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Election Night Notes for Fitz Whaley Part 2

Dear Fitz:

At 11:15pm and there already is more Democratic bodies on the ground than at Vicksburg. Sherman spared more at Atlanta and Mitt Romney is looking like a hero with the stumping he did for his wretched GOP. Casa de Beaver Goat is under lockdown with the girls cowering in the basement with aluminum hats on their heads and shotguns in their hands. I am pacing madly in the living room, screaming at the television and demanding an explanation for this complete dismantling of this nation I love.

Unfortunately, you and I both know there will be no answers because God is dead and Mitch McConnell is the majority leader of the Senate.

I heard he celebrated his victory over Alison Grimes by implementing prima nocte on his recently conquered constituents and there was no opposition. Kentucky enters a new era of canonized backwater leadership and McConnell now has to be careful to part his hair to cover the horns that burst out of his skull.

We’re doomed, Fitz. I don’t know how I am going to survive the next two years and frankly, I’d be surprised if this nation does either. There are not enough IKEA credit cards or free Amazon Prime accounts to distract the populous from the madness the Congress will subject this country. Monday Night Raw ratings are not nearly large enough to offer relief from the sort of barbarity the Republicans will impose upon this country and I fear Obama’s veto wrist will tire before these monsters are stopped.

A southpaw, Obama is a sinister manu. That’s a fancy Latin word for left hand. A dead language and we might as well be dead as well. I’m suspecting that he is mainlining HGH, newborn stem cells and Kentucky straight bourbon looking for an out to this God awful mess. McConnell might be a monster and his state plummeting to Hell in a handbag but the Bluegrass State still makes a damn fine whiskey.

I should know—I’ve been slugging it back non-stop since the first polls have closed.

There is no easy solution to the problems and threats that face us in the immediate future but I do have a couple of suggestions. First, suspend all legislative rights for the next two years minus budget bills. Just have the bastards finance the current programs and have them keep their bifurcated tails off of our beloved Constitution. Second, term limits starting now. One final term. No more. No mas. Let these perverts and sex offenders and tax cheats and bastards have 24-months of cocktail parties and cocaine-fueled orgies and that’s it. Posse Comitatus in effect and send the 435 back to their home states where they can stand trial for the crimes and misdemeanors.

Better start warming up the tar and gathering the feathers.

In the meantime, I suggest that we get straight. Focused. Normal. I propose a workout regime filled with long jogs and joining one of those CrossFit gyms. Start shopping at an organic grocery store and listening to Blake Shelton. Buy a Ram truck and start playing fantasy football. We’ll pay our taxes and start attending a local church. In a word, we’ll blend right in. We’ll get off their radar and when the time is right, we’ll take our sharpened screwdrivers right to the small of their backs.

They’ll never see it coming.

Because the rich and privileged only get soft when they control the world. They’ll expect nothing but obedience from the sheep that elected them while we’ll be ready to strike at a minutes notice. I know we’ve been through the dark before with Newt and his cronies trying to ruin this country but we’ve survived.

I only hope we have enough shotgun shells, Appalachian whiskey and canned goods to get through this again.

Stay focused.

Ben

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About Ben Raskin

Born in El Cajon, raised in Las Vegas, educated in Reno and living in Salt Lake City. I bartend, write, box and live in Sugarhouse UT.

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