The Sun Also Sets

And Then There Were Three

By Duke Amboy

What did I do when that unmarked white van let me on the Mall, to gaze in amaze into the Reflecting Pool, not far from the hallowed sanctum of the Lincoln Memorial?

Well, I beat feet to a favorite watering hole on K Street and, over several Bushmill's (neat), perused that morning's Post.

It was true, what I'd heard in vague rumor and whispered innuendo, even in the bowels of my confinement somewhere beneath the streets of our Capital:

Romney had tossed in the Mitt. Back to that hot tub and another Seuss read-along...

And - just the day before - amid wails of lamentation and the rending of clothes, Huck had bid his Hucksters fond farewell.

Leaving the Republican field wide open for the turncoat, McCain, and - on the Dem side - leaving Hill's Harpies to bash it out with the Obama Nation.

A tear welled up in the corner of my eye.

I hate to watch the forces of national politics - like the ineluctable erosion of tide and time - pruning back the tree of choice, eliminating the truly deluded and deranged (agents provocateurs and poseurs alike) and leaving us, once again, with the lonesome choice between lesser evils - those thick-skinned and co-opted enough to make the cut. Offering (despite some ubiquitous campaign slogans) no real chance for change, nothing but four more years of the same rapine and pillage.

I upturned the dregs of my rock glass.

This one goes out to all the dead soldiers - literal and figurative.

END OF DISPATCH