Well, you guys, it's been fun.  The week after the groundbreaking election is now coming to an end, and with it the inevitable return to political apathy.  Don't pretend to fight it.  We were all caught up in the election moment, and now we're spent.  It's the feeling guys get right after sex.  That one moment we don't want women to know about. The only moment that we're not thinking about having sex.  Only, this political post-coital abyss can last for years rather than seconds.

No matter who you supported, Obama and McCain really got some blood flowing, some of it even boiling.  We debated with friends, co-workers, and family members we may never have discussed politics with before.  We spoke like we were experts, even when our facts came from Stephen Colbert or a ranting hobo outside Pinkberry.

But now it's over.  We had our fun.  We hung signs, we made calls, we went door to door.  But it was a political fling.  Now we're back in our own world.  The one where we hope the guy in charge does the right thing, but if he doesn't, what the hell can we do about it for four years anyway.  If there's a juicy enough scandal, someone will let us know.  If Joe Biden gets pregnant with Michelle Obama's baby, they'll interrupt "Two And A Half Men" to tell us.  But if the unemployment rate goes up and millions of people are without healthcare...  ah, someone in D.C. will deal with it, right?

NO, PEOPLE!!  America won't be your one night stand!  You got turned on by this election.  Barack Obama flirted, wooed, and swept you off your feet!  Yes, you had a sweaty, passionate night together on November 4th, but you gave him your real phone number, so you cannot pull your usual ball-n-bail with this one!  You need to call him.  None of this "I need to wait a few weeks so he doesn't think I'm desperate!"  You are desperate!  This President is a catch, and you've been too lonely for too long. (I'm not counting that last loser you were with.  What was his name, George?  He was a dud and you knew it.)  I just can't watch you let this one go.

Call this Barack guy.  Tell him you had a great time last Tuesday night.  He knows you give good ballot, now tell him that watching him on TV makes you want to inaugurate.  Listen to his fears.  Soothe them.  You both want this thing to work, so in the immortal words of Feldman, Heilbron, and Garofalo, "Don't fuck it up!"

I think John McCain used to be a somewhat decent person.  He wasn't born with a malformed soul like Dick Cheney or anything, but he certainly acted like a Dick during this past campaign.  I bring it up because his concession speech last week made me think McCain wants to be decent again.

At my regular poker game, we have a little sign that says "Don't Be A Dick."  If it gets passed to you, it means you've crossed some line and need to check your attitude.  Sometimes one of us knows they're going to say something Cheneyish, so they just say it and put out their hand to receive the Dick sign.  Is that what McCain was doing?  Does he expect to get off with a simple "Don't Be A Dick" sign that he can pass off five minutes later?

Sometimes one Dick move can ruin your reputation forever.  If you expose your inner Dick at the wrong place or time, you could lose friends, get dumped, or get fired from your job at the children's theater.  We've all had (or been) a friend who went through a tough period where perhaps they weren't being their usual nice selves.  Maybe they started being really negative, or fooled around with someone they shouldn't have, or authorized the torture of thousands of innocent abductees.  If they don't get punched or ditched altogether, they can at least expect a good talking to.  "It seems like something's on your mind lately," a good friend might say to them.  "You're not yourself."  Or, "You're dragging the free world into an avoidable apocalypse, and even the devil-spawn Karl Rove said you've gone too far.  Should we get some chai lattes and talk?"

So how much slack should we cut John McCain for his recent behavior?  How big of a Dick is too big to forgive?  Is Dick size even the determining factor, or is it the length?  For a man of his age, McCain certainly kept it up for a while.

Different people have different takes on this question.  If America was a high school, we'd need to shave his head or video-tape him making out with an ugly chick to knock him down a peg.  Then maybe he'd have a chance at redemption after we all took a summer vacation to cool off.  But, for example, if we were using reality TV standards, then he was clearly just voted out of the house.  Some countries punish traitors in cruel and unusual ways.  In England, the sentence is life in England.

Also, does his time as a prisoner of war buy John McCain some leeway?  Does having undergone a horrible experience give him a blank check to then spread lies and hatred around the country he'd previously been fighting for?  Does one wrong make another wrong right?  Is that why Nelson Mandela wrote the Sopranos finale?

