The December 22, 2025 issuer of The New Yorker features excerpts from the journal that longtime contributor Calvin Tomkins wrote during his 99th year. (Mr. Tomkins turned 100 on December 17, 2025). Some of his entries relive moments of his past; some address the feebleness of existing for 100 years; some are simply funny. Here’s my favorite, from August 24:
I dreamed that Trump died and went to heaven, where he immediately set about changing things. He fired a hundred or more of the busier angels, and flew into a rage when they paid no attention to him. St. Benedict, the Angel of Explanation, took him by the arm. “There are no jobs up here,” he said, “so you can’t really fire people.” Trump fired St. Benedict on the spot and began to work on a financial system that allotted seventeen percent of Heaven’s assets to Trump. The problem was that money was unknown in Heaven. It took him awhile to realize this, and when he tried to will it into existence several angels patted his left arm so sympathetically that it dropped off. Having only one arm was a handicap, and Trump took to raising high his remaining arm and shouting, “Fight!”
After many more failures, Trump gave up on Heaven and decided to return to Earth. The angels agreed to help him do this, but nobody on Earth did. “Never again,” the people said, “He’s a really sore loser.”
The Awkward Pose 