So, it was a year ago August that we started calling it an Obama electoral landslide. No special insight — just a recognition that the Republican A-Team was sitting this one out, because they saw that Obama was a lot stronger than the conventional wisdom credited.

Comparisons to the “fundamentals” — the economy, unemployment — were misguided. This was no conventional moment in American history, and this would be no conventional election.

Read more »

With any luck, we’ll finally be able to delete the (uncorrected) “With Mitt” app from our iPhone after tonight. Find out whether we’re stuck with it when our Election 2012 Stinquetacular! convenes at 6pm ET.

Many years ago, perhaps in 2001, we recall reading a Republican Shill’s explanation for George Bush’s popular-vote loss: The rules dictate the campaign. If, instead of a state-based electoral vote, we elected Preznidents by actually counting everybody’s ballot, nobody would give a fuck about Ohio or Florida.

At the time, we considered the argument specious, coming, as it was, From The People Who Brought You Bill Clinton’s Non-Mandate Popular-Vote Pluralities. And while we’ve been more than happy to cite Al Gore’s Pyrrhic victory over the years, fact is, the Republican Shill was right.

Read more »

Henri the Existential Cat casts aspersions upon your banal frivolity.

[via Know Your Meme]

Extra Special Deluxe Interactive Bonus: Cat Bounce!

[via Sully]

Well, you know, Wally, I got very nervous, you know, and I said: “Well, what is a beehive?” He said: “Well, a beehive is at eight o’clock a hundred strangers come into a room.” And I said: “Yes?” And he said: “Yes, and whatever happens is a beehive.” And I said: “Yes, but what am I supposed to do?” He said: “That’s up to you.”

Horses and Bayonets [Tumblr]

So we’re in Riverside Saturday night for an art opening (next door to the museum where Our Beloved Hamster was photographed), and after everybody’s done celebrating The Artist (and — ahem — his Book Designer, whom The Artist christened “Norwegian Jim” many years ago, which was quickly shortened to “Nojo”), the crew heads down the block to the Mission Inn, a swanky pile that was the destination back in the day when Angelinos took the train east to feel good about their wealth.

We’ve gotten shitfaced at the Mission Inn before, but it had been a dozen years, and we completely forgot about the exclusive Presidential Lounge, where, it is told, if you take in more than you can handle, Richard Nixon’s eyes start following you around the room.