The Bush Blues?

In the last couple of weeks I have just not been the same. Something is amiss.

I've been alternatingly drunk, suicidal, checking out Canada on the Internet, talking in tongues, gassy, frothing at the mouth, comatose, gnawing on huge chunks of moldy cheese, weak kneed, refusing to bathe, given to moments of just staring into blank space for hours at a time, sweaty, having loss of hearing, unexplained itching, attempting to revolve my head like Linda Blair in the Exorcist, pacing in circles, nail biting, yanking my armpit hair out, talking in my sleep, fidgeting, screaming "I hate Republicans" out my car window, blinking at an exact rate of speed, drooling, chain smoking shredded political yard signs, having odd muscle contractions, and stopping at green lights for no apparent reason.

Between all that I've had hallucinations about elephants preaching the gospel, erratic hiccups, a tendency to nudge thin air, blurting out "What's the matter with Kansas? What's the matter with slightly more than half the country?!", strange urges to spit straight up into the air, eccentric bowel movements, twirling of the eyes, feelings of loss due to the lack of nasty political mailings and TV advertising, the cold shakes, oily flatulence, a fear of traveling to red states, repeated crossing of my big toe over the second toe, a recurrent nightmare where George Bush dies in office and Dick Cheney becomes president and names Jerry Falwell as vice president and then Cheney begins a greasy fats diet, and occasional stiff joints.

Intermingled with a nervous tick of my right ear lobe, frozen sweats, a strange feeling that I should become a conservative after watching a few minutes of FOX News as if I'm hypnotized, a desire to blow bubbles with my saliva, blurred vision, an odd daydream of rewriting my own version of the Constitution in crayons, runny nose, carpal tunnel syndrome of the ankle, fits of rage where I burn the Confederate flag, flaky skin of a small patch on the left side of my scalp from unconsciously scratching there, discolored ear wax, making of crank phone calls to the Republican National Committee headquarters asking "Does Karl Rove work with monkeys?" and "Can George Bush come out and play?", increased cracking of knuckles, gnashing of teeth, and spells of stuptifying befuddlement.

I just can't seem to figure out why all this is happening to me in the last couple of weeks. Some event that was enormously catastrophic must have transpired to affect me in such ways. I'm at a loss in understanding, but I seem to need to bash Bush for four more years on my blog.