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FDL Late Nite: Hope

I know, I know, the Kermit song may be corny, but I love it.  I've sung it to babies, like my partner's niece, to get them to sleep.  I have a very serviceable baritone, actually.  I've performed at the Kennedy Center as part of their annual Honors show.  Ok, I was part of a chorus and no one could hear me, but still.  I was on tee vee!
Liberals are accustomed to having their hopes dashed, and for many, the experience of hoping is scary, frightening, a precursor to bitterness, depression and impotent rage.  But it looks like, this time, we may have cause to taste real victory, and I hope everyone can get used to, well, hoping, maybe for the first time.
If we taste victory Tuesday, it will be well earned, and for sure, we will still have lots of work to do, as I discussed earlier tonight.  But it's still worth getting used to winning, believing we can win.  If we win, Rove lost:  think about that.  He's not supernaturally gifted, he's just been on top of a winning machine, but if we win, it's because we've built our own, competing alternate machine:  one that can win.  And we're just getting started.
Reading through the comments today, lots of us have been out walking precincts and handing out literature.  We've been making calls, too.  We're tired, and yet our work is not done before Tuesday.  So for all of you, I wanted to offer a bit of a sweet lullaby, as you'll need a good night's sleep tonight.
In the comments, what are your favorite lullabies, sweet songs, songs of hope, no matter how corny?  Fess up. 
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Pachacutec did not, as is commonly believed, die in 1471. To escape the tragic sight of his successors screwing up the Inca Empire he’d built, he fled east into the Amazon rain forest, where he began chewing lots of funky roots to get higher than Hunter Thompson ever dared. Oddly, these roots gave him not only a killer buzz, but also prolonged his life beyond what any other mortal has known, excluding Novakula. Whatever his doubts of the utility of living long enough to see old friends pop up in museums as mummies, or witness the bizarrely compelling spectacle of Katherine Harris, he’s learned a thing or two along the way. For one thing, he’s learned the importance of not letting morons run a country, having watched the Inca Empire suffer many civil wars requiring the eventual ruler to gain support from the priests and the national military. He now works during fleeting sober moments to build a vibrant progressive movement sufficiently strong and sustainable to drive a pointed stake through the heart of American “conservatism” forever. He enjoys a gay marriage, classic jazz and roots for the New York Mets.