Dateline. Washington, D.C.

Bigfoot. The Loch Ness Monster. Batboy. Throughout time there have always been those who insist they have seen mythical creatures, people who swear to the existence of phenomena for which scientists say there is no tangible evidence, only hearsay, fable, legend.

But unlike the Abominable Snowman, scientists say the Spine of the Democratic Party is more than a fairy tale. Incredible as it seems today, the legend of Democratic Backbone is based on historical fact, says Prof. Wendy Heep, Chair of Political Archeology at Dartmouth College.

"The fossil record clearly indicates vertebrate characteristics during the early NeoDealistic Period." Prof. Heep explains. "Both the Rooseveltipithicus and the HueyLongicus showed strong indications of backbone, and archeological remains of so-called "Public Works," and badly eroded but still visible "Social Programs" support the theory of ancient spinal strength in Democrats." But according to Prof. Heep, these rudimentary evolutionary advancements were cut dramatically short, and archeologists and anthropologists are still at a loss to explain the political vertebral collapse.

In his 1987 book HU-Wacked! The Cataclysm that formed Commie Crater, Dr. Ewan Collins, of Trinity College, Dublin, first posited the theory that Democratic backbone was extinguished by the sudden, catastrophic psychological impact of a large Anti-Red Hysteria, which the geological record shows hit the Western hemisphere in May, 1938." With the establishment of the House Un-American Activities Committee in the U.S. Congress," Dr. Collins says, "physiological spinal indicators vanished from the Democratic Party," leading irrevocably, he argues, "to the pitiful, stooped creatures we see today."

But not all academics agree with Dr. Collins. Another theory, know as the "Gradual Wimpification Theory," argues that it was not the initial impact that shattered the Democrats spine, but the increasingly hostile new environment that was created, which eroded it over the ensuing years. In the withering storms of Right-Wing propaganda that whipped through both the McCarthizoic and ColdWarassic Eras, spinelessness allowed Democrats to survive, and by the time of their Convention of 1968 the existence of a Democratic Spine was considered a dangerous mutation by Democrats themselves, and the few still showing backbone were publicly hunted down.

By the 1980's most experts accepted the apparent fact of EvoNeoLibolution, a theory first proposed by Prof. R Reagan, which states that Democrats had never developed a backbone of their own, represented an evolutionary dead end, and existed solely to be fed upon by the stronger, more adaptive Conservatives fed. In addition, both Dr. Collins and Prof. Heep also believe that, under the control of the parasitical DLC (the Democratic Lumbarless Council) Democrats had been convinced that during the Deregulazoic Era, a time dominated by corporate behemoths like the Healthcaredon, and the Petrodactyl (both of which fed insatiably on the Public Wealth) and the wily Jesuschristislordasaurus (which dazzled small creatures with it's brilliant display before devouring their brains) the only way to survive was to adapt the characteristics and plumage of the Democrat's greatest habitat competitor, the gelatinous Republicans. This adaptation was so complete by the election of 2000 that some observers said they could not tell the difference between the two. By the end of these epochs the Democratic Spine had completely disappeared, and soon existed only in memory, legend, and the periodic march. After September 11, 2001 the idea that Democrats had ever stood up for anything had been reduced to a theory held by only a fringe of scattered academics, and only the hairiest of people in Berkeley.

"The Democratic Backbone is long extinct." says Prof. Heep.

Recently, however, there have been a number of unexplained sightings, unconfirmed reports of phenomena that witnesses insist are evidence that the Democratic Spine still exists, having survived in the wilderness. Could the "Legend of Backbone" be true?

"I seen't it!" exclaims unemployed chicken stripper Lloyd Flartterer, of Jefferson Creek, Florida. "I was walking on my way home late at night, and it were darker than the inside of a duck. Then... I seen't this light, like a glow, coming from behind me. It were comin' from the window of Earl's TV repair. It was just glowin'... and on one of them sets, I see'd..." Flartterer's eyes grow wide as he tells of his encounter with Democratic strength. " He had a big head, and like, brown skin, like one of them lattes the gays drink, and he was sayin' things like "President Bush was wrong about the War!" and " Government doesn't exist to make the rich richer, but to care for those that need help," and "Fox News is biased!" I... I don't remember much after that. I musta passed out. "We found him the next morning," says Mrs. Enid Flartterer, "spouting some nonsense about intelligent analysis of today's complex issues, intestinal fortitude, hope, and all kinds of greek."

