. . . or what?
It was the sleep of the just. There was just no way I was going to make it through hours and hours of those boring returns, not the mention all the cheerleaders for the two lousy horses in this media-made, and made-for-media, race. Besides, it was a draining day at the office and I was, quite frankly, tired as soon as I got in the door. But that nap was just what the doctor ordered. Observing my strict religious practice, I instinctively turned on the radio to get my morning shot of information and, oh yes, receive confirmation of the election results. Well, that WAS a relief! How could that clown ever hope to actually become president. In the words of the immortal rabbit (Bugs Bunny). . . "What a Maroon!" So what if the first spouse is a philandering, double-talking snake-oil salesman. At least our president can put together two sentences that do not contain the words I, me, best, lousy or great. And frequently she (YES! Finally, she) throws a fact in for good measure. But wait, there's coverage of a protest in DC, with guns, and actual shooting. Occupying the White House? "Rigged?" WTF are they talking about. Whaddayamean they REFUSE! Refuse my ass! An election is an election. Appointed from Goldman. . . what? What did she say? Bill is stocking up on cigars and recruiting interns. Is this what I can look forward for the next four years?
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