I bet you thought liberals were going to run the New World Order. Tell that to Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos and Mark Zuckerberg, the three richest men in the world.

We the Little People can only look on in wonder as they cozy up to our past-and-future president, Donald Trump. One, Musk, is so giddy I bet he wants to take snapshots with him at the Coney Island photo booth. Fun!

Ever wonder who’s number 4? It just so happens it’s me.

I reveal this because Zuckerberg, the boss of Facebook and Instagram, is eliminating fact-checkers in the name of “free speech” and “the right to make stuff up.” This will appease his MAGA critics, and no doubt the media will follow.

The petty bullies at the Valley News say they won’t buckle under, but if you see this in print, a glorious new day has dawned.

In that spirit, I’m pleased to disclose that not only am I fabulously rich, but that my wife, Dede, is shocked to learn I have won the title of People magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive.”

“Yeah, right,’’ she said, when I held a press conference exclusively for her at our winter (and spring, summer and fall) compound in West Lebanon.

“You’ll have to believe it when you see it online!” I retorted, smartly, putting my 234 I.Q. score into action.

Coming so soon after winning a $20 gift certificate from a company that sold me an Irish wool cap, and then a generous discount on my next pint of Ben & Jerry’s at a local supermarket, it feels like my ship has come in.

And why not?

I hold an honorary doctorate from Dartmouth (for local column writing), a testament to hard work and the ability to keep typing long after the fingers of most mortals would wear out. The school has offered to name a building after me, but being modest to a fault, I said to hold off. A friend said it’s probably just a Rubbermaid storage shed; I think he is jealous.

But wait, a correction might be in order. Dede just read these revelations from behind my back at the computer and contends I am some billions off in my estimate of our net worth. She tells me we are “fine” but hardly among America’s elite, and has papers to prove it.

Well, math has never been my strong suit. And I have never made it into People magazine, although I once had hopes of getting something in Reader’s Digest’s “Laughter, the Best Medicine” column. Those were the days when everyone had an amusing boss or dizzy aunt who could make you chuckle.

And as for Dartmouth, no honors for me, and I even missed the protest where they sent in the SWAT troops. I have a fantasy version of reality in which I was there out of curiosity, and was distracted when they told us to disperse (my hearing is still good but sometimes background noise does me in).

I would be looking the wrong way when the cops went on the march — maybe there was a stunning moon in the sky — and a recent graduate of the Police Academy, full of vim and vigor, would push me. I would fall to the ground, discombobulated, and maybe even be arrested.

Oh, if only it were true. I might be quoted in the New York Times, something on my bucket list. Maybe I’d get a sidebar: “Retired Journalist Takes Brunt of Police Fury.” You know the Times, always trying to sell papers.

As for my career, perhaps I wasted my time on mere “work” for a “paycheck” that would provide “food” and “housing” for my family. Instead I should have been fabricating space rockets and electric cars and laying off thousands (Musk), controlling a social network that makes billions of people stare for hours at computers the size of a bar of soap (Zuckerberg), or building a retail empire that would ravage the local shops we miss so much (Bezos).

All of it for our own good!

Which brings us to the Upper Valley. Where have all our tycoons gone? Where are the billionaires who could instruct us on how to live within our means, to shop for cheaper cuts of meat at the supermarket, to cap property assessments at something like $500,000?

Not only would that ease their awful tax burdens, it would incentivize the rest of us to build fabulous estates of our own.

It’s said that John D. Rockefeller, the world’s richest man in his time, was once asked how much money it would take to make a man happy. “Just a little bit more,’’ he reportedly answered.

And so it was and here we are.

Dan Mackie lives in West Lebanon. He can be reached at dan.mackie@yahoo.com.