It is finally here again, the day we assume control of our country's delicate future, the day we dispose of George Bush and his slime. The day we can pull the chain and flush the man and his evil into the ceespool of history, relegate him and his team into that leaching field where Hitler and Goering, Menachem Begin and Idi Amin reside festering into the future.
We know the natre of the animal, and the two past elections should have taught us that he or his clones could be back, but the day of election is a day of hope. It the type of day that asks to be remembered and it creates a joy and a hope in all of us.
It is the day that the peniccilin will take, that the wound starts to cauterize, that the pus no longer oozes. It is the day for those of you who voted for the beast can atone and, hanging your head in shame, shuffle to the polling station and do the right thing.
In San Francisco there is a measure on the ballot to name a sewage treatment plant after George W. Bush,and I would urge voters to make sure he is placed in it before naming it after him.
I cannot in good conscience urge you to vote, I can ask you to use your vote carefully. I can suggest that the time for fairy tales and raw greed is over. I can assure you that things will get better if you exercise caution with that ballot, the last eight years have proven that the ballot in the wrong hands is a dangerous, murderous thing.
And if you have any doubts about how to vote, please stay home.