I return, albeit reluctantly, to the unsavory subject of that looming day of infamy, November 4th, and to the list of names from which the next leader of the free world will be selected.
It doesn't look pretty, folks, and while I've written some strong words on the subject of conscientious objection and using the voting box as a platform for social activism, I'm going to have to recant. Sort of.
You see, I've been studying the holy scriptures -er, excuse me, the written text- of Obama's recent speeches, and I've come to the rather unsettling realization that this man is stark, raving mad... and the majority of our national media have fallen desperately in love with him.
Let's get a few things straight people. He's not the friggin Messiah. A careful revisiting of salvation history makes this clear. So best stop holding your breath as you wait for him to walk on water.
Along those same lines, the man is not a rock star. Case in point, we don't care what kind of underwear you're sporting, Mr. Obama. Please refrain from enlightening the public on these and other delicate matters next time you're hawking yourself on Entertainment Tonight. Damn.
So come November, I'll plug my nose and check "McCain," selling out all my strongly held beliefs in an attempt to save the US from the Obamination of socialism. And I'm not happy about it, but it beats the alternative. More on this later, I have a pedicure appointment.