Convention Aftermath: Horny, Lonely, and Disappointed

So. Glad. It's. Over. Though we still have some questions. Like, what the fuck with the protesters in the Garden? The nets barely stayed with them, so we're thinking it could have been a crazy dream. It was definitely the only really exciting moment of the entire convention. We're still trying to figure out how the Republicans managed to make New York -- normally a city a that vibrates with energy -- into a soul-sucking void. (If we could harness that power, we wouldn't need to drill in ANWR.) Other questions: What's the deal with Jenna's wardrobe? Who dosed Pataki before his speech? Why do bloggers tend to smell bad? And, where are we parked?


Also, it occurs to us that we are not very angry. Shouldn't we be angry? The protests, the traffic tie-ups, the insane man challenging Chris Matthews to a duel, Rudy Guiliani attempting to turn falling bodies into this convention's "thousand points of lights," the giant cross on the podium. . . So much to be angry about. But we're just kind of bored. In this respect, we are not unlike the Kerry campaign, whose attempt to get all fired up was drowned out by 50 mph winds and a Russian SWAT team.

When did politics get so unsexy? New York didn't even rise to give the Republicans the pleasure of trashing Baghdad on the Hudson, the Sodom of the East. And you know the Republicans are in trouble when Alan Keyes has the sexiest talking points (Using "organs for purposes of pleasure" . . Mmmmmm...) And while we totally hated Clinton at the time, by the end of Kerry's speech, we longed for the days of cigars and rimjobs.

Then again, there were all those people walking around with penises sticking out of their foreheads, so maybe there's hope.

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