Another witness, Mrs. Emil Titworthy, also reported losing conscienceless after an encounter with what she termed "The eerie image of a politician on my side."

"It was like a feeling came over me, like what I said, or what was happening to me actually mattered, like making my life better actually mattered to someone," said the third generation unemployed seamstress. This delusion of worth is repeated time and again in the stories of witnesses. Despite seeing the Democrats bowing to war funding, crumpling in the face of FISA, crawling toward Corporate bailouts, and dropping like a limp noodle before the concept of impeaching the biggest set of criminals to ever soil the White House, these witnesses still believe in the Legend of Backbone.

Ruth Jenkins, 57, of Cleveland Ohio, had not voted in the last four presidential contests. " I always felt the choice between criminals and invertebrates was too narrow. But for the past two years I've been hearing things... seeing things... that made me believe. See, when I was a kid, and my Daddy was marching to get the right to vote, he used to tell us kids about the Legend of Backbone, and how Democrats used to stand up and be counted when times were tough. I thought he was just fooling, like he did 'bout the Tooth Fairy. But then... I saw it. A Democrat actually stand up, erect, and say the Republicans were just flat wrong, that things need to change in this country, and that though those changes will be tough, change is the only way to fulfill the promise of America for all it's citizens. I believed! But then...."

Jenkins glanced at her television, which showed a room in Washington, D.C. Behind a bank of microphones stood a beaming Lieberman, surrounded by a gaggle of spineless Democrats. The Lieberman, a seemingly immortal form of blanched reptile, who's only known talents are betrayal, licking it's own eyes, and periodically delivering a Senatorial vote, clearly dominated the quivering, spineless Democrats.

"Can't have a backbone and bend low enough to kiss a lizard's butt." Jenkins said, before she spat out her teeth.

Given recent events, Mrs. Titworthy also now doubts her experience. "Guess I was having a 'Plouffe,'" she said, referring to a recent political occurrence when someone actually believes the stuff they say. " Even if what I saw was true, one spine don't change anything. The idea that the Democratic Party would actually fight for what they believe in, to actually stand for something besides the most convenient compromise... Naw, I guess it was all a dream."

Prof. Heep agrees. "Even with the historical data, and the historical victory of the recent election, Democrats have been spineless too long to suddenly develop a backbone. What's next, expecting them to have balls, too?" Heep scoffed into her Jamba Juice. " Last evidence of those was the signing of the Civil Rights Act of 1964!" "Look at the President-Elect," continued Dr. Collins from a large chair shaped like a hand, "Rolling over, appointing political hacks from previous Administrations to enact 'Change?' I'm a scientist -- I'll believe in the "Democratic Backbone" when I see empirical evidence of it."

But for Lloyd Flartterer the Legend of Backbone is still very real. "I seen't it, and can't nobody take that away from me. I believe," he whispered. "Ya'll'll see." And about the recent appointing of weak hacks, and Business as Usual DLC embarrassments? Flartterer isn't discouraged. "Them's just rumors! I know what I seen't, and soon ya'll'll see. That big-headed, latte-colored guy has got some spine. Ya'll'll see."

"Yo, Barackulator -- you want a brew?"

President-Elect Barack Obama looked up at George W. Bush, the lame-duck 43rd President of the United States, who'd just ushered him into a private meeting in the Oval Office while their wives continued a tour of the White House. On this, his first visit since the election, Obama wasn't expecting quite this level of familiarity, and wasn't sure how best to respond. "Be one of the guys, but be your own man," he thought to himself. "Don't be an elitist."

"Thank you...ah, Mr. President, but I have, ah...just totally pounded...a...pretty badass double tall organic soy chai latte sweetened with agave nectar."

"Have it your way, Hussein-in-the-membrane, but shee-it, I just might have a little hair of the dog," Bush mumbled, fishing out a cold Shiner Bock from a mini-fridge under his desk that had a "Don't Mess with Texas" sticker on it.

