The Year the Music Died

First They Came for the Communists . . .

Stupid archbishop.

Oh, things were whiskers on kittens for a while. There was that really terrific Franz Ferdinand album, and I very much enjoyed William Shatner, both on his album and his show. And the American people, once roused from their La-Z-Boys by Michael Moore—the demonization of whom has come straight from the Rove playbook of hitting us where we're strongest until even Dems are denouncing Moore like Peter denied Christ—would rise up like Ukrainians and get good and ornery! They would be angered by the administration's incompetence before Sept. 11 and by the frightful mess at Abu Ghraib. My goodness, people actually paid attention! They would tire of the lies being peddled! They'd be on Orange Alert with the voting machines, considering the CEO of Diebold publicly proclaimed his commitment to "delivering Ohio's electoral votes to the president."

But no. Once Ohio happened, all of a sudden, you were crazy to wonder if someone might have tampered with the results. That's black-helicopter stuff! You know what's much more likely? That, as some Republican commentators were claiming, it was the exit pollsthat had been stolen. Because that makes much more sense.

And to be fair, everything makes much more sense than whatever drivel I'm spouting. I'm just from California, have done been to college, have never called for anyone's death (unless you count calling for the Ravens' Tony Siragusa to die lonely and alone) and haven't done even the smallest bit of tweak.

Stupid, tweakless me.


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