None Of My Business

I wish I really didn't give a rodent's posterior about the recent American election. Then I could happily ignore them when they elected whatever weird and wonderful entity they desired, like John Wayne's brain in a jar, or Fergus the psychic toothbrush. The coverage show could be called America's Wackiest Election Candidates, and be hosted by Ozzie Osbourne and Anna Nicole Smith, with Latoya Jackson doing the music. It would be stupid, but mildly entertaining, like alcohol-induced brain damage. Every drug-addled hippy, retarded redneck, crazed born-again Christian, murderous capitalist, militant feminist, steroid-pumping juicer and slavering serial killer in the country could be part of the audience, competing for big cash prizes and full presidential pardons. There could even be live genital piercing.

Unfortunately, our actual reality is a whole lot less entertaining, and a whole lot more depressing. America's economic, military, legal, technological, and cultural influence shapes the very fabric of our world, which makes the big cheese in their asylum pretty important, even to people who don't live there, vote there, or watch Everybody Loves Raymond. It's like living next door to a meth lab - you'll do just about anything to not get involved, but when the occupants start setting their cars on fire and ramming them into the local schoolchildren, it's everybody's problem.

So I feel pretty sick about another four years of George W Bush. I've disagreed with everything he and his government have done during the last four (apart from a grey wallet he bought back in April, that was quite nice), and I doubt he's going to start trying to please me now, even if I send him that new Onward Christian Soldiers Malibu Stacey doll he's been after. You see, she's made of white porcelain, and comes with a cross and two M67 fragmentation grenades. Simply adorable.