Stop Me Before I Vote Again

St Hill -- blessed scared gal martyr of the media -- may take her implausible posse of masochist geeks, race-cracked Latinos, and white lady junk jobblers to wins in both biggees next Tuesday. A loud win, maybe even a soft win, for Mother Courage in Ohio and Texas would put some nice slithery egg on a lot of shameless big-media pundits -- but then what?

Obviously party poohbah-sponsored polling will continue till the convention in a frank -- desperate even -- attempt to measure the black face in the white house effect -- measure it, and slice it up by gender, ethnicity, and region.

Needless to add, the media will echo these plumbings in its own ongoing serial of stick figure passion chapters -- and, speaking of that Abaddon of our social conscience, the main stream media, let us not forget that those pricks can turn on a dime. A sudden flock fuck of the Illinois messiah could come at any moment. And of course none of this will be easy to navigate, given the juicy rage of the house-doomed masses, and and and....

To sum up, or no, to turn the channel -- I'm looking to the man from the Hanoi Hilton to cheer me up this spring and summer.

Okay, its projection, but I see a TR thing he might get goin', a genteel ruffian bit. I know his family's long and august military lineage isn't exactly oyster bay material -- but it gives him a pedigree, of sorts.

When I was in prep school, we got fed (along with generous helpings of Xmas Dickens and an oddly jut-jawed St Paul) a steady diet of four twentieth-century men we homophobic self-abusing haute-burger boy inmates ought to honor and emulate: Winston Churchill, Robert Frost, Ernest Hemingway and... Teddy Roosevelt.

Now McCain might just make a fun Roosevelt avataricle. In fact the republicans might have nothing but Teddy remakes for us, now that the raw money wing of the grand ole party has to regroup for a spell after the latest plutocrats' trick or treating rampage. (Needless to note, unlike TR's type of bloody minded arms industry bellocosity, the party's other wing, the 12 tribes of Jesus junkies, is no substitute for common oil-patch greed.)

So, mad white America might just try on this ancient maverick's Teddy rendition. And hey, he's bound to die in office anyway.