The 2020 election’s fallout, as seen by the rest of the world

Credit NBC News

It’s the morning of November 4, 2020. A biting wind lashes London from the southwest, the sky gray as stone. Stillness grips an inner borough’s twisting alleyways just after dawn — an unsettling stillness, nerve-jangling even, the day’s unavoidable chaos always just round the corner. Only the distant shout of a homeless man punctures a roadway’s ambient din — or is it a pedestrian being knifed? Difficult to tell, really.

Inside one cramped flat, a lumpy man named Gerald grabs his phone off the counter and takes a seat at the kitchen table. His partner, a sprightly woman named Geraldine, saunters over to the coffee pot. Gerald unlocks his phone and is immediately flooded with alarmist news alerts.

What happens next could go down one of eight ways. I would ask you to choose your own adventure, but this is not an adventure of your choosing. You are, of course, utterly defenseless against the coming maelstrom, a pathetic pawn about to be sucked into a sinister and civilization-altering game of political chess that is sure to drag on for days, weeks, months, possibly the rest of your life. There’s also a global plague happening but it’s of secondary concern so we won’t get into that.

SCENARIO 1

“So Joe Biden’s won it, has he?” Gerald says, blinking heavy eyelids.

“No he hasn’t, you stupid git,” Geraldine replies, her hands busy with the pot.

Gerald looks up from his phone, eyes pleading. “Beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, love, ain’t had me coffee yet.”

“I know that. What’s this about Biden not winning? Just saw he got 7 million more votes.”

“Ain’t how it works in the States, love. They go by the Electoral College.”

“The Electoral what?”

Geraldine exhales. “The Electoral College. I read an article about it somewhere. Basically everybody votes and then they tally ’em all up and give ’em to some college to decide who wins, I reckon.”

“They let a college decide?”

“Far as I know. The colonial dickheads back in the olden times thought it would be more fair that way. Lets the farmers in Iowa have more say than the arseholes in California or some such bollocks. Course they didn’t have Iowa or California back then I don’t reckon.”

Gerald shakes off his vacant stare and turns his attention back to the phone. There are too many news alerts to parse so he begins to clear them one by one, his mind growing more numb with each tap of the index finger. “TRUMP WINS RE-ELECTION,” “BIDEN CONCEDES DESPITE OVERWHELMING VOTING LEAD,” “TRUMP ORDERS MASSIVE VICTORY PARADE, BANS MASKS,” “TRUMP WINS, U.S. CITIZENS SET SELVES ON FIRE,” “PUTIN CONGRATULATES TRUMP ON WIN, PROMISES HAND JOB,” etc.

“So Trump’s still president then,” Gerald mutters.

Geraldine hands him a cup of coffee and sighs wearily. “And you’re still my husband.”

SCENARIO 2

“So Joe Biden’s won it, has he?” Gerald mumbles, mired in his morning fog.

“No he hasn’t, you twit,” Geraldine replies, her hands busy with the pot.

Gerald looks up from his phone, eyes pleading. “Beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, love, ain’t had me meds yet.”

“I know that. What’s this about Biden not winning? Just saw he won the popular vote and the… Electoral College, whatever that is.”

“Yeah but Trump ain’t conceded yet now’as he?”

“Ain’t conceded?”

Geraldine sighs. “Yeah. In the States the loser has to give the winner a phone call before they transfer power over to the other wanker. If he don’t then he can just keep on being the president, I reckon.”

“A bloody phone call?”

“Yeah, that’s what they said on the tele anyway. If Trump don’t ring him up then he can just pretend it didn’t happen and get on with it.”

Gerald turns back to his phone. “Well that’s something.”

“Oh and something about Trump dumping all the mail ballots in the Atlantic Ocean and ordering 457 lawsuits and disappearing all the election officials in Pennsylvania.”

“That mean they gotta count the votes again?”

Geraldine hands Gerald his coffee. “It means Trump’s still the bloody president, ya daft knob.”

SCENARIO 3

“So Joe Biden’s won it, has he?” Gerald says.

“No he hasn’t, you thick muppet,” Geraldine replies, her hands busy with the pot.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, love, ain’t had me grub yet.”

“I know that. What’s this about Biden not winning? Just saw he dominated the popular vote and Electoral College, and Trump’s just conceded the race.”

Geraldine sighs. “The Senate, love.”

“The Senate?”

