It’s Over … Now Everyone be Quiet

The election is over…


As you know, I am non-partisan, so don’t let my utterance mislead you.

The most expensive, frantic, insane, ritual tribal dance in the world is over…until it happens again.  Billionaires have been reduced to millionaires with their donations, an army of volunteers have kept my do-not-call number ringing off the wall (political parties are exempt — of course). Millions of trees have been sacrificed for campaign signs. Balloons by the billions and confetti by the ton have rained down upon us. We have vaporized 2.5 billion dollars for this bloated, vindictive, over-long, mind-boggling exercise in democracy. Yes, democracy is messy, but it beats the alternative.

Over 110,000,000 million Americans braved long lines to vote.

50.3 percent are happy; 48.1 percent are not … but the final totals aren’t in.

Romney was gracious in defeat. Obama went on so long, I thought Bill Clinton wrote his speech. Obama won big in electoral votes, but he did not win BLATHERING RIGHTS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. Say thank you, Barack, then shut up and let us get some sleep. Some people have a day job that does not involve Air Force One as a commuter vehicle.

Can you imagine how those two guys and their families are going to feel as soon as the initial glow wears off or gloom sets in?

Even the news anchors must be quivering with fatigue; Brian Williams is probably curled in a ball. John King is probably talking election results in his sleep.

Once, just once, I flew a cheap multi-stop flight from Houston to Providence. I felt like roadkill. Too many take offs and too many landings. And the candidates did this daily for a year. Sure, Air Force One won’t leave without POTUS, and Romney’s plane waits for him. But people have odometers. And while the food is better on Air Force One, eating anything while going five hundred mph at 35,000 feet does not qualify as dining. Food is going into a gut that is puffing up under cabin pressurization. No wonder so much hot air comes out of their mouths. It’s a wonder the guys don’t explode. Not to mention, a single flight gives you as much radiation as an x-ray, and living at 35,000 feet  for a year makes me wonder if they glow in the dark.

Their carbon footprint is obscene.

The campaign was so tough, even the Romneys’ dog got diarrhea. Where is PETA when we need them?

There has to be a gene for people who can do this. I lack it. Obama and Romney have it. Their wives must be over the line. Ann Romney does not need this for her MS. And Michelle Obama, well, if she isn’t babbling nuts at the ringing of a phone, she’s boxing as part of her training. Kick boxing.

Heck, I did a lot of interviews over the last few days and was a babbling idiot for the last one.

By this morning, I bet all four candidates and their families will each stake out an out-of-the-way corner, retreat to it, and sit there, rocking and sucking their thumbs in exhaustion. That is, if they have the energy. Otherwise, they will curl up into the fetal position and suck their thumb. I predict a few will twist their hair at the same time. Then, if they must talk, they’ll pop up, do it and go back to their corners. Look carefully at their thumbs — see, they’re all prune-y.

I prescribe total silence for Romney, Ryan, Obama, and Biden for twenty-four hours. Their wives have had enough. They married them for better or for worse, but no one mentioned campaigning.

Listen up Romney, Obama, Ryan and Biden: if you value your lives, leave your wives totally alone for twenty-four hours. Do not speak; even better, do not enter the room where she is hiding. Unless she summons you, do not approach her. If she wants something, give it to her quickly and silently, preferably with a small bow of your head.

And someone, please remember to hold the Romneys’ dog for several days whisper canine reassurances, “There, there, sweetheart, you can stop shaking now. We aren’t going to move.”