This essay is dedicated to the last two Muslims in Yemen (abandoned because they walked too slowly), to the four angry Muslims landing in Chicago, enraged because their photo was not taken with a lookalike relative, and to the 154 million Muslims who have arrived in the U.S. since the travel ban was suspended:

Like many of the street ladies who have bobbed up in unladylike places since Mr. Trump was elected to lead normal Americans and liberals, Nikki Kristof can’t help himself.

Since springing to prominence as a New York Times essayist for writing that he was embarrassed to have been born to (ugh) white parents, the Times is reportedly considering Chalky Nikkie as its next joke editor – since he is.

Seeing himself as a colorless man of a colorful world, Nikki keeps circling the globe in search of depressing stories to make readers miserable. In that singular quest, he is consistently successful.

Since all Times authors are under orders to thwack President Trump, Nikki is delighted to comply.

Underneath the extremely inspired headline “As Trump Denies Climate Change, These Kids Die,” the liberally narrow-minded last month advanced the following slightly unimpressive thesis:

Defenseless children are dying in the global hub of Tsihombe, Madagascar.

No, silly, not from natural causes. That would be as bring as it evidently is truthful.

They are losing their lives because Mr. Trump, like other sensible people, does not believe in the creepily crafted academic jargon that holds global climate warming change is a mere sprint away from ending worthwhile life on this planet.

He argues that a climatechange-caused drought has spread-eagled Madagascar “the last few years.”

• Nikki does not know how long the drought has gripped the Southern African island nation.
•  Nikki does not know how many lives it has claimed.

What Nikki knows for darned sure is that leftist orthodoxy has promised him that if he blames random disasters on unprovable global climate warming change, he will be a hero to fellow leftists, his modest life’s goal.

In the immortal words of my favorite witch doctor, “Woo, woo.”