That was fucking great.
For a minute there I lost myself, if you will, having fortuitously woken just as he went over the 270 waterfall. And thus followed a two hour teary orgasm, beginning with McCain’s concession and waving, waving hard, all the way to the end of Barrack’s unsurprisingly solemn victory speech. I fell asleep then, with BBC analysis whispering love in my ear, and came to life still glowing, despite somehow still not believing. I glow even now, though it will surely fade as tiredness overtakes me and I approach a mountain of ignored clothes folding.
And so to the major question of the day, with fulsome apologies to Nora Ephron. Having just squirted my hot man juice all over Barrack's skinny tits, how long am I expected to lie here holding him? Is a week enough? A month? A whole term? There’s my problem, somewhere between one week and a whole term is my problem. Because I'm already over it really. It's time to move on. In winning he's become just another fucking politician cunt and I desperately need to once more charge back to cynicism and the comfort of constant despair, endless apathy. He's given me what I want and the sooner the black bastard invades France or Canada or even fucking Liechenstein, the sooner I can get up and go to that early squash game.