"Over? Did you say "over"? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!"
-Bluto, Animal House
While those of us who follow the American Political Ritual obsessively are spiraling into a melancholic withdrawal, thankfully Election 2008 is still a bubbling cauldron of Weirdness. For two and a half years we compulsively stored and regurgitated ridiculous amounts of minute campaign detail of flubs, faux pas', position papers, voting records, polling data, statistical anomalies and dirty, dirty dirt on the dirty dirty lives of those crazy and egotistical enough to run for public office. But like a dog's ear perking up at the sound of a squirrel rustling in the Autumn leaves, It Is Alive and the chase may be on.
Like a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream on a slice of hot out of the oven pumpkin pie, Thanksgiving season has blessed Drunken Politics. A frothing, teeming horde of Blackberries attached to lawyers has descended on Minna-soder for the Coleman-Franken recounted recount bonanza of Magical Ballots. New Mexicans chuckle with appreciation as Prince-conjured votes keep poofing out of nowhere. Divine Retribution could be in a Southern stocking this Christmas. Saxby Chambliss, the Rat Bastard who won his Senate seat by blistering triple-amputee veteran Max Cleland as a terrorist sympathizer, is in a December 5th runoff against a dude of the unknown called Jim Martin. Will disabled Veterans let Chambliss' bile go unpunished? Will Ted "The Convict" Stevens win reelection and make all of Alaska proud? Missouri has taken off their socks and shoes to finish counting up those pesky pseudo-ballots. And the Lieberman soap opera twists in the wind, what would Prince Machavielli do? Will Turncoat Joe go unpunished?
Will a few hundred votes from North/South/East/West Buttlick determine the shape of the United States Senate and US policy for the next generation? Dam straight. Now go find someone who didn't vote and smack their ignorant nose with a wet newspaper. Spiked with thumbtacks. And hot sauce.
The Bourbon Gods need to be appeased and they're demanding a turkey leg. Hopefully, they will shine a gravy-soaked Thanksgiving smile upon us during America's Overtime.
note: All I want for Christmas is a bag of fresh mixed metaphors.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Just two guys who want to talk nuts and bolts politics. This isn't partisan, so if you're looking for that sort of discussion, we're not your place. If you want opinionated insight at what's up with the campaigns, we're your guys.
No comments:
Post a Comment