Electoral Imaginings...

... or wet dreams, as the case may be. I've been disinclined to post anything here in the days preceding the election, simply because I was expecting the worst in the interval--an attack on Iran (still a possibility)--or some other Constitutional conflagration designed to propel worthless Republican crooks and harridans further along their Congressional careers, in service to cronyism and to the defense of the indefensible.

By the early hours of Wednesday, the 8th, it was becoming apparent that not only had Rove's math indicated that he didn't finish college, the results may have suggested that he might not have finished grade school, either. Foul-breathed, farting failures at governance were falling everywhere (in fairness, so were Rahm Emanuel's hand-picked, hapless and heavily-financed hacks).

By Wednesday afternoon, it was apparent that Conrad Burns had proved that incumbency was not a lead-pipe cinch in the face of corruption charges and that G. Felix Allen was no better a politician than he was a UVa quarterback when up against an equally conservative opponent.

With both the House and the Senate lost, Karl Rove had two choices--being thrown under the bus by his boss or ritual seppuku, and, not wanting to lose his head and his future, sat in the audience while his erstwhile boss changed his nickname from "Turdblossom" to simply, "Turd."

Have no fear, ideological fanatics. Karl will soon be finding himself a new dumbfuck candidate to run in `08. With luck on his side, he will have convinced you all by then he's still "boy genius." (How little effort that requires.)

Am I gloating? Yes, I am. We've had twelve years of this "mouthbreathers unite!" routine, and it's worn very, very thin. Even the soccer moms want the war triumvirate of Rummy, Cheney (hereafter known as ol' Toad-In-The-Hole) and Bush castrated, drawn and quartered and their remains plopped onto the nearest George Foreman grill until there's little more left of them than charcoal and bone. To describe the Bushies' policy process, it's necessary to quote Otter in "Animal House": "Hey, you fucked up--you trusted us." The people, however trusting, do figure it out, eventually. And, now that they have, they're pissed.

That was Tuesday at the polls. A lot of pissed people. Many of them pissed for all the wrong reasons, but, pissed nevertheless, and generally pissed at being mistaken for Karl's mouthbreathers. Some very "family values" referenda went down in flames--Arizona's anti-gay marriage constitution change, South Dakota's anti-abortion law, etc., and both the Senate and the House changed hands.

But, all that's window dressing. The vote was about the war in Iraq. People are tired of it, and they're tired of Bush prancing around declaring that everyone wants "victory." No, George, they don't. They're fed up with you claiming to represent the nation on this issue, and many others. It's your war. You want victory, to save your sorry-assed reputation. The majority in the country want an end to the bloodshed and the possibility of escaping your bad judgment with a minimum of additional deaths. Fine, you threw Rummy under the bus, but the guy driving that bus is just another of your dad's cronies.

If Dems don't rub Dubya's nose in that fact, this election will, ultimately, mean nothing.