I'd like to know your thoughts, because I want to find the most compassionate solution, if possible.  Please use the comment space below to tell me and America whether we should embrace John McCain like an apologetic grandpa after a drunken Thanksgiving episode, or shun him like an opportunistic sellout who tried to murder our freedom.  I'll stay neutral in order to maintain the high journalistic standards of Funny Or Die's blogspace.

The following is a message from God:

Hey kids, it's Me.  There's been a lot of controversy about things I may or may not have said, so I've decided to write a quick blog entry clarifying some basic issues.  I hope My choice of venue doesn't cause any inconvenience to those who don't have internet access, can't read, or just don't happen to read this blog.  I'll go ahead and take down this posting soon so those of you who do read it can just tell everyone else what it said to the best of your recollection.  That's worked out well in the past.  Just tell the others that I said to listen to you.

Let's get down to it:

I am The Lord your God.  Please devote a LOT of your time to memorizing and reciting verses that tell Me how awesome I am.  That's a big thing for Me.  Because I am perfect, but My self esteem--not so much.

If you believe you have good reason to kill someone, it's not that big a deal.  Some people are real dicks.  I know, I have to be around all of them all the time.  Seriously, you're saving me a lot of paperwork.

The Earth is yours to use as you see fit.  I gave it to you as a gift (home-made, I know, but it was a lean year).  You guys are brilliant with some of the stuff you've come up with.  Honestly, oil was just some leftover goo I swept under the surface when I was bored of creating stuff.  I love what you're doing with it.  Here are some things that are far more flammable than I think you're aware of:  Soil, live fish, and clouds.  Get on it.

There is One True Religion.  I can't ruin it by telling you which one, but if you aren't affiliated with a religion yet, get cracking!  If you've got one, you really need to do more hard-sell convincing.  Nothing pleases Me more than seeing My creations argue about who wears the right funny hat on the right holiday.  That's totally the point!!

I've got to go watch The Daily Show now, but if I think of anything I forgot, I'll e-mail you.

Saturday morning cartoons are to blame for the extended traumatic experience that is the Bush administration.  Brainwashed by the Superfriends, Optimus Prime, and Penny from Inspector Gadget, it's no wonder we look for a flashy hero who can save the world and sell us Cocoa Puffs, when what we really need is a grounded parent who'll save our money and trick us into eating broccoli.  When we think of ourselves as the children of the nation, and choosing our President as choosing a parent, the last eight years make up a tragic, hopeful, coming-of-age story...

One Tuesday in November of 2000, we came home from school, did our homework, had some mac and cheese, voted for Papa Gore, and got all cozy in our p.j.'s, ready for him to tuck us in.  Then we heard some shouting outside.  Papa Clinton came up to our room and told us that Papa Gore had just been beaten up by our drunken half-uncle George.  The cops wouldn't help--apparently drunken half-uncle George was "connected."  We were told to go to sleep and not to worry. 

For the next few weeks we went to school, barely able to participate in the cootie-fights and fling-boogery we used to love so dearly.  Teacher even pulled us aside to ask, "Is everything alright at home?"  We sniffled back some tears and simply said, "They stoled my Daddy."  Teacher patted us on the back and said, "Aw, but your Uncle George is so charming."

Thanks to his friends in the court, drunken half-uncle George got full custody of us and a restraining order against Papa Gore.  The entire family knew that George had no business raising kids, but his friends were such intimidating thugs that everyone stayed quiet.  The years passed by in a blur of ignorance, fighting, and denial.  We were basically forced to raise ourselves in the absence of a respectable role model.  Drunken half-uncle George pissed off all the neighbors, what with all the loud partying, raping and torture. 

These were supposed to be important years for us.  Our bodies were changing, we started dating, and we had lots of questions but no one we could trust.  Once, in desperation, we even called cousin John Kerry over because drunken half-uncle George was throwing beer bottles at the Constitution.  Cousin John quickly disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

Then it happened.  Last week we finally started acting like adults.  Late Tuesday night we brought someone home.  We introduced him to drunken half-uncle George who, upon hearing our new friend's exotic name, called for his gang of thugs.  But they didn't come.  One by one, they'd already jumped ship.  Drunken half-uncle George turned off Fox News, hoisted himself from his La-Z-Boy, told our friend to leave, and told us to go upstairs. 

