Like a bad dream, the mess in Florida is still haunting us. It’s been 10 days since the first presidential contest of the new millennium, and we don’t know yet who the First Baka is, because neither the Vice-Baka nor the Head Baka of Texas wants to admit that he stands a chance of losing Florida. The Vice-Baka has been dragging out the process, hoping magical pixies will make more Gore votes appear with every re-count, while the Texas Baka is prematurely redecorating the Oval Office.
Nothing good is going to come of this battle. If Bush wins, Democrats will be enraged about the whole Palm Beach fiasco (in which a minor civil servant used the ill-fated “butterfly” format to improve legibility) and will see it as yet another manifestation of the non-existent “vast right-wing conspiracy” which not only stole Florida but also rubbed many voters’ faces in it.
If Gore wins, Republicans are going to be incensed, sensing a Democratic “dirty trick” in procrastinating and prolonging the election and possibly falsifying ballots (in Republicans’ minds) through endless manual re-counts. In either case, someone’s gonna be put out, and with the 50-50 split and polarized Congress, we have a recipe for gridlock, recrimination and four years of people screaming at each other. Just what this country needs. We’ve already had 28 years of Dems and Repubs manning the trenches, sniping at each other’s lines at every opportunity. Bubba Bill’s indiscretions of the last eight years have only worsened this.
So, what are we going to do now?
I say we give two years to whoever gets elected. If by the midterm elections we’ve got gridlock and political turmoil because the loser keeps bringing up the word “theft,” my solution is this: We finally give up and beg Great Britain to take us back.
“Sorry about that revolution fracas, old chaps. Pip-pip, cheerio, God save the Queen, pass the bangers and mash, Hail Blackadder and all that sort of rot.” They could turn all our representatives into Members of Parliament, and perhaps allow our senators into the House of Lords.
Our Congress is acrimonious already, so Trent Lott, Dick Gephardt, Maxine Waters and the rest would fit right in at the House of Commons, where booing and shouting down the opposition speaker is not only a time-honored tradition, it’s an art form. With the myriad political parties in Britain and the parliamentary makeup of the British government, the Republicans and the Democrats (to say nothing of Nader’s whatchamacallits) would be forced to work together or perish. And oil scions like Bush and political royalty like Gore could get something of a reality check should they have to move into 10 Downing, the modest residence of Prime Ministers given as a sort of “gag gift” to the PM by King George II in 1732. The White House has its own theater and bowling alley. 10 Downing has running water.
Besides, what would we really have to give up? So we’d drive on the other side of the road, eat something called “spotted Dick,” pronounce “z” as “zed” and spell “armor,” “color” and “favorite” with the letter “u.” So what if soccer — I’m sorry, football — would replace baseball as the national sport? So what if every day at 4:30 p.m. (3:30 p.m. Mountain and Central) we would have to drink boiled leaves in water and eat light pastries?
At least we wouldn’t have to worry about butterfly ballots and ambitious morons who may or may not be qualified to be president. Rule Britannia!