I just watched the HBO docudrama, Recount, which told the insiders' story of the presidential election debacle eight years ago, when the Supreme Court of the United States decided to saddle us with a retarded puppet for president. I thought, hey, eight years, that's enough time to let the wound heal over, but watching HBO tonight, all it did was tear the wound open once more. I felt so many different emotions, from anger to sadness to a bizarre form of hope that maybe, just maybe, they'd finally get it right, even though the outcome was decided long before they filmed the movie.

There has never been a doubt in my mind that George W. Bush and his cronies stole the 2000 election, that we've been cursed with his blundering, bungling presence in the White House for these past eight years because of blatant partisanship and the very worst kind of political hackery. And those feelings were nothing but reinforced by Recount.

This country's plunge into war and fear and terror has not been because of Dick Cheney's favorite Middle Eastern bogeyman, Osama bin Laden, and 19 nameless, faceless hijackers. It's because of a childish buffoon of a man who never had the right to live at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in the first place. America jumped the shark in 2000, and the rest of the world quickly followed suit.

And while I hope we've finally come to our senses, as scores of dead and wounded continue to return home from the pointless, needless clusterfuck in Iraq, I fear the 2008 election will be snatched from the grasp of sanity, of reality, much like the 2004 contest. I fear another presidential coup, and four more years of this utterly baffling madness, this time led by a bumbling, wizened septuagenarian with decades of untreated, pent-up Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

If I believed in a god, I would pray I'm wrong, that my fears are unfounded, but because I choose to live in the really real world, all I can do is wait through six more agonizingly slow months before I find out if my fellow Americans have gotten the hint, or if they prefer to live in a country of fear, with their heads buried in the sand, a country where the laws can be bent and broken with complete and utter abandon, where the Constitution and the Bill of Rights are spat upon when they become inconvenient.

November can't come soon enough.

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