Hooray, It’s the VICE x Donald J Trump Inauguration Drinking Game!

Hello and welcome to Inauguration Day, the day Donald actual Trump gets sworn-in as President of the United States. Sometimes I sit and marvel that the events of 2016 actually happened – can you believe, truly, that Leicester City won the Premier League? That we voted out of the EU for no good reason whatsoever? Sometimes the information just hits me all over again out of nowhere and I am stunned into shock – and Donald Trump winning the US Election is, I'm afraid, still one of them. Donald Trump! President! There was a literal tape of him ho-hoing about sexual assault! He's essentially a very rich reality TV star with a deep fake tan, and that's it! This is like if we elected Gaz Beadle from Geordie Shore to be PM! And no disrespect to Gaz! But I wouldn't trust him with foreign policy!

Anyway, it's happening now. We need to face our mistakes. You know when you wake up, on a Sunday morning-cum-afternoon, and you know – you just know – that you made some embarrassing mistakes last night; you got too drunk, you did an appalling dance move in front of all your friends, you really publicly got off with someone, you sent those texts, oh god: but for one perfect little minute before the bomb explodes and you open your eyes and behold what you have done, there is this near-zen moment of peace? Your eyes are closed and you are cosy in bed and your senses haven't caught up enough to tell your brain what your mouth tastes like yet. And you know it's bad – you know it's going to be bad – when you open your eyes, but not yet, not yet. You know you're going to have to stare into the light and the abyss, too, but not yet. Not yet. This one's going to hurt. Not yet. But for now… just for now, just for a calm little minute. Just for now: enjoy the peace.

Your minute's up now, losers. Open your eyes. It's Donald J Trump inauguration day. Here's a drinking game to get you thru:

Just an easy one to start us off. Just an easy little starter shot, loosen the pipes. D.C. in January is cold, man. Every President since time went back opted for a slightly overlarge black wool overcoat. That's almost certainly what Trump is going to wear. But… but. I just can't help but feel he's going to try and defy convention with a slight flourish on it. A little black fur collar, a little wink to Putin. A little extra laughing-insane-millionaire gloss on an otherwise functional coat. If he does: shot. If he doesn't: still shot.

Melania's sort of placid-terror compound facial expression is actually iconic, imo – the perfect emotion for 2k17 – and I won't hear anything otherwise. (You can downgrade this one to half a shot per instance if you like, because it's going to happen a lot and it's going to be a long day / evening).

Been staring at that hand gesture he does for months now and I still can't quite figure out what it looks like. It's… it's like he's trying to dip fondue while getting as little cheese on his shirt cuff as humanly possible. Trying to pull a length of floss that is inexplicably lodged in a distant wall. What's he doing with those hands? Like he's unfolded a coat hanger and he's trying to hook his keys up from a coffee table a few feet away. Draw a circle on a whiteboard with a slightly-too-long pen. I don't know. I don't know what the hand gestures are about – light as air, delicate, like an orchestra composer plunged into a swimming pool – but he does them a lot and you're going to need to sink a shot for each. You might want to go get a glass of water for when he starts his speech.

These ancient words, these words chanted and repeated by the most powerful men in history, dotted now with three "terrifics" and one "amazing". If they make him start again and do it properly then you have to sink the bottle.

Minutes after DJT gets sworn in I just feel like loads of blue-eyed people will stand, stare to the heavens and chant wicked words in support of Trump – eerie, the words, in unison – while a strange glowing light envelopes their heads. Hundreds of them, the people, thousands. Don't ask me why! I just feel like a devil-powered army of Trump supporters will make themselves known at this one. Don't ask me why! "HAIL CHIEF TRUMP," they are saying, "GREAT AND HONOURABLE RULER!" Don't ask me why! Just take a shot when it happens!

Take a shot for this one!

I am just fascinated by the idea that – after searching the globe, after being turned down by every legitimate artist and some illegitimate ones too (I mean,  Rebecca Ferguson off The X Factor said no, like, a Bruce Springsteen covers band said no) – that whoever was in charge of entertainment plumped for this really enthusiastic drummer guy and Michael Flatley, wizened old Lord of the Dance. And Flatley is going to tap. Oh Lord, Michael Flatley is going to tap for you. He will move his feet so fast it will click your head off. He will tap so hard he will injure himself. He'll tap through the injury. Bits of Flatley breaking off in clumps. Still he taps on. Still he taps on. Take a shot.

How did it die? Scientists can't explain. How come it's curiously unbloodied corpse landed so close to Trump? Statisticians running data models cannot figure it out. Did any of the FBI gunmen on the roofs of D.C. see it coming? They did not. Listen: all we know is the eagle fell out of the sky – enormous, the eagle, and dead – and now you have to do a shot.

I can't quite decide if Barron Trump is a Damien-from- The-Omen type haunted child dead set on killing us all or just some smooth-faced kid who is really, really freaked out by this whole thing, essentially the only voice of reason left within the confines of the White House. It's really hard to tell just by looking at him. Evil or innocent? Innocent or evil? Right now I'm leaning towards innocent, you know. I am surprised too.

But then, it's early days. He is ten. You think in half a decade Barron Trump won't be the most evil Yung Conservative in the world? Come on. He's called Barron Trump, for Christ's sake. He's going to spend the next four formative years living in the White House with Donald Trump. If you think he won't come out of this experience as a cold-eyed frog killer, his school's greatest rich bully, then you are wrong. Barron Trump – the Barron Trump of 2020, the year of our eventual demise – is the real threat to this planet and the shaky peace we have across it. He's the one we have to watch out for. He's the one who's going to learn all the secret corridors and backrooms of the White House and smoke weed in them.

Anyway, for now, as mentioned, he is ten. And I remember being a ten-year-old boy, and anything that isn't a Gameboy is boring. Standing (standing!) through an endless, four-odd hour ceremony where a load of people tell your dad how good he is? No. Watch for Barron. There is no doubt that an NBC camera will grab a shot of him looking entirely, entirely pissed off and bored, and a photo of this will be the emerging meme of this inauguration. Take one shot for the first burst of Barron pictures on the timeline, and an additional shot each time you see a tweet you first saw three hours ago reposted by a meme account on Instagram.

Take two shots then dump him by text!

Just distract her by saying there's a new Sherlock fan-theory on Tumblr she should check out, pour three beers directly into your body and do not pass go.

Oh, he's said "power", and Hitler said that once in 1939. Some nerd has already got 1K+ RTs from pointing it out. Close your laptop lid and go crack a beer.

Sink two shots then come find me at my office and fight me, you fraud! Bring your friends! I'll fuck you all up!

@joelgolby

More stuff about the US politics:

A Look Back at the Memes of the Obama Administration

Judging Obama's Progressive, Flawed, Conflicting Legacy

Read Obama's Thank You Note to America