Thursday, August 2, 2012

The Light Bringer Pandereth

*Since I'm going incommunicato news-wise this month I thought I might not be back in proper mocking shape in time for the DNC nomination rally since it's going to be the first week of September. So I got in my time machine and decided to report on the goings on ahead of time, saving everyone time and effort.

The tension in the stadium hall was palpable. Everyone had seen the polls and they were much more racist than anyone could have imagined. The hundreds of faces in the crowd looked so worried, as if something CNN wasn't reporting could happen. Maureen Dowd of the venerable and trustworthy New York Times looked gaunt, pale and mumbled incoherently, quite unlike her. Froma Harrop just wandered around making superficial, uninformed comments to anyone who would listen. Even real conservatives were down, vainly trying to understand how conservatism had failed this president. David Brooks kept his eyes transfixed at pant leg level, hoping to read something, anything, like an Ancient Greek augur before a plate of sheep entrails.

Chris Matthews, of course, was inconsolable.

This sad sack group of fanatics and supporters was going to need something quick, something transcendent, or else whoever was left would be reporting something bigger than Jonestown.

The buzz started in the far corner of the hall. He was coming. The press had become so attuned to his wants and needs that they could feel him making his way to the stage. But something had changed. They could all sense it. The magic was back. This was going to be big. Important. Groundbreaking. Unprecedented.

At the first sight of him, the WaPo staff blacked out. He was so... confident. So focused like a laser. He reached the podium and pivoted so hard you knew this election was already over. Mitt Who? was already the headline across Journo-list II. Obama stared intently across the audience, as if he was going to correct Hillary Clinton for the umpteenth time. Then the words came,

"My balls, people. Seriously, my balls."

He strode off stage, knowing that his presidential work had been done handed off and he could now head to another fundraiser, the third this evening.

For a moment, the silence encompassed everything like an empty echo chamber. You could have heard an Newsweek Utne Reader drop from across the room. Suddenly, recovering from a half faint at the president's profound and explicit roadmap to improve the economy and foreign policy, Robert Redford stepped atop his burgundy velvet divan and began to clap. Then the roar began. It was deafening. The applause. The screams. The very ground upon which he had stood shook. They had patiently waited hours to hear how the election would be won and now they had. It was glorious. Oh, there would be naysayers in the conservative blogosphere and FauxNews, but nothing could be done about them. They only hear what they want to hear.


  1. What? A whole fudging month with no J-Bomb? Should I have my lawyer try to get your sentence knocked down to community service?

  2. Actually it was already knocked down to community service. But now I'm banned from there for what I did with their sexy sexy highway medians.