“I hope this is the last goddamn election where I have to vote for a Democrat,” said my old friend and former producer, Robbie Jackson told me at brunch this morning, twirling his tall glass of ubiquitous iced tea with his large, sturdy fingers. I knew he didn’t mean he was looking for the next best Republican.
Margaret is sleeping in this historic day, having voted ‘absentee’ back in New York. I hadn’t seen Frank Belloc yet. Bertie Ernesto had not reappeared since his abduction by right wing Italian American Goombas a few nights ago. I was massaging my skull with my hands and nursing the hangover with a Bloody Caesar, which took some doing getting the clamato out of them.
“I want to see the goddamn Republicans shatter,” said Jackson, never one to mince his militant black, libertarian words. “And then for that to carry over into the Democrats. In two years, after Pelosi steers that ship into the rocks like Nancy Fucking Hazelwood, I want to see the remnants of the GOP come nipping at the heels of Congress in 2010 and for the Dems to fold like down syndrome origami. Then, and I don’t mean to come down on my brother, Barack, but then we get to really dig into the change I want to believe in.”
“Election reform, third party system, addressing the death penalty, our reliance on corporate hegemony, education reform,” I say. It’s going to be a long day.
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