I drew myself a hot bath last night and breathed a long, deep sigh of relief. I normally don't bathe, but this was a special occasion, for John Kerry had come within suing distance in Ohio and all signs were pointing towards a complete landslide victory in France. What better way to celebrate Kerry's glorious accension to the White House than to soak in my own filth for a couple of hours?
But as the night wore on and I sat there, gazing at the portable TV perched precariously on the edge of the tub, I was slowly overcome with the creeping realization that Kerry was going down in flames. The network news was calling state after state for Bush, and he was up by more than 2,000,000 in the popular vote - proving once again that a majority of Americans are uneducated inbred morons who are too stupid to appreciate how much we liberals love them. By the time perky John Edward's came nancing onto the stage around 11, his soft brown tresses swaying in the cool Boston breeze, it was all over.
So alas, it looks like four more years of Shrub and his Halliburton masters.
Four more years of war. Four more years of innocent women and children burned alive by U.S. smart bombs designed solely for that purpose. Four more years of not being able to enjoy Paris in the summertime without being showered with spittle. Four more years of unchecked environmental destruction. Four more years of the wholesale shredding of the Bill of Rights, with Asscroft peeking at my library records and innocent Americans being dragged off to Gitmo in the dead of night. And four long years without the soft, dulcet tones of Tom Daschle to sooth our restless chakras.
Oh Tom...poor, Tom! Why have they forsaken you?
I slowly reached for the TV. One little tug. A bright flash of light, a brief moment of excruciating pain, the sweet scent of burning patchouli, and then everlasting peace. My suffering would be over, and I'd be a martyr for the cause; like Gandhi, Kurt Cobain, or that crazy Mexican dude who starved himself to death.
But then suddenly the faces of all those brave Americans who fought so hard to defeat Bush's fascist junta flashed before my eyes. Michael Moore. George Soros. Osama Bin Laden. Barbra Streisand. The cast of 21 Jump Street. And of course, YOU, my faithful readers. If I were gone, who would be left to speak out against the lies of the right-wing dominated media? Who would provide Goosesteppin' Dana with Quotes of the Day? Who would take the sunrise, sprinkle it with dew, cover it with chocolate and a miracle or two? No...to end my life now would be to leave you alone in the wilderness to battle the iron fist of right-wing hegemony all by yourselves.
So I must live on. I must continue to be a voice for the little guy - the average, blue collar slob out in Beverly Hills who can't afford prescription drugs for his quadraplegic gay lover since his job at the abortion clinic was outsourced to Pakistan. The crippled may never walk again while Bush is in the White House, nor will the blind hear or the deaf see. But hopefully, if I continue to speak the truth in a polite, rational manner, I will win the cold, blackened hearts of some retarded, gun-toting Biblethumpers and turn a few red states into blue by 2008.
But enough of all that. Now is not the time for divisive partisan politics. Now is the time for Bush and all winning Republican candidates to reach out across the aisle, abandon their conservative idealogy, and join with us on the left - or be crushed under our Birkenstocks like the racist, bigoted slugs they are.
Hey, we all gotta eat, don't we?
Posted by: Mourning dove | November 04, 2004 at 08:02 PM
Well, as the Cricket who will chirp silently, I sorta think it qualifies as an Impressionist painting immortalized in verse along the lines of 'Flanders Field.'
Dear Mourning Dove, don't look so gloomy. Hildebeeste
will run in 2008 and we can celebrate the Aquarian Age together by getting along in Biblical proportions.
Besides, don't you bird types gorge on insects until you regurgitate?
You are welcome to join me in my vigil. Mourning Dove calls would be a lovely counterpoint to the chirps.
I will share my lemons.
Posted by: Cricket | November 05, 2004 at 10:01 PM
If you have nacho doritos to go with the lemons, you're on!
Posted by: Mourning Dove | November 06, 2004 at 10:19 AM
Yes. Nacho doritos are always good Cricket food, and sometimes they are served along with a fine Dr. Pepper.
Posted by: Cricket | November 07, 2004 at 08:38 PM
Mmmmmm!
Posted by: Mourning dove | November 08, 2004 at 09:51 AM
Great stuff! Incisive & witty! More subtle than Schulman! See you down at the Legion Hall, dude.
Posted by: Stan Bussey | November 15, 2004 at 08:32 AM