Rather than risk the possibility of living under a President Donald Jedediah Trump administration (with David Duke as secretary of equality), Americans would prefer to rocket themselves into the cold desolation of space.
Rather than witness President Donald Jabba Trump place his hand on the Bible and take the oath of office, Americans would instead opt to explore the final frontier, a dangerous and (probably) excruciatingly lonely endeavor.
Rather than four years of President Donald Jack-O-Lantern Trump placing his artificially orange butt cheeks in the leather desk chair of the Oval Office, Americans would instead prefer to leave behind family, friends, and pets, and rocket into an alien environment where a good day means you avoided one of the following:
- Falling into the sun's gravity and slowly cooking inside your spacesuit.
- Being jettisoned violently into the vacuum of space, causing your blood to boil and your lungs to explode like balloons.
- Succumbing to severe hallucination due to extended periods without human contact.
- Being impaled by space debris traveling through you at many thousands of miles per hour.
- Making contact with an alien race -- the "Independence Day" kind, not the "E.T." kind.
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Having an itch you can't scratch millions of miles away from anyone who can help you out, and in zero gravity, inhibiting you from adequately leveraging your surroundings to get at it. Your lonely inadequacies cause you to slowly go insane, inevitably leading you to become friends with the itch itself.
All scenarios preferred to a world where Donald John Trump even has the realistic potential to be the leader of the free world.
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