"Man-oh-man-alive," Bush said, wiping his lips after taking a huge slug that emptied half the bottle. "I couldn't believe my ears when I heard you were gonna make that Axl Rose fella your senior advisor. I mean, don't get me wrong, B-man. 'Appetite for Destruction' and 'Use Your Illusion' are words I live by--even got 'em tattooed on my backside in Tijuana--but that dang Rose boy thinks they have democracy in China!"

"Ah, I believe you're confusing Axl Rose with Axel-ROD, sir," Obama rejoined politely, tapping his knuckles impatiently on the arm of a chair with striped upholstery. "David Axel-ROD; he's been my chief strategist since I ran for the Senate. As you are apparently aware, Axl Rose is the singer of Guns N' Roses. Ah...a rockin' band nevertheless, Mr. President."

"Gotcha, gotcha" interrupted Bush fuzzily, stuffing the remains of a frozen burrito in his mouth. "Now, A-Rod--that there's a good call, Bam-a-lam. The country respects a ball player. They know strategery, and this A-Rod fella's a damn good third baseman."

"With all due respect, Mr. President," Obama continued, trying to stay loose, "if I was going to hire a third baseman for my administration, I'd have to go with Joe Crede of the Chicago White Sox." A quick flash of his trademark smile, and Obama was quickly back to business. "But look...my senior advisor is David Axelrod; not Axl Rose and not A-Rod."

"OK, don't get yer cows runnin.' It's all good, Bamster," said Bush teasingly. "No need to get yer Harvard-insignia boxers in a bunch. Just having a little jaw here and tryin' to, y'know, break the iceberg with ya. You wanna pinch o' tobacco between yer cheek and gums?"

"Mr...President," intoned Obama slowly, still remarkably cool and collected, "With respect, I do not care for chewing tobacco or a beer; I'm here to talk about the economic crisis and the situation in Iraq and making a smooth, peaceful transition to the next Presidency; my Presidency. It's time we got beyond the partisan politics of the past."

W. shifted in his chair, sighed heavily, and suddenly looked resigned. "O-man, I'm damn near snake-bit with ya. But you've been blasting me out there on the campaign trail for two long years, and here I am, on my way out, offering you a little Texas hospitrality and you ain't bitin'. Well, since you're a smart guy, and since we're both gettin' the same intelligence briefs now, I'm gonna let you in on a little more top, top secret information," said Bush, leaning forward, and clearing his throat deliberately.

"In actual fact," said Bush, almost in a whisper, his voice suddenly, naturally that of a smarmy, East Coast effete intellectual, "this good ol' boy routine was all a clever ruse cooked up by Rove and Cheney to get me elected. Truth be told, I can barely stomach Texas, and my ranch in Crawford is simply a front. Without exception, my favorite political thinkers are Noam Chomsky and Marx, and I read Jean Baudrillard before bed. I hate baseball--in fact, I follow the English soccer league; I'm an Arsenal fan. And to be preternaturally sincere, I prefer a well-aired bottle of Chateauneuf-de-Pape and a nice Saumon-au-Beurre over beer and barbecue any day. Oh, and my Mercedes runs on bio-diesel."

Obama stared at W. in disbelief, and, for the first time in his adult life, stammered.

"So... all the pratfalls and, and...'misunderestimated' and 'decider' and 'yo, Blair' and 'smoke 'em out of their holes'.... and even the backrub for Angela Merkel...all an act?"

"Precisely, my good man," said Bush, arching his eyebrow pretentiously while lighting a Dunhill with a diamond Caran D'Ache, and deftly producing two glasses of 1947 Petrus from a hidden panel in his desk. Handing one to Obama, Bush raised his glass in a playful toast to the new President-Elect: "Welcome to the jungle, baby."

I'm glad the election is over so that I can stop feeling guilty about not writing more about it. Oh, I wrote a few things. Some serious, some not.

In the same spirit as Newsweek's Special Secrets Project, here are some of the things I did, thought or wrote in the last year that never made it to being published...

• Back in summer 2007, I wanted to be a good political blogger and watch ALL debates, including the Republican ones. But I could only get part-way through the Republicans' because what they were saying was crap and, anymore, the sight of a row of exclusively white men wanting to be president just seemed ridiculous and sad. Later, I felt bad for the camera operators at the Republican convention, who tried so hard, in vain, to find non-white faces to cut away to for reaction shots.

