The Day After (is hi-larious)

Except when it's not. I'm still sick to my stomach, angry, sad, digusted, depressed, and alternately feel like breaking things and curling into a fetal ball. Luckily, I've been numbing the pain with sugary snacks and mindless consumerism just like any good American (nothing like the healing power of a trip to the mall), so I've begun to adjust to the idea of four more years of Bush. But just because slightly more than half of this country has decided to live up to the global stereotype of Americans and give the collective finger to the rest of the world, that doesn't mean I have to like it. Therefore, I am hereby announcing my half-assed intention to become a protest singer. Stay tuned for lots of anti-administration power ballads. I'm already growing my Neil Young-style muttonchops.