Nurse The Hate: The End of Days

This must be the End of Days.  I have had 276 telemarketers call my house to talk to me about how I should vote.  It is impossible to look at a television without learning that Mitt Romney wants to kill old people, Barack Obama has somehow destroyed us all, and everyone and everything is Bad For America.  The sense of desperation from all the election participants hangs in the air with a sickening sweet smell.  People are somehow convinced that if The Other Guy wins, the nation will spiral down into chaos that will make the Dark Ages look like a fucking picnic.  Tales of hoarded gold and ammunition.  Wild stock market fluctuations without explanation.  Crazy stories about wide spread election fraud and vans filled with armed thugs.  Black helicopter sightings and drone planes.  Ohio is the key to this thing, and there is no such thing as “going too far” for either of these creeps. 

Now a monster SuperStorm is coming to destroy us all.  We will soon be washed out to sea on flotsam and jetsam, wailing at an unjust God that has wiped our old world clean.  We will be mumbling to ourselves tales of government controlled Weather Machines that have been used to keep us from voting for The Other Guy.  Sassy wind whipped weather girls will struggle to report the carnage while middle aged men will argue about what it all means safe and snug in the studio.  Far right religious nuts will argue this storm is the sign of an Angry God.  The far left will smugly cry “Global Warming!”  Somehow it will all be tied into The Election That Never Ends.

I am pretty confident that no matter who wins (and Obama is a 2-1 Vegas favorite BTW), your world will continue pretty much as it has up to this point.  Here in Ohio, they will pull up stakes, forget the drunken sailor promises they made to voters, and get back down to the business of skimming the fat from the land.  We will be forgotten.  Again.  Used up and discarded like the true fools we have always been.  We will have no benefit.  There will be no windfall of projects aimed at making our lives better.  No Skittles Rainbow in Cleveland.

It is clear that unless you want to meekly live out your days waiting for the oh-so-sweet release of death, you have to make things happen for yourself.  No one is coming to my rescue.  I know this.  The hand has been dealt.  No one cares. Everything you know is a lie.  Nothing is as it appears.  Swift decisive actions must be taken.  We’re running out of time.  Somehow none of this really matters. 

Here’s all that really matters.  The Giants won the Series. Again. And I had ‘em at 7-1.  See you suckers later.  My flight leaves shortly.