My regular reader might remember that a few weeks back I got the devastating news that my cat Stella was voting for Romney. I, of course, was fit to be tied, and I tried and tried to talk her out of it, appealing to her rational side using charts and graphs and endless videos of Rachel Maddow breaking things down. But Stella is as stubborn as my mother and she was not swayed. So Tuesday night she was thoroughly bummed out and has been doing nothing but sleeping and gorging on corn dogs and watching daytime TV and giving herself baths and just sitting in the corner for hour upon hour ever since. She's not even reading her Us Weeklys anymore.
Lest she be quietly entering Victoria Jackson or Donald Trump territory with a hilarious Twitter explosion imminent, I sat down with her this evening to get a sense of how she was doing and if I needed to worry about her waking me in the middle of the night shouting about socialist Muslims under the bed.
"Stella, how you doing? Feeling okay?"
"Meh."
"Pretty blue, huh?"
"Voter fraud."
"Oh, God, Stella, it really doesn't exist, are you kidding me?"
"New Black Panthers."
"Stella, there was one guy in a beret and sunglasses at a polling station opening doors for old ladies."
"Appeasement."
"Stella, I don't think you know what that means."
"Skewed polls."
"Gah, the polls weren't skewed, Stella, and it doesn't matter anymore anyway because the election itself has confirmed that the polls were pretty much right."
"Chris Christie."
"His state was underwater! He said a few nice things about Obama! What was he supposed to do?"
"Benghazi."
"Ugh, that's it, I'm cutting off your Fox News."
"Reparations."
"And no more Drudge Report, Red State, or Breitbart."
"Binders full of sadness."
