laws of physics and the linear progression of time are merely suggestions that can be ignored if you shout 'Rigged!' loud enough into a microphone at a fairground. Trump isn't just fighting Joe Biden; he is fighting the concept of entropy. He is trying to un-ring a bell that has already been melted down and turned into commemorative coins for a different grift entirely. It is the pinnacle of the performative era: a promise that cannot be kept, delivered to an audience that doesn’t care if it’s kept, as long as it makes the 'right people' angry for a news cycle or two.

By framing the previous election as a crime scene, Trump performs a brilliant, if utterly transparent, psychological pivot. If he lost fairly, he is a loser—a title his ego cannot metabolize. If he was robbed, however, he is a martyr. And in the American psyche, a martyr is worth twice as much at the box office. We have traded actual governance for a shallow mythology, and Trump is our Homer, if Homer had a spray tan and a grievance-based social media platform. He isn't seeking justice; he is seeking a narrative shield to protect himself from the cold, hard fact that the world moved on while he was still screaming at the television.

Ultimately, this isn't about the 2020 election at all. It is about the absolute refusal of the American political class to move forward. We are trapped in a loop, a glitch in the simulation where we are forced to re-examine the same ballots, the same lawsuits, and the same lies until our collective eyes bleed. The prosecution threat is just more noise in an already deafening cacophony of stupidity. It is the death rattle of a civilization that has forgotten how to build anything, so it spends its remaining energy arguing about how it burned down. So, go ahead. Wait for the prosecutions. Wait for the 'storm.' You will be waiting until the sun expands and swallows the Earth, which, frankly, seems like a more merciful conclusion to this farce than another four years of this exhausting, repetitive nonsense.