BDS or, as it's known in mental health circles, "sanity"

I find it almost touching, in a schadenfreudistic kind of way, that the 30%ers are wringing their hands in despair over whether to suck it up and vote for McBushlite or to stay home on election day in a fit of pique which they think has something to do with "principles", as if what they decide is going to have ANY IMPACT AT ALL on the outcome of the election this fall. They apparently haven't figured out that, in the words of the inimitable Barry Corbin*, "You can't stop what's comin". 'Course if these guys had any figuring out skills at all they wouldn't be 30%ers to begin with, so there you go.

Still, I'm hard pressed to come up with much enthusiasm for the inevitable Democratic victory this fall. Obama or Clinton is going to have a huge mess on his/her hands, which we all know damn well that Republican operatives are already gearing up to blame them for starting, oh about 1/21/09. Here's how it works (H/T Atrios):

If the Goverment is a car setting out to give every one a ride to work, then for 40 years the Republicans have been puncturing the tires, pouring sand in the gas tank, stealing the distributer cap, and, whenever they can get their hands on the wheel, driving it straight into the nearest ditch and then, pointing to the wreckage as the tow truck backs up to it, saying, See, this proves that people were meant to walk.

And they do this so that they don't have to chip in on gas.

Exhibit A, Exhibit B, Exhibit C, and so on and so forth. So when the little Dickface-in-Chief goes on Fox News and smirks about how the rich (i.e. himself and his friends) hire accountants to get out of paying their taxes or pontificates to tornado victims in Tennessee about how "life is unfair" and I realize that there will probably be blizzards in hell before Little Boots is ever held accountable for the destruction that he has wrought, well, I don't think even six months in Rehab would be enough to lift me out of my funk.

*COMPLETELY BESIDE THE POINT: Could anyone ever forget Barry Corbin delivering these lines:

Peach: Surely, Roscoe, you can find Texas! Roscoe: I can find Texas, but how do I find July?