• Early on, I asked a coworker, an African American woman, what she thought about the fact that while Barack is technically "African American" -- you know, his father was from Africa, his mother from America -- he didn't share the same heritage of slavery and brutal discrimination as black Americans whose ancestors had been here for centuries. Pointed though it may seem, the question really did arise out of my fascination with genealogy and questions of "what it means to be American." But I knew I was stepping into choppy, uncharted conversation waters. After we stared at each other for a moment, my coworker wanted to know in return why I was being so picky. Why did I want to get into those kinds of details? she asked. It didn't bother her, no. Any person of color faces discrimination, so the specifics of his background didn't matter.

• At a Drinking Liberally event in D.C., a woman told me and another blogger how her husband, who works in the intelligence community, said the Republicans had hard evidence -- audio and/or video recordings -- proving that Hillary Clinton had had a lesbian affair during her husband's administration. And she said "they" were prepared to use the tapes if Hillary became the nominee. She said all of this with a straight face.

• Among my many election-related Facebook status updates, many of which lost me Facebook friends and caused people to doubt my sanity, this got the biggest reaction: "Scott Shrake: Even if Hillary found a cure for AIDS tomorrow the media headlines would be 'Hillary Clinton Selfishly Grabs Attention from Barack Obama by Claiming to 'Cure' Disease That Was Likely Started by Her Husband, President Clinton, Anyway'."

• Gay people divided mostly along generational lines in who they supported in the Dem primaries. Most of those old enough to have voted for Bill Clinton in '92 remember how -- and we can argue about specifics and betrayals and whatnot - he was undeniably the first president to have an advisor on gay issues and to reach out to the gay community. And Hillary was right there with him. Plus, she's a superdiva. Meanwhile, under-30 gays, mostly oblivious to what things were like in 1992 (before "Will and Grace," Ellen, and so on) and also too young to have appreciated the go-go late '90s and therefore feeling no loyalty to the Clintons, supported Obama. Plus, he was "cooler." Like Mr. Wilson and Dennis the Menace, I think a lot of Hillary's supporters felt besieged for months by what seemed like bratty, bullying Obama supporters. One thing's certain: Her supporters definitely internalized the Clintons' well-developed victim complex.

• I confronted the co-founder of the notorious PUMAs at dinner on his birthday in early June, asking him to what extent his fierce opposition to Obama was racial. Frankly, I can't remember his answer exactly, but it must've satisfied me, because the dinner went on without incident.

• A close family friend of the Bidens was telling me some of his favorite stories about them and referred to the "Biden Code" as though I should know what that is. Since I didn't, he explained that it's a code of total honesty that the whole family lives by.

• One of the first things I thought about Sarah Palin, besides that I'm related to her and she reminds me of a female George W. Bush, is that, subtracting Hillary from the equation of course, if there had been a Democratic Sarah Palin, identical in every way to the Republican Sarah Palin but with impeccable liberal bona fides, she would have been an even bigger superstar for the Left than Republican Sarah is/was for the Right. Dems would have overlooked her weak qualifications just as quickly and easily as the Right did (at first) for their Sarah. In a New York minute, if you will.

• At a house party held by some young Democratic operatives in early September, I noticed a "Bros before Hoes" sticker on the refrigerator, depicting Obama and Hillary. As too many people did so many times during this double-historic campaign, I let the sickening misogyny go by without saying anything.

• Random comments from my liveblogging of debates, which I never posted anywhere because it seemed like twaddle when I reread it (still does, but here are some excerpts anyway): Hillary never holds onto Chelsea onstage. She always ditches her really quickly. Maybe it's her instinct of keeping Chelsea OUT of the limelight. ... It's almost like Bill thinks he has to make up for Monicagate by standing up for HRC forever. ... Michelle! I told you not to wear another pattern. ... Obama really looks like a silent-film star. I think he draws his eyebrows on. ... I hate it when people on stage being applauded "applaud back." ... Hillary and Bill always do the fake point-at-someone-they-"know"-in-the-audience-and-wave thing. ... Obama freaks are unable to obey simple no-applause rule. ... You get the feeling Obama cribs notes from his smart advisors. You get the feeling HRC has this stuff in her own mind. ...

