post election bliss hangover...

Dust settles; not your normal lint, for I am the keeper of the lint. My navel is available for inspection. Others' lint is not. But this new dust is an intoxicant, like leftovers from a nuclear blast, infective, radiant, and oozing into the pores, manifesting itself into something retardant to the wavering conventional contrary. A disinfectant foam covering the befuddled appointed CEO from Crawford who says the message is we want a bipartisan dance of harmonious bliss toward the same goals. The message was we want change. He got the message. He doesn’t like it. And somebody has to fall on a knife.

So Rummy Poops is given the hero's song and steps aside for reasons of a nice diversion from the message. War crimes yet to be addressed, and Robo-call antics yet to be addressed, and voter fraud antics yet to be addressed, and constitutional infringements yet to be addressed, and one more narrowly divided State to decipher their math before the Senate goes the way of the Congress. With so much at hand, my guess is most of that stand will be leaned on the litigate-ive knees of lawyer-eze. Such histamines up the snoot makes me want to sneeze.

The Right is hunkering down. Their entrenchments to be fortified; talking points formed and molded for those that hear easily what they want to hear. Come Hannity, come O’Reilly, come Limbaugh, come Coulter; show us the error of our ways. Tell us how patriotically void and morally deficient we are. Tell us how we will destroy the true "American Way". Tell us something please, we need your benevolent wisdom before Thursday morning, when its time for me to wheel the garbage down to the street for pick-up.