“Yes, the bloody Senate. Biden got elected but so did the Republicans. The way it works in the States is if the president’s from one party and the Senate’s from the other, then the Senate can just block whatever the president puts out and so the president can’t do fuck-all.”

Gerald thinks a moment. “So they just cancel each other out then?”

“Right. That way nothing ever gets done.”

“I see,” Gerald says.

“Your fly’s open,” Geraldine says.

SCENARIO 4

“Er, what’s this about a tie?”

“What, the U.S. election, lovey?”

“Yeah. Says Biden and Trump each got 269 electoral votes. Seems a bit of a weak turnout to the polls doesn’t it?”

“269 votes from the Electoral College, ya daft sausage.”

“The what?”

Geraldine sighs. “The Electoral College, love. Read an article about it once. In the States all the votes get funneled into some old-timey college that decides who gets to be the president. The founding fathers made an even number of total Electoral College votes, I suppose just to fuck with people, so ties happen sometimes.”

“So that means they both get to be president then?”

Geraldine ignores him. “When the tie happens it goes to the House of Representatives, except that it doesn’t, cuz what you really need is a majority of the state delegations within the House to vote for you. So even though the Democrats control the House, Trump wins cuz Republicans control more state delegations.”

Gerald furrows his brow and thinks hard a moment. “Any sausage left in the fridge?”

SCENARIO 5

“So Joe Biden’s won it, has he?” Gerald says, blinking heavy eyelids.

“No he hasn’t, you absolute cow,” Geraldine replies, her hands busy with the pot.

Gerald looks up from his phone, eyes pleading. “Beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, love, ain’t sniffed me glue yet.”

“I know that. What’s this about Biden not winning? Just saw the Dems dominated the popular vote, Electoral College, and Senate, and Trump’s conceded.”

Geraldine turns away from the coffee pot and looks her husband in the eye. “That’s not all he’s done, love.”

“What the devil d’you mean?”

“Trump’s dead, dearie. Biden too.”

“What?”

“Scroll a little higher in your feed. Happened this morning, methinks. The covid got Trump.”

“And Biden?”

“Old age, I reckon.”

Gerald sinks further into his chair and stares confusedly out the window, then asks, “So then who’s the U.S. president?”

“Kanye West, obviously.”

SCENARIO 6

“So Joe Biden’s won it, has he?” Gerald says, shoulders slumped over his phone.

“No he hasn’t, you soggy bell-end,” Geraldine replies, her hands busy with the pot.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, love, ain’t shot me heroin yet.”

“I know that. What’s this about Biden not winning? Says here he and the Dems won easily.”

Geraldine turns and looks her husband dead in the eye. “Well that’s just it, innit, love?”

“What’s just it?”

“The DEMS won, dearie, not Biden. Obama’s president again.”

“Obama? Are you mad?”

“You think that old bloke Biden’s capable of runnin’ the free world, love? More likely your tubby arse could run a marathon, I reckon. Biden’s just a puppet they put on the tele so Obama can keep shadow-ruling the liberal order on behalf of the Deep State in its merciless quest to destroy suburban communities and push innocent children into satanic sex cults so that Hillary Clinton can feed on their corpses.”

Gerald’s eyes are wide as tea cups. “Where the devil are you getting all this?”

“Facebook, obviously.”

SCENARIO 7

“So Joe Biden’s won it, has he?” Gerald says.

“No he hasn’t, you horse’s anus,” Geraldine replies, her hands busy with the pot.

Gerald looks up and raises an eyebrow. “Bit harsh, that?”

“Sorry, love, ain’t ‘ad me a proper shag in weeks.”

“I know that. What’s this about Biden not winning? Says here he and the Dems appear to have won but it ain’t official yet.”

Geraldine sighs. “Exactly. It’s Florida, dearest.”

“Florida?”

“Yeah, the bell-end of the States.”

“I know that. What about it?”

Geraldine hands him his coffee. “Evidently all the seniors in Palm Beach County circled the names of their candidates on the ballots instead of fillin’ the ovals next to the names.”

“So they gotta recount the votes, then?”

“Said on the tele they’re finding the rest of Biden’s Florida votes in public rubbish bins pencil-marked ‘Biden Votes Go Here.’”

“Shame,” Gerald says. “Got any more sausage?”

SCENARIO 8

“So civil war’s broken out in the States, has it?”

“Yeah.”

“Good riddance.”

Writer.

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