I guess first things first - I should preface this whole deal with a disclaimer of some sort notifying you guys that I'm not objective or something, I have ulterior motives, I'm on an undisclosed alternate payroll, etc. etc. blah blah blah. Well here you go - I'm 21, I just saw Pineapple Express and understood the pot humor, I have an unkempt beard and I live in New Jersey. Put the pieces together and odds are about 5.6 to 1 that I'm voting for Obama. There it is, that's my disclaimer.

So, moving on, I got an e-mail from my boy David Plouffe at 9:15 pm tonight notifying me of some info that just blew the piss out of my burnt-out little mind. Are you ready? You're not. But here it is anyway:

Obama is gonna text me his VP choice.

When the tractor beam rudely snatched me from a pleasant slumber, it only took me a startling second to realize what was happening. At that point, the thought that kept reverberating through my brain was, "If they try any of that anal probe nonsense, I'll freaking kill them." Ha. Thinking back, I can't help but chuckle at the ignorance of my presumptions.

For one, did I actually think myself capable of harming the creatures in possession of technology which was presently lifting me out of my bed and into their spacecraft without so much as a whisper, let alone a broken window? And as Creblon remarked when I told him/her of my initial fears, "Why the hell would we even want to do that? I mean think about it. God, you male humans and your homoerotic paranoias."

For some unknown reason, perhaps a merciful biological reaction rooted in evolution, I actually don't find it all that impossible to sit back and recall the events leading up to the Iraq War.

Now, I had to see Recount in short segments in order to avoid an embarrassing outburst of that livid, just-watched-Fox News kind of feeling. And I quit following American politics and the progression of humanity in general for three months after watching the 2004 election returns and the debut of Laguna Beach in one night.

But the lead up to the Iraq War seems almost droll in the soothing haze of hindsight, more comically cynical than Wag the Dog even imagined. Just with a real war. Oh yea, a real war! - God, I always forget.

A quick look at Bob Marley's "Zimbabwe" lyrics from 1979 reveals with heartbreaking irony just how short this country of 12 million has fallen of attaining the ideals affirmed in the revolution of 1980.

Lines like "No more internal power struggle; We come together to overcome the little trouble," and "To divide and rule could only tear us apart; In everyman chest, mm - there beats a heart," are enough to make you cringe in recognition of the sickening contrast between Marley's upbeat vision of the country's future and the bleak reality of its present.