Look, I can't be having with all this hope and change crap. Of course, I am overjoyed that, at noon, our 8-year national nightmare is no more. This is, in fact, the day we've been waiting for. But you people? You're taking a big dump on my city. Did I particularly want to head into town today to see John the Daftist and other relations? Well, yeah, it would've been nice, actually. They're all kinda crunchy and stuff, for moneyed elitists, and they've descended like flies on an Aunt Jemima-covered superhero.
The two basic inaugural themes never change. I well remember an Inauguration Eve 16 years ago*, similarly rife with...uhm...hope and change. In fact, I seem to recall another imminent inaugurant, from...uhm...a town called...uhm...Hope.
The other theme, of course, is Fuck You, Peasants, Mind If We Take A Dump In Your Living Room For Four To Eight Years?
Are we glad Barry's going to be Preznit in a little over 2 hours?** Duh. Can y'all leave my town and let the man get down to making splendiferiously good and vomitoriously bad decisions? Yes. In the approximate words of another bringer of hope and change: Yes, you can. We have a government to continue to fuck up, just like we always have, regardless of leadership ideology, and your portapotties are crapping up our park.
*There's a story here, involving alcohol, hundreds of hookers in fur coats lining the streets of Northwest DC, preznitential motorcades, more alcohol, and...uhm...alcohol, although I think there was some food in there, too. So I won't bother telling it.
**Barry called me, and told me that he doesn't mind if I call him "Barry." He also told me that it was tough shit that I think there's a 72-percent chance that the new Ubertsar of the federal agency whose budget pays for my family to eat and be warm and have fast Intertubes will turn out to be a dipshit. But that's okay. Barry's honest** with me, and I'm honest with him.
***For a given value of "honest."