• At the final debate, at 9:24 EST, John McCain said: "When Senator Obama was first asked [about doing town hall meetings], he said, 'Any place, any time,' the way Barry Goldwater and Jack Kennedy agreed to do, before the intervention of the tragedy at Dallas." Not a soul in the world said anything about this odd non sequitur insertion of the topic of assassination into the discussion. But when Hillary Clinton mentioned the Bobby Kennedy assassination as a kind of time marker when talking to an editorial board in the late spring, the media and the Obama campaign went positively berserk on her with vile accusations she was subliminally calling for Obama to be assassinated. To me this is yet another proof that the Obama campaign was much harder on Hillary than it ever was (or had to be?) on McCain.

• Even when I supported Hillary, I always liked Barack Obama -- especially his wry sense of humor, born of his being an outsider as a kid, I think, which I can relate to - and I was proud and happy to vote for him on November 4. But I never campaigned for him. My fear of strangers kept me from canvassing, and I don't like wearing campaign paraphernalia, etc. I didn't actively campaign for Hillary, either, though I gave her about $50. Most of all, I just don't believe in trying to tell other people how to vote. It's not my job.

• On election night, I took a bus home through the party atmosphere of Northwest D.C. The bus driver was honking nonstop in celebration, the mood on the bus was the same as everywhere: Unbridled conviviality and that special shared feeling that we were all going to be alright after all. A middle-aged black woman got on the bus and, in response to something the bus driver said about Obama winning, she said wearily, with all the weight of the world behind it, "What took so long?" and shook her head with a wan smile.

How do I Thank Thee, Sarah Palin?
Let me count the ways...
(With profound apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

How do I thank thee for running, Sarah Palin? Let me count the ways.

I thank thee to the depth and breadth and height my Democratic, Obama-loving, unemployed soul can reach, still exhausted mightily from the interminable weeks of horrific suspense, waiting to find out if what we were witnessing was a monumental comedy or a catastrophic, world-ending horror-movie.

For letting Katie Couric peel back the layers early on and show that "There is no there there." For not knowing what the Bush Doctrine is or being able to name any Supreme Court cases. (For a second there, I really thought you might say: "Howzabout Stop In the Name of Love?")
For winking during the debate as if twin 747s had flown into your eyes.

For not believing in evolution, for being as narrow-minded and mean-spirited as Scrooge on Christmas, for assuming that all American IQs were no higher than your shoe size, for thinking you could do a Houdini with shockingly expensive couturier fashions, for making the great Joe Biden, a distinguished, solid, national treasure, look and seem even more treasurable.

For honestly believing that real life in our great land had become just one big reality show and that overnight, without benefit of wisdom, knowledge, intellect, experience, ethics, conscience or the merest trace of substance, you wouldn't get voted off the island, could/would dance better than anyone else or be selected the next American Idol rather than the next American Midol.

Oh, how I thank you now for running, Sarah Palin. My mirth is bottomless!

I thank you for Ted Stevens, for thinking you could run the Senate, for defiantly refusing to show us your medical records, for thinking you could somehow look cool on SNL, for providing exquisite fodder for Keith, Rachel, Jon, Bill Maher, Richard Lewis and other mondo-brilliant minds everywhere who managed to spin your transparent mendacity and fomented hatred into gold, as we all watched and waited, breathless, astonished, that you, so unworthy and unfit, even came close. That you were ever even picked and taken half-seriously, you who wouldn't know NAFTA from NAMBLA, didn't know that Africa is a continent and not a country, allowed yourself to be pranked by a couple of impish and astute Canadian comedians, and probably thinks your next check-up is with Diet Dr. Pepper.

What a lesson it's been. America is great enough, free enough, to let someone like you run. But smart enough to also make you lose.

So, I thank thee for running, Sarah Palin, and for helping us last Tuesday to dodge the surreal, existential and yes, perhaps the greatest historical bullet of our lifetime. (As has, no doubt,  our pre-natal paragon, Levi "Shootin' Shit" Johnston.)

Now, if only those poor Alaskan wolves could  be so lucky.