Fireworks are out. I live in firework-free California, and don't have time to drive out to Yuma and pick up enough personal pyrotechnics to beat Elon Musk to Mars. I'd like that, though.
I don't own any bagpipes or kazoos. Until Trump actually dies, that will be the case.
The party will happen all day. In my time zone everything happens early. I expect Trump to be indicted before my first sip of morning coffee, so I can switch to margaritas instead.
Trump plans to make a speech on the courtyard steps after he gets inducted into the justice system, and has called upon his followers to join him in protest there. This is not going to work out nearly as well as he thinks it is. First off, MAGA folk are going to suffer from the short time allowed to get to NYC, just like I can't get to Yuma. Some of them have jobs or drug deals they have to show up for; some of them still have their RV's up on blocks for the winter. Plus, parking your Ford 750 pickup in Manhattan is almost as easy as getting the Pope's autograph on a Communion muffin.
When they get there, they really can't expect the wide-open rampaging they enjoyed on January 6 in the Capitol. NYC's finest, plus probably the National Guard, plus an alphabet soup of Federal cops will be there. If you show up with merely your leftover pepper spray and a DON'T TREAD ON ME sign, you're gonna get treaded on.
But this is only the first time Trump gets indicted. You'll have time to perfect the art of getting a multi-year prison sentence on behalf of the Ex, if you haven't gotten one already, only this time, he's going to get one, too! Makes you tingle all over, doesn't it? Whether it's on the courthouse steps in Atlanta, or the federal courthouse in DC, there will be at least two more indictments, and you can play the chump for your orange-hued hero a few more times before they send him away.
Over here, we're just stoked. Nor quite as stoked as Meatball Ron. Close, though.