“If we get chased out of Iraq with our tail between our legs, that will be the fifth consecutive Third-world country with no hint of a Navy or an Air Force to have whipped us in the past 40 years.”
— Hunter S. Thompson, November 18, 2003

Iowa, Schmiowa. Huckabee, Schmuckabee. Hilary…dammit.
Maybe it’s just the paranoia talking, but Obama’s unquestionable sex-appeal notwithstanding, Iowa felt a little witch-burn-y. At the end of the day, boys still hate girls, girls still hate girls, and everyone hates mom-age women with a lot of hard wind in their lungs, unless they happen to be old whores with hearts of gold. Even Oprah is looking a bit thyroid and shrill now that she’s thrown her huge hat into the Ring of Power and dedicated her stupendous influence to manifesting something other than unconditional self-love.
Hilary’s defeat recalled, for me, the words of Ice Cube: “They’d rather see me in the pen/than me and Lorenzo/rollin’ in a Benzo.”
Plenty of people would rather see Hilary’s heat chained next to Martha Stewart and Paris Hilton than have her ovulate in the Oval Office. Yoko Ono was right – women are the N-word of the world. After this six-year trip down Christian Republican hegemony-lane, if you have three holes in your body and want any serious reverence, you’d better be a bowling ball.
Ironically, Hilary might have one last-ditch, all-or-nothing chance to win American female hearts and minds: she needs to be busted in a torrid extramarital affair. This would endear her to tabloid housewives to a degree incomprehensible by the ruling class. The supermarket shoppers of America would gladly forgive Hilary if she’d only whup out a genuinely female display of poor judgment based on something as real and irrational as human Love. But she’s not that kind of animal, and they know it, and that’s why they don’t like her. Staying with Bill, after all, was politically prudent, and even women whose greatest intellectual accomplishments to date involve using food stamps to buy menthol cigarettes understand that this represents a rather scurvy compromise in terms of quantifiable human feeling. Hilary, as the queens in “Paris is Burning” might have said, just doesn’t possess Lady Realness.
Americans are so romantic and/or brain-damaged by Hollywood narratives that they would rather gamble everything on a dreamboat trip to an unknown destination (Obama) than re-invest in an older, wiser, proven disappointment (Hilary). As a country, we are still haplessly immature and emotionally retarded by the Power of Dumb Mythology (i.e. the gratifyingly infantile World of Disney, as opposed to the hardcore and sometimes depressing Joseph Campbell). Our crazy-dreamer-style political decision-making is based on a totally optimistic disregard for actual politics, the learning process, and logic in general. We’ve been absolutely clobbered at the table in the last 6 years, but we’re still voting from instinct instead of intellect. Americans would rather play Texas Hold’Em than learn to calculate probabilities… but the interesting and encouraging thing about Americans is that we will eventually learn to calculate probabilities by playing Texas Hold’Em.
It’s our great talent, and only hope for competing with the stunningly self-abnegating, industrious groupthink of the Chinese: we still have the accidental genius that seems to happen when spoiled Americans overindulge themselves. Elvis. Madonna. Lowrider bicycles. Richard Pryor. Miles Davis. Gay fabulousness. Grand Theft Auto.
These are our proudest exports: bursts of louche creative expression that have always been slightly too controversial, sexy, and intoxicating for our politicians to get too close to.
Obama isn’t as developed on the issues as Hilary, but nobody cares: he’s got superstar magic, he’s the new TV toy consumers crave. The Presidency, ultimately, will probably go to the candidate wearing the biggest codpiece, again. There’s still a slim chance it might be Hilary, even if the junk in her trunk is alarmingly foreign to Commanders in Chief, and Americans squirm like tweens when she tells them what to do. But it’s doubtful; Obama put the hammer down, everyone’s skirt blew up, and that’s how the nuts are dealt.
The next President will inherit a horrible job. The lifelong enmity of a lot of guys named Muhammad. Light sweet crude at $100 a barrel.
A Justice Department that will doubtlessly continue to investigate itself in connection to ongoing investigations of itself.
But there is hope, audacious and otherwise. Americans are geniuses when it comes to effing around. All it’s going to take is one guy who comes up with a car that runs on crack, and our whole economy will boom all over again.
Dramatic reversals, fiends. It’s the one thing about life that Hollywood ever got right.