Disappointment, Thy Name Is Super Tuesday
Disappointment, thy name is Super Tuesday. Maybe the celebrated day was intimidated trying to live up to its own hype, like the New England Patriots who were perfect for an entire season minus the last 35 seconds. What I'm saying is, not very superlative for either of them. Like opening a bottle of 30 year old Beaujolais and finding it more appropriate for use on your salad. Or discovering on your honeymoon your new spouse suffers from narcolepsy. Waking up on Christmas morning and being told Santa called in sick.
Oh sure, the Republicans winnowed themselves down to John McCain, the Last Rich Old White Guy Standing, due to their jerry rigged winner-take-all primary rules. Which could come back to bite them on the ass, as they managed to pick the one guy that REAL & TRUE conservatives detest, but that was always in the cards considering former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee is only reviled 3 percent less by those REAL & TRUE conservatives and a lot more by ... oh, what shall we call them: that wacky evolution-believing cabal.
Super Fat Tuesday did provoke the candidate REAL & TRUE conservatives do pantingly long for, former Massachusetts Governor, Mitt Romney, to up and quit. Mostly because, even though he was running 2nd, he had royally pissed off everyone. Did I say everyone? Because I meant EVERYONE. Including his 5 Stepford Sons for squandering their inheritance; blowing 40 million dollars of his own money for the right to wear the conditional crown of Mr. Inevitable for 2012, should the Last Rich Old White Guy Standing falter this November.
Super Tuesday's most spectacular failure was on the other side of the aisle. Instead of putting some separation between Barack and Hillary, the voting in 24 states ended up intertwining the two, creating a kind of a candidate bouillabaisse. The perfect Mardi Gras concoction: a gumbo of equal portions of the Black Guy and the Woman.
What was supposed to be crystal clear -- not very clear at all. To be perfectly honest, the only thing that is clear is that this fight to the finish is not over. The fat lady has not sung. Oh I'm sorry, we're talking liberals. What I meant to say is that the gravity-enhanced Diva has yet to warble. As a matter of fact, I don't even think she's waiting in the wings yet. Probably still hanging out in the dressing room smoking a cigarette, talking to her agent on a cell phone with her legs stretched out on the make up table stuffing her mouth full of bon-bons whilst one of the assistant costumers takes out her dress. Again.
I mean, after an election of this magnitude, the outcome traditionally provides you with either your clear, your near clear, your unclear, your blurry, your muddled, your opaque or your lead apron at the dentist's office with the hygienist safely ensconced in a room two counties away from the chair you're laying in with a 3 ton X- Ray gun pointed at your jaw. And this... is definitely one of the latter. But relief is in sight. Because guess what? More primaries coming up. Yee hah. Which means more fundraising, more ads and more pundits pompously pontificating. And translucent and transparent are just around the corner. One can only hope. But then, one has been wrong before, hasn't one?