“Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country.” — Charles E. Weller, who authored the words to be a typing exercise.

Many times I hammered out that seemingly patriotic sentence on an old clacking Smith Corona during typing class in the 10th grade, not once without peeking. Currently, I couldn’t tell to you where the number zero is on the keyboard without looking.

I poke around like that smart gorilla. The one that got caught by the temp gorilla catcher. The typing gorilla didn’t have street smarts like some of the economically disadvantaged gorillas and was suckered into a cage by a mango that you wouldn’t find in the vicinity of nature.

For bait, the kidnappers bought a ripe old chap of a Badami just getting to the edge of the dark side of yellow from a grocer in Wallagrass, Maine, that had been around humans and chemicals too long.

Anyway, the fruit had the jungle jump-jumps written all over it that any gorilla, without nasal issues, could smell. Rookie move, Claudia.

Charlie Weller really doesn’t get enough credit for those 16 words, but he seems pretty adamant about the thought, considering its original intent.

When do we come? Now, it says. I felt like those words were yelling at me.

Now is the time, dammit!

Our odious dilemma is obvious. It is a sickness. So, come to the aid, already!

A small infectious agent born as a Leptospira bacteria in 1946 has breached the heart of this country. And it’s already claimed 30 percent of the brain. The shady virus spreads like gonorrhea and infests the organs and contaminates the blood. It needs to be treated with malice.

Stress, anxiety, depression, heart pains, trauma and stunning nonstop pirouettes of disbelief at the cruelty and chaos from dizzy Day One.

Even the ugly fellas who hang at the Nazi bar in south Townville are wondering if it’s really worth it to have an immoral racist viral contamination in the White House, even if it is a beaming beacon of hope for white supremacists and their ilk. Is the desire for an ethnostate enough to suffer this unquarantined madness?

National political writers have run out of synonyms for “slimy pile of perineum chunks.” That happened long ago. How many words describe a sociopath pathogen? Not enough.

Do we have the good men? In this state? We have lots of good men and women, but they have no power to force John Hoeven or Kevin Cramer to put their country before the party when it comes to this loud East Coast elite disease.

Our senators, with the mythical North Dakota common sense, are required to come to the aid of their country. Now! We have a clear and present danger, impervious to humiliation and ridicule.

Now is the time for all bootlickers to take a seat.

Because two-thirds must vote to convict in a Senate impeachment trial, we’ll need a few Republicans to break formation and be good Americans.

All they need to say is, “If the Congress so decides to impeach the vicious chronic pain in the ass, I will vote to convict.” Then, run like hell if they are seriously afraid of greasy chicken fingers.

I could be replaced by a robot. That’s a given. But shouldn’t a senator be more than a rigged slot machine?

If the glove fits, you must not acquit. Period. The glove fits like a snug fitting set of skin. Good men must admit and not acquit.

Think of the illness as a scaly eating machine with no empathy. Its stomach acid is strong enough to digest bone. It can be lured with rancid chicken parts and sheds fake tears.

If Congress somehow captures it, butchers and cooks the prissy crocodile meat, in a vat of bubbling cooking oil until it’s golden brown and does everything including chewing the croc chops into Mussolini mush, Cramer must swallow. Hoeven must swallow. Swallow it! Now is the time.

Otherwise, all you end up with a pile of masticated reptile dripping with slobber that has attacked our institutions, our laws, our people, our American values and most of the world. The same as now.

And they can’t say, “Omigosh, I had no idea. It did what, now? Oh, geez. Well, that’s not good, is it? You don’t say?” How dim would you have to be? How blindly loyal? How both?

The disease is acting up right under their noses, in front of their eyes, slapping their lips, mocking their feet and doing so with no subtlety. It’s impossible to be considered a good senator if you condone open criminality.

Who would debase themselves by giving up the sovereignty of their office after they swore an oath to support and defend the Constitution?

Now is the time for all good senators to come to the aid of their country.

Good luck to us all with that one.