How to Handle the Next Few Days Before Obama Is Elected:
Have you (and the presumptive "you" is a straight dude this time around) ever had one of those nights where you're with a so-hot-it's-unreal woman and she is just hot for your crank, sneaking ass grabs on the street, whispering the promises of hot fucking in your ear, telling you how goddamn wet she is, to the point where you jump in the car and head back to your place, exchanging 80 mile per hour finger fucking and road head, barely able to get up the stairs without throwing each other down and balling like angry mongooses, getting in the door and hitting the bed, ripping your clothes off and then, before you even know what's going where, your cock's slipped inside her pussy, you're fucking away, fucking like there's no tomorrow, not giving a shit if the sun rises in the morning, moaning, thrusting, and, yet, no, no, neither of you can come, and instead you try a different position, a bunch of different positions, 'cause it feels so good and you don't wanna stop until she's quivering like she needs an exorcist and you've blown a load so hard you think your dick might end up looking like Elmer Fudd's rifle after he's fired it with a carrot stuck in the barrel, so you try her on top, you on top, you behind her, her in front, butterfly legs, legs over the head, the backward handstand with a wheelbarrow twist, the dancing white tiger, and more, and what's awesome is that you're staying hard and she's staying wet, it's just so damn fun, and hours and hours are passing, and you're just so fucking sore, she's swollen, you're both exhausted, but you're in this together, goddamnit, you are not stopping until you come because it's not enough, it's just not the fuck enough to stop and say, "Hey, that was fun, we'll try again another time," no, you both wanna shout out the name of some god or other as you both climax and even though it's seemed like it's never gonna end, you know that you gotta keep fucking because the end's gonna feel so, so good?

You ever had that happen to you?

Yes, it is beyond fucking time for this election to be over. Even if you've voted early, you won't be getting your rocks off until Tuesday night. But as we, at long, long last, reach that delicious point where you know you're just about to orgasm, let's be good lovers and savor our time in the sack.

For instance, yesterday, the Republicans who still believed that they had something with which to damage Barack Obama must have died just a little bit inside when the Democratic candidate ridiculed the whole "He's a socialist" thing. Obama said, in a speech in North Carolina, "By the end of the week, he'll be accusing me of being a secret communist because I shared my toys in kindergarten." He repeated the line, adding that he's a "redistributionist" because he shared a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, when campaigning with Bill Clinton in Florida last night. It's one of those moments where, as a morose, put-upon Democrat, you sit up and go, "That's the way it's done, motherfuckers" and wonder what would have happened if Al Gore had openly mocked the lies told about him or if John Kerry had said that the Swift Boaters will next say that the shrapnel in his ass didn't hurt that bad.

It's been one of the remarkable things about the incredibly well-run Obama campaign: they don't take shit from anybody. You wanna talk about Bill Ayers? Well, fuckin' fine, let's talk about it. You wanna talk about socialism? Let's get it out there. The attitude from the campaign towards the McCain campaign is "Fuck those guys." So the accomplishment of last night's Barackomercial was that it didn't even need to mention John McCain, like this is all now about Obama's relationship with the nation: "if you'll invite me into your living rooms for 30 minutes, imagine what I can do in four years." At the end of the day, it has helped make John McCain sound, in every interview now, like a whiny little bitch about shit that people have moved on about.

In his interview with Larry King yesterday, which was a little like watching the Cryptkeeper have a conversation with the grandpa from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre on some kind of 24-hour zombie station broadcast from Hell, McCain pissed and moaned regarding Obama's fundraising, "[W]hat's disturbing about it is that he signed a piece of paper back when he was a long shot candidate. And he signed it, said I won't -- I will take public financing for the presidential campaign if John McCain will. I mean, it's a living document." It's not that it's an entirely unfair accusation (although there was more wiggle room in the "living document" than McCain is letting on), but, dude, there's only five days left. Tell us something we haven't heard in an endless loop.

Oh, sure, they're trying now with this new professor that Obama went to a reception for. McCain keeps bringing up this super secret video of the party that the Los Angeles Times has that must show Obama blowing Rashid Khalidi while Bill Ayers fucks him in the ass because it's become the latest Holy Grail for those who are determined to prove that Obama really hates America. Check out Sarah Palin talking about Khalidi for a little touch of undiluted hatred.

What Palin says is, more or less, why the whole thing fails: "It seems that there is yet another radical professor from the neighborhood who spent a lot of time with Barack Obama." That's right - yet another one. The McCain campaign is trying for a radical associate do-over: "Aw, fuck, people stopped giving a shit about Bill Ayers. Let's try a brown one." Nope. That ship's sailed. And, besides, once it was revealed that McCain chaired a group that gave hundreds of thousands of dollars to fund Khalidi's work, the whole thing became just farcical.

Let us enjoy these last few days and get out the popcorn to watch the splendid sight of the right flopping around like a trout on a dock. The Rude Pundit has no doubt that we'll all come at last come Tuesday night. Yeah, yeah, anything's possible. While you're fucking that hot woman, the building could collapse or her ex-boyfriend could show up. But barring the extraordinary, oh, good lovers, the rewards of bliss shall be yours.