Late on election night, there are plenty of things everyone would really rather not think about -- not after such a long, grinding, 4-year campaign. And that's probably a good indication that we should think of them. Now. Even if we get queasy.
I dunno about you, but my own private version of Nightmare on Pennsylvania Avenue managed to leak out and stain my innermost thoughts, even now, fully tired, and my guard down.
After brushing aside all the shouts of Peanuts! Popcorn! Hot Dogs! Cold Drinks! and ducking around vendors and crowds, I found myself standing alone, under a huge banner, overhead: Step Right Up and Make a Prediction for the Big Day (TM).
Truth be told? Either way we regular folk will be hosed, and the mega-billionaires will win --another notch on their belts for their victory, more tightening on ours, in the loss.
How so? Well, just shooting from the hip, so to say...
Romney gets in, we're triple-screwed and quadruply-shafted by the Billionaire's Puppet Agenda and Or-Else Club steering a spineless dufus from tragedy to disaster and back again, profit-taking every step of the way.
Plus, there could be a good chance -- meaning very, very bad -- of riots in a close count or other signs of another possible vote-hijacking, fueled by yet another round of betrayals for The Faceless Minorities (as they Club'd call them) to ponder and eat.
And, if you think Romulus and Remus -- sorry: Romney-Ryan -- will have time to ensure things go well for the average, middle-class voter who vaulted them ahead of the pack, or establish a glorious new Rome for American Empire, you're either off your meds or have taken a whole bottle.
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