Oh, Thank God, We Are Back! – (or: My Dog Goldwater)

Hey, did you hear what the illustrious liberal votin’, swifty boatin,’ ketchup totin’, and just maybe (allegedly) Botox coatin’ John Kerry had to say recently? He let all of us Americans know that once Hillary ascends to the Secretary of State position it would send a strong signal throughout the world that “America is back!”

Hey, hey, Johnny, do you mean the America you tried to usher in in ’04 is back? The wag the dog, pad with hog, class division with socialism type of America? That one? The war by polls, flag with holes type of America? The ‘blame us first, because we’re the worst’ type of America? The “I’m too cool to rhyme you with dweeb” America?

You know what, Johnny? You’re wrong. We on the right, never left. You on the left, were never right. Get it? Johnny, we are back. A byproduct of a resounding defeat has a way of reinvigorating the vanquished, so we are back. The sons of Abraham Lincoln. The followers of Ronald Reagan. The ones who still own record players. The ones who cherish equality, freedom and truly know how to protect it. We are back, Johnny.

To prove that, I will be showing you and every other person that was fooled in this last election my little protest sign. It’s 4″ X 8″ and sits on my rear.

That’s right Johnny, my McCAIN/ PALIN bumper sticker is still on my car, at least through the inauguration. After that I will become what John Wayne promised to Jimmy Carter; part of the loyal opposition. (Unlike the lack of lexical civility rabidly hurled at President Bush, there will be no horrible “Ouck F’bama” bumpers stickers for me.)

I used to pity the sore losers that left your KERRY/EDWARDS bumper stickers on their cars. (Some still have them on, as well as their GORE/ LIEBERMAN ones.) But to prove I’m not a sore loser, I will admit here that the man that I pulled the lever for was part of a grossly outmaneuvered and quite possibly mismanaged political effort – and loudly admit we were beat fair and square. Two days after the inauguration, my hand to God, the bumper sticker is gone. Okay, maybe three.

So please don’t mistake my car for the vehicle of an angry sourpuss who is holding his breath and kicking his dog in bitter defeat! Hell no, I don’t have a dog. However, if I did, he’d be named “Goldwater,” and we’d both be celebrating our return. Goldwater would come along for the ride sitting in the front passenger seat – head out the window, tongue wagging and navigating me around LAX just in time for the celebs returning from the inauguration to see my big carbon-foot-printing rear end.

(That is unless they are all in their private Jets arriving at Van Nuys Airport. Are those Jet’s Hybrids?)