Not Our Year

It saddens me to no end to report that in yesterday's New York City mayoral election, it was Mike Bloomberg, and not the Muppets, who took Manhattan.


In fact, the Muppets didn't even come in second. That honor went to someone called "City Comptroller Bill Thompson," whose haircut led me to believe he was at least half-Muppet himself.

(Hey, psst! Am I the only one who thinks "Bill Thompson" sounds like a made up name? How generic can you get? Bill Thompson? It might as well have been Jack Smith or Bob Mitchell or Bill Thompson or something. Bill Thompson is like the kind of name you used to check into a hotel when you don't want the federales or that nosey wife of yours to find out where you're staying. What are you hiding, Bill Thompson, if that fake-sounding name IS your real name?)

Anyway, Bill Thompson lost, and now he has to go back to the same job he had before, and probably have lunch at the same stupid cafe downstairs in the lobby of the same dumb, boring building, which is almost as frowny face as the Muppets NOT taking Manhattan, as I was led to believe they would.

The New York times says Mayor Bloomberg no longer seems invincible, and I agree that he does look pretty vincible, which is what makes the Muppets' failure to take Manhattan all the more heartbreaking. This is like reliving the failed Oscar the Grouch '08 campaign all over again. Only this time, with 30-35 percent more tears.

Vote the Grouch in '08!

I know that as a bloggerist, I am unqualified to give anyone in the world advice on how they should vote. Like most bloggerists, I don't really know anything. I can't even read for crying out loud, and the only language I speak fluently is parakeet, which can't truly be considered a language since most of the words, or "awful squawking sounds," that comprise the language are verbs. In fact, the only three nouns in the entire parakeet language are "food," "poison," and "Barack Obama," who they just CANNOT stop awfully squawking about.

Anyway, as you probably know already, I only take my political advice from winner-pickers like Judge Reinhold, and let's just say that "da Judge," as I refuse to call him, has left me in a bit of a pickle. Not literally, of course, since I am physically much larger than a pickle, and would most likely split it in twain if I were left in one. But in the metaphorical and existential sense, I am very much inside that pickle, and it stinks in here. Because "da Judge" told the world that Bill Richardson was the horse he was backing in the 2008 presidential race. And by horse, I think he meant the candidate who barely bears even a passing resemblance to a horse, but is from a state that is absolutely filled with horses.

Sadly, Bill has withdrawn his Richardson from consideration, which is sort of like taking turkey off the table at Thanksgiving dinner, leaving us with nothing other than more boring Thanksgiving staples like stuffing (John Edwards), cranberry sauce (Barack Obama), and a crying woman (Hillary Clinton/Dennis Kucinich) among the Democrats. (I won't even get into food analogies for the Republicans, because Mike "I used to be a fat man" Huckabee would probably eat them. Seriously, can't you just picture the Huckster getting bribed into signing really bad treaties in exchange for an extra slice of Heavenly Ham at a state dinner in Israel? If not, it's probably because you're not even trying really.)

This is a crisis. Help. Please. Someone. Help. Help me, Judge Reinhold. Yawn. Help.

Okay, since no one is answering my cries for help, and since "da Judge" has basically left me to my own devices, I'm going back to the tried and true tactic of a national write-in campaign, which is how I have always voted in the past. Instead of letting myself be limited to only the candidates who WANT to be President, I will choose the person or being I think is best and write his/her/its name in instead - only this time, I'll actually publicize it in this here blog here, in a manner that does not constitute advice at all!

Please note that I have very strict standards. My candidate will be subject to the following rules:

1. He/she/it may not be gay.

I think this year's candidate is a no-brainer. You've seen him on television, you've seen him on a few flicks that went straight to video, and you can see him right now if you look deep within your hearts, or perhaps the trash can outside your apartment building. I'm speaking, of course, of Oscar the Grouch.

I think his credentials and leadership experience speak for themselves. Frankly, it's hard to imagine anyone whose record would stand up to close scrutiny better than Mr. the Grouch's. Just look at Grouchland which, under Oscar's capable guidance, has blossomed from a total dump into an ecologically friendly utopia with a progressively democratic government that is among the most popular in the world among its citizens. A recent United Nations study ranked Grouchland as having the third-smallest carbon footprint per capita among member states. And despite a languishing tourism economy, Oscar's administration oversaw a Grouchland GDP that expanded to $1.066 trillion in 2006 (roughly the same size as Brazil!), fronted by a balanced federal budget and a working social security program.

Oscar knows how to handle a campaign too. Who can forget his memorable run against longtime incumbent Kermit the Frog, headlined by the slogan "you think it's not easy being green? Try LIVING IN A TRASH CAN!"

All this, and doesn't even have any legs! Kind of makes you regret some of your life choices, doesn't it? Those legs have been holding you back long enough.

Anyway, as I said, I'm not qualified to give political advice. But if you want to know whose name will be on my ballot this year, I'll give you a hint: it starts with "Oscar the Gr" and ends with "ouch," which is what all the other candidates are going to be saying when Oscar puts the smackdown on their silly asses in November.