As I struggled to hold down the contents of my stomach which churned and threatened projectile vomiting that would do any indwelling demon proud, I wished (not for the first time, nor I fear the last) that Hillary had been just a little better at running her campaign.

That miserable punk who foisted himself on a desperate nation by concocting out of whole cloth a completely bogus personam, so thoroughly outdid himself in his favorite rhetorical pomposities and preemptive surrenders that he makes one root for the schoolyard bully to take the lunch money, inflict the wedgie, and then lock the miserable little bastard in his locker till his cries bring the fire department with the jaws of life.

Lugubrious, self-pitying, self regarding and self centered.

Fuck him where he breaths, and the horse he rode in on.

There can be no worse outcome for this country than a second Obama term.

Bring on the ‘bots–I will defend my coming Romney vote down to the last “dumb-dumb-dumb” of the South Park parody.

I will watch with satisfaction as President Bachmann writhes in migraine pain and soldiers bravely on.

I will glow as President T-Paw munches yet another foot.

I will even raise my hands and shout “Amen” as President Perry announces a National Day of Prayer to induce the intercession of Yahweh in the interests of getting the Longhorns into the Rosebowl.

I just want to respect myself in the morning after the election, and right now, I feel so used and dirty, I can only hope for relief through repudiation.

When you have been stabbed in the back, the first step towards mental health is to pull the dagger out and shove it up the ass of the sonofabitch who lied his way into your heart.

In other words, I jut listened to Obama’s East Room address this evening.

Rex

Rex

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