President Donald Trump walked into the Mar-a-Lago ballroom like a conquering hero to the rousing tune of “We Are the World.”

No matter that it was an ’80s anthem urging help for victims of famine, of little import to Trump’s dissolution of USAID, and the untold suffering in the developing world it caused.

All happening in a cheery, festive room, its tables piled with Thanksgiving food, much of it left uneaten.

Before the night was over, the president was busting out his signature dance, his elbows awkwardly glued to his ribs, cankles swelling, his clenched fists punching the air. Even his moves to “YMCA” are all about winning.

He doesn’t drink. But Trump woke on Black Friday to a big headache that no hangover cure could ever fix.

As much as he wanted to label the man who ambushed two

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