Do somthing about it

http://change.gov/page/s/ofthepeople

the sentiments

Is it as obvious to others of the classic self stereotyping of the aristocrats upset that they've lost control of the governance system..."[Obama] expresses clear disdain for the people who drive 80 percent of job creation" – quote from the worldnetdaily blog posted on Wednesday, Nov 5...oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize we were supposed to feel honor in the position under your foot as you step on us. Has the French Revolution taught us nothing?

A breath of fresh air

Dear President Bush,

We, the people of the United States of America, would like to thank you for your eight years of national service. Without your tireless efforts, we, as a nation, would not have been able to make it to this point with such resounding collectivism of intention. We, as a nation, would continue on with disjointed causes and concerns, all vying for a national platform to enact change. Without your tireless efforts, we would not have had the impetus to merge into a united voice against exclusionary policy, secretive governance, and the moralistic judgment pervading the supposed populist movement for conservative family values.

President Bush, a testament to the efficacy of your two terms is the declarative appointment of the first black President that this country never thought it would be ready to see. We applaud your determination to bond Americans together with the notion that there has to be something better than this. It was short-sighted to think that the first four years produced enough traction and momentum to unite this movement for collective intention. No President Bush, you had the foresight and decency to push forward through two terms, increasing the national debt by $3.86 billion a day since Sept 2007, alienating the US through foreign policy and declaring No Child will be Left Behind. All of this, we now recognize was to show us that together, “Yes we can!” depart from this era with our heads held high and proud to be American.

Sincerely,

America

Bonjour

Bonjour.
(That means good day -- good as are apples and dirt and the occasional hand-drawn circle.)

It is the morning of November 5th and, even though the news-slugs gargle rhetoric, we know who has won.

We can tell because the barbeque fires are burning.

We can tell because ironic tshirt sales are down.

We can tell because the blues singers are shrugging

We can tell because even though I think you have rocks in your head and you think I have bigger, pointier rocks in mine we are both happy. We chest-bump our campaign pins together in a way that causes a lot of fun and only a little bleeding.

We must get busy celebrating today because tomorrow we have work to do, remember? Remember when we promised him we would help?

We said we would wake up earlier and understand each other more fiercely and throw nickels at the taxman and just generally try better at being angelic?

He said it wouldn’t be easy. I hope we were all listening good enough.

I think we were and that’s why we are making so much merry today, on November 5th. Because tomorrow we are ready to get to work.

Ready?


Set?


Bonjour!!

cha-ance of meatballs

Good morning! It's November...ummm...5th. I can't keep my days straight. Everything keeps changing. Ch-ch-ch-

Guys. Is anyone else worried about the hanger? I mean the anger. I'm worried about the anger. I'm worried about the divide. The great divide. Obam-o, can you do it, bro? I'm talking about my angry friends. Whaa, who me? No, not me. I'm talkin bout the angry ones, out across the great divide. Everything keeps changing.

When I leave my house this morning, it won't be with pride. I'll leave my house sad. Sad for the ones who lost, and sad for what that means for me and them now. Hey. Hey out there. Wanna cuddle? I really wanna cuddle.

The leaves are changing, yo. Even the leaves.

My forehead's getting all wrinkly and it's not from my helmet or from squinting at the letters. It's because, like this country, I'm growing old. Older each day. Like this country! And one day I'll be leaving on a jet plane.

I don't know, yall. Just when I should be feeling hope, all I feel is mope.

And on the other hand---can I say one more damn thing?---this day, duh-huh!!, is like the rest. I'll be on my way to work now, doing the same old and listening to the same old, just back-grunting insteada forward. Insteada "Oh my hopes and dreams" it's "Toldja so." Some part of me just doesn't want to hear ih. Just doesn't want the validation. Some part of me just wants to shout: It's so much worse than that! So much complicated-err! "We can only hhh..."

You make me wanna... !

We can only imitate the worst among us.
Or: we can imitate Gizz...
We can only Shout!

High, 66. Low 52. Chance of afternoon showers.

I am yours:
cloudy with a chance of meatballs

The Longest Goodbye

I woke with the taste of Jameson’s still in my mouth, overstaying its welcome like a corpulent mother-in-law four days after Christmas who still can’t get the hint. I sat up from the couch I’d been sleeping on, feeling a sudden kinship with that sorry sap Lieberman. Now we both knew what it felt like to have been thrown under a bus.
It was a new day for some, but for me it was just November 5th and I was just trying to stay clean in a dirty city that never sleeps or picks up its trash on time. There’d been a lot of talk about Change last night, Change I could believe in. But the only kind of Change I believed in was the kind that came out of the end of a .38 I kept underneath my pillow. It wasn’t the kind of Change you’d want to be on the wrong end of either. But I had to hand it to Obama. He’d been cool as a cucumber in a springtime salad the entire campaign. The best man had won, but that didn’t say much when your opponent was a beady-eyed cripple ready to take a dirt nap any day now. The grizzled, hollow-eyed mutts on cable had said it was a landslide, but a St. Valentine’s Day Massacre was more like it.
I lit up a cancer stick off the burner on the stove and my mind went to the Alaskan dame. She was pretty, fresh, like freshly fallen snow. But the kind of snow conceals something icy just below the surface, something treacherous. Something that can make your boots lose their grip on the asphalt jungle, sets your arms and legs windmilling until you faceplant in some frigid sidewalk filth-slushee. Women like that are trouble. I guess McCain learned that one the hard way. I’d like to say they were finished, the lot of them. But Republicans are like genital herpes, no matter what you do, they always come back, they always flare up and ruin your night just when things seem to be going well. This wasn’t going to be no honeymoon for Obama, that was for sure.
I looked out my window, the Lord of Flatbush, surveying my kingdom of perpetually sagging packages stores and mealy-mouthed barbershops. McCain was snuffed, we had won. This was finally ours. Obama and his gang would be stomping into the White House any day now and Bush would be out faster than a war criminal dodging a subpoena. It should have been a time of celebration. A day to put on your best suit and drink mint juleps until the room spun like a carousel.
But me? I was sober and wondering where my next paycheck was coming from. Because “recession” is just another name for nothing left to loot.

You Can't Make This Stuff Up...

...can you?

http://www.observer.com/2008/politics/erica-jong-tells-italians-obama-loss-will-spark-second-american-civil-war-blood-will-r