I Have A Dream...

(cue dream sequence spooky music) It’s early in the morning hours of November 3rd, 2004. In a somber ballroom in Boston, the stunned crowd watches as their candidate steps to the microphone to begin his concession speech.

“They don’t like me! They REAAALLLY don’t like me!”, moans the French-looking candidate in his haughtiest voice.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Surely it was written in the stars that the people of America would rise up as one and anoint the Great Debater and The Boy Wonder as our new leaders. But alas, there will be no joy in Beantown for mighty Kerry has struck out.

Stunned news anchors intone the details of the increasing tide of votes sweeping the Democrats aside. Tom Daschle plans his new career as a lobbyist following his failure to persuade enough dead Indians to vote for him.

Across swing states hordes of lawyers are packing their bags and heading home. No recount this time. A 7 point Bush victory and a 313-225 electoral vote total taken care of that. Frantic TV reporters are searching for someone… anyone, who can attest to voter intimidation or heavy handed Republican tactics. Where are the disenfranchised black voters? Where are the hanging chads? Where are the bewildered old folks who voted for someone else by mistake?

There’s puzzlement on the faces of the party faithful. With a mournful cry they proclaim “Our guy won all the debates! Our guy had a better plan! Our guy is SMARTER! OUR GUY’S NOT BUSH!”

Oh, but the huddled masses in flyover country had a different idea. Your guy may be a better debater, but we LIKE the other guy better, and in today’s retail politics, like-ability beats debate-ability every time.

And in other ballroom in Washington, D.C., the winner faces his wildly enthusiastic crowd. Following the usual thank you's he turns to the camera, and in that unmistakable Texas twang, sends a message to the opposition who have spent 4 years trying to destroy him.

“Friends, to all of you who have worked so hard and given so much in this futile effort to mess me up, may I humbly suggest that it’s time for you to MOVE ON.”

Ah, sweet slumber…