After spending most of yesterday licking my wounds, drinking heavily, and staring morbidly at the metro section of the Dispatch, I am now ready, two days after, to put to pen and posterity my thoughts on this dark November and the American way.

The Democratic Party should disband, dissolve. Force its many malcontents and incompetents back into the GOP, where they belong. The great minds, of which there are certainly few, may find refuge from the storm in my backyard. We will drink beer there, and burn alley trash in great bonfires, and newspapers will be used only for kindling, and the puppet skulls still lingering on my fence posts, leftovers from the Day of the Dead celebrations only a few days before, will be the only reminder that our generation is as doomed as that of our mothers’ and fathers’ – and the yard will be the last known smiling place for any Democrat this year.

They should be routed, forcibly busted like an unruly mob of teenagers. I don’t drag my poor mother out of her house, hissing terrible threats in her ear and kicking viciously at her yappy dog, her ear twisted all the way to the polls, just get Cartered after 18 fucking months. In 2006, Democrats won their first campaign for the legislature in many years, and took many of the top state offices, as well. Less than two years later, the country was past the point of return over the cliff of recession, and the Democratic “leadership” then elected has now taken full responsibility for the pig-eyed greed of the Republicans who took us to the brink, and over. The country was helmed by a dim schoolyard bully, whose feudalistic angst compelled him to go along with a massive money machine and invade the country that had, in his eyes, shamed his father, and his family – and it took most of his attention away from the dwindling economy, and the panic that had already gripped most of the Wall Streeters behind the mess, those who had pushed most stridently for de-regulation and, after achieving it, performed filthy acts in their new-found darkness, while the rest of us wandered on in ignorance.

Ah, but not for long…by 2007, it had became very apparent that a fuck-up had occurred, and by then we were already pissed. We gave the White House and many other important things to the Democrats, and shook our collective finger at the Republican Party. “Look what you have done,” we said. “You’ve really fucked the pooch on this one. You take a couple years and get rid of your slime, because we need a conservative party…you aren’t that, but we are about to spend a ton of money, enough to give us the screaming sweats late at night, when inflation has transformed the dollar bill into a soiled rag. We will need you then, and you aren’t this now, so go and fix these things, or you are about done.” The night is always darkest just before your every hole is filled by a big-dick junkie looter, and 2009 was no exception.. The Republicans were so filled with Wormwood and embarrassment after their rout in 2008 that regaining power became their overweening desire. The Party undertook a re-branding exercise, a Pizza Hut lunch date, swapping war stories and dipping their bread in Mitt Romney’s hair. The Left tittered, victorious, and spent ungodly amounts of money on everything they could…that was the Plan, after all. Fine.

Republicans began forming their strategy: Scream in outrage at every damn thing, and perhaps the voters will reinstate our grand old party.

“What? That’s it, the whole thing?” asked Bobby Jindal.

“That’s right, just yell and bitch about everything,” replied Mike Steele.

“Don’t we need to offer an alternative?” protested John McCain. “Some sort of goal we are working on, something for them to invest their hopes and their votes in? That worked for Barry, you know.”

“No, you old fool,” snaps Romney. “That’s where they fucked up. They had a plan, and they didn’t pull it off. Now we capitalize on that…besides, if we offer up a plan, they will scrutinize it, and I don’t know about the rest of you, but I ain’t got any real gangbuster ideas right now, and it looks like John just wet himself.”

“Oh, darn,” said McCain, of the spreading pool.

And they advertised it! Their plan was to “cut spending”! That’s it…the whole plan was to “cut spending”! And they told us that!

You know, money’s a little tight for me, too, right now. I am pretty broke. I guess I should just cut spending, myself. I’m always paying the dude that owns my house…I guess I can “cut spending” there. And that food…always eating that food. Well, I haven’t got enough dough for that, either, so I guess it just has to go. Gotta cut spending.

That’s what you did, America, on Tuesday. That’s what you voted for, just as things were starting to turn around, and the light at the end of the tunnel was getting a little brighter. Unemployment in Texas is 8.1 percent. In California, it is up around 12 percent, but nationally, it is coming down. Jobs are opening up…I just turned down two and got one. I didn’t go to college, and I don’t work particularly hard, or even believe myself extra talented in my field.

Here in Columbus, our city council managed to pass a charter amendment allowing them executive sessions in a ballot issue worded like a Latin prayer. It made no sense to anyone, especially the senile geriatrics motivated enough to make it out to the polls. The council hasn’t had a fairly elected member in over a decade, and the Democrats are the ones with the stranglehold. The measure legitimizes a crooked appointment that all but insures a party incumbent in every election.

So I am inclined to think that, with every Democrat across the land being routed by any brain-dead Republican that can stand on its weak little legs long enough to slur off an acceptance speech, that the council would have been defeated, too, as their “sound policy” measure is overtly being used to maintain their unpopular party’s stronghold in council…This means that the blue-haired corpses pulling the trigger on the second didn’t even have the energy to scrape the shit out of their eyes before they voted!

Of course, it doesn’t help that part of the GOP’s “get out the vote” campaign included vans equipped disguised as casino shuttles with scooter lifts. Most of them thought they were playing slot machines, and the rest were trying to poll-nix their own Medicare-supplied Rascals, grumbling about healthcare spending as they thrust their bulk heavily forward at the machines, trying desperately to reach past decades of enthusiastic obesity and degeneration, to hit the “vote” button, the desperate last stand of the Ronald Reagan Fan Club.

I haven’t worn an Obama T-Shirt since that big black man in Cleveland made me buy one in 2008…he took my money and touched himself inappropriately as he made me put it on in front of him, afterwards demanding that I “stay black.” We were all young, wild with hope and frenzied on our own constituent power. We behaved strangely in the orgiastic festival of that election, and did things that we either can’t remember, or can’t forget – but the party was very different this year, wasn’t it? And with the keg so close to empty this time, I guess we just bailed.

I know many of you my age that will open your fat whore mouths and offer your uninformed opinions to people like me, that will shoot off your mouths without ever opening a newspaper, let alone interviewing a candidate, or working in any meaningful way for a cause. I know that many of you are so wet-behind-the-ears that you don’t care enough to get off your fat asses and go to the polls, especially when Modest Mouse isn’t playing at the after party, and many whose political contribution includes an occasional Tweet or signing a Facebook petition for a pot cause.

And I understand that you are a lazy, thankless, and stupid generation, truly your mothers’ daughters and your fathers’ sons. I am ashamed of you, and of myself, for not beating the shit out of you with a large metal pipe, forcing you into the back on my truck and driving you to the polls in great miserable batches of the civically obligated. This year, I have never felt less proud of the job that I did campaigning for the side of right and truth. And it is with gloomy satisfaction that I scratch out parts of the sticker that still clings impotently to my leather jacket:

I Made A Difference So Can You! Vote

Rumor has it next year’s sticker will read simply, *Shrug? LOL*