Ye Olde Scribe Presents: The Elephant

A day in January. Barack O’Bama is sworn in as President. Everyone is clapping as a sunbeam slips through the heavens and shines on the newly elected one. Even Hillary, muttering in the crowd to herself kind of like Margot Kidder after Superman went a little bezerkers, appreciates the moment… for a moment. The birds are singing sweet songs, wolves have decided to lay off the bunnies and it’s obvious God… who is Black… hath blessed the occasion. Flowers bloom three times as big. The economy soars. The debt magically disappears. As the troops come home even Bin Laden declares America is a sacred place for the first time.

Nirvana has arrived!

Come on, gentle reader. Doesn’t matter who gets “the prize,” they’re in for some deep dodo and we’re all in one hell of a mess. Barack, Hillary, John or even Merlin aren’t going to save us.

Perhaps we’ll be better off with a great rhetorician who inspires.

Perhaps we’d be better off with the very experienced member of a political family.

We sure as hell won’t be better off with Junior ass kissin McCain. HEY JOHN! Was that an illegitimate black baby in your house? Guess it must have been: your sure cuddlin close with the master of that lie.

But no matter who gets in, we’re ignoring the elephant up our ass. You know who stuck it there: the same guy who: for now, is McCain’s bestest buddy. He’ll be (HOPEFULLY) sneaking away in January with the “get out of impeachment free” card that the very people running right now seemed to have no problem with over all these years.

Sorry for the bad news.

Now, what about the elephant?