Do you remember the last time you were happy? I allude, of course, to the rush of elation that washed over you the morning you heard the dulcet tones of Carl Kasell imparting the almost unbelievable news that American voters had more or less socked it to the Bush regime doggie-style. You know how you danced out into the demi-paradise of your cheery neighborhood, aglow with exultation, inspirational songs such as “Dueling Banjos” and the The Partridge Family theme rising from your quivering throat? Remember how you then reached into your fannypack, whipped out your Blackberry, and dashed off an eloquent blog post likening the event to the golden taste of gusto shining like the light at the end of a tunnel that was on but no one was home and the weight of a thousand lead luftballons lifted the monkeys off your back and you finally awoke fit-you-must-acquit as a fiddle from a Nightmare of the dark where All the dogs of Europe bark?
For the rest of the day, and maybe some of the next day, too, you had the curious sensation that you and your shining ideals were not alone. Remember? It seemed entirely likely that the entire world hadn’t gone mad after all, that there were others like you whose views on good government tend to veer away from compulsory pregnancy laws and brainwashing tots that George Bush created the universe 6000 years ago. You dared to consider the possibility that the human spirit is not, in fact, merely a snotglob of hubris, deceit, and churlishness loosely bound with stupidity and season tickets to NASCAR, but rather something intelligent and pretty, with a decent music collection. You dared to feel the dim stirrings of hope that one day your own government might give you back your uterus (if you still have one), that maybe while they were at it they’d decriminalize poverty, or even put a stop to the senseless butchery in Iraq.
Then you called your Republican brother-in-law and went “nyah-nyah!” Oh, how the two of you laughed.
But soon afterward, it pains me to remind you, the gilded tide of jubilation began receding to distant shores, taking with it the moratorium on despair that had, for a time, made it seem possible to ease up on the double Xanax-Paxil-margarita lunches. Horribly, all anyone wanted to talk about was how the Republicans are gearing up for the next assault, how the Democratic candidates only got elected because they are actually a bunch of anti-abortion pro-war turds, how America is essentially a conservative nation of white males or porn addicts, and how Britney is finally taking my advice and dumping Federline.
But it wasn’t until the fucking President flitted over to Vietnam and declared that the good old American imperialist spirit will never die — you heard him speak the words, yet how could an American president not know that we lost the Vietnam war? — that you heaved, with cognitive dissonance afresh, your joyless carcass onto your lime green recliner, bringing with you a straw and the family-size tub of Cool Whip into which you had mixed a pint of Jack Daniels. Your face broke out in zits, your eyes turned into black-and-white spirals, twirling and twirling and twirling and twirling …
But wait! Come on get somewhat happy! Keith Olbermann gives you another golden taste of gusto with this glorious bit of dignified and justifiably outraged oratory.