"No!" we said.  "This time you can't just lock us in our room as enemy combatants and make us miss the prom!"   He was shocked.  We continued, "We're not going anywhere.  You're not our real dad.  You never will be."

Drunken half-uncle George went to his room, sobbing, and slowly began packing his filthy clothes.  He's still in there right now.  Things are a little tense, but we have plenty to keep our minds busy.  Cleaning crews are surveying the damage.  We're gonna have to have the carpets replaced (there are some stenches you just can't  wet-dry-vac away).

But there's a new feeling.  We might even feel like one of the heroes in those Saturday morning cartoons we watched in a simpler time.  We've just defeated the evil oil-monster, made some new friends, and learned an important lesson about speaking up when a grown-up tries to touch you in the bad way.

It's not that I think gay people should be singled out when it comes to marriage.  No, I believe in equality.  That is why I don't think any of us should be choosing who we marry.  Marriage is too important to be left to the people, and even too important for state governments to control.  That is why I am calling upon the federal government to assign us each a spouse at birth and enforce mandatory baby weddings.

Here's my proposed law:

1. Each baby born in the United States of America and its territories is to be paired with another baby.  Pairings shall be of the opposite sex and the same ethnic/racial background.  No baby shall be paired with another who ranks more than 2 points cuter in a Cutech 9400 cuteness analysis.
2. Registered nurses are hereby vested with the authority (and obligation) to officiate newborn baby weddings.  In Nevada, Elvis impersonators are hereby designated as nurses.  In U.S. waters, ship's captains are hereby designated as Elvis impersonators.
3. During the wedding ceremony, parents may speak in high-pitched, fake baby voices to say "I do" on behalf of their new child.
4. Families may opt for a tiny wedding reception package including a little tuxedo, a tiny white dress, and an adorable little band or DJ, as available.
5. For their wedding night, newborn newlyweds are to share a hospital baby-display box, but must remain fully diapered (to avoid potential conflict with the "Babies Having Babies Act").
6. Honeymoons are to take place at the age of 18, in the form of military service abroad.
7. If no eligible babies are available to marry a given newborn, then that unholy child is to be branded with a letter "Q" on the forehead.  This "Q" does not stand for anything, but, being the ugliest letter, shall make them unattractive enough to repel anyone they might want to marry.  This child shall be groomed for a career at the Federal Marriage Bureau, which is to be staffed entirely by such Q-heads.
8. Marriage is hereby legally designated as a Section 22B Sacred Union under the "Mandatory Recognition of Inherent Beauty Act."  As such, any attacks or perceived threats to marriage, as defined above, will face military retribution.

Please write to your Senator or Representative to urge their support, but for best results do not mention my name.  There was some unpleasantness during my recent tour of Capitol Hill.

Hey White Racists,

How's it going?  Perhaps not well today.  We just elected an African American President!  I know that makes a lot of you angry, but look at the bright side: it makes a lot of us non-racists very happy!  Please find some joy in ours.

What I want to offer you today is a parenting tip.  I don't have children myself, but if I did, I'd make sure they weren't racists.  I guess you and I differ right there, white racists, but it brings me to my point.  I care about your children, believe it or not, and it's important for children to have respect for their parents.  Which is why I wanted to warn you that you're going to need to change your story now.  A lot of the racist stuff you might have taught your kids will be in stark contrast with the reality of the smart, level-headed, honest, peace-loving black man they'll see leading our country.  He's going to do an excellent job, and he'll have excellent people around him, some of whom might also have non-white skin.  Your kids will quickly begin to doubt your version of the story.  Then they'll question everything else you say.  Not the healthiest way to grow up, and I know you're concerned with healthy upbringings.

This is just a heads-up because I know that using your words isn't your strong suit, which is why your family has just been repeating your great-great-grandfather's words for some time.  You might want to start thinking today about how to spin this Obama story to have it make sense with your world-view.  I can't really help you there, but I'm sure you guys have someone smart you keep around for these kinds of things, right?  Scholars?  Spokesmen?  Any leaders at all who think and speak clearly enough to successfully convey your message to people outside your community in a way that doesn't make you look ignorant and unevolved?  No?  Huh.  Why do you think that might be?

Ask your kids.

Love,
Jason