You’re out!

Blame the San Francisco Giants. I get all goofy when the baseball postseason gets here and my team’s in it. Has something to do with being 16 and catching a batting practice home-run ball off Dave Parker, immediately preceding the Giants’ first home game of the 1989 World Series. And then getting knocked off my feet by an earthquake.
Ever since, I’ve been possessed by all sorts of foul motivations, not the least of which is a rather absurd craving for hitting statistics. And prone to autumnal outbursts of optimistic hysteria where I say things like…I think we may be seeing the beginning of the end of mudslinging in California politics.
Stimpy, you fool!
No, seriously. I mean, let’s examine the recent evidence shall we. In the span of less than a month, Arnold’s been hit with steroids, racism, nude photos, VRWC, pot-smoking, gangb*ngs, molestation, and at long last, Hitler.
And he’s still the odds-on favorite to fill California’s top spot.
The rest of the country may have it right when they label us wackos, but they’re missing the finer point from all this mess.
Even wackos have a rock-bottom. More importantly, they’re capable of recognizing when they’ve reached it. True, it took a pretty good wallop before it all sank in. But eventually, around the time Gray Davis took out a fourth mortgage on his soul and the attack ads started to roll, we faced the obvious. And so…
Televise your mud, your slime, your Hitler references! We’re mad as hell, and we’re not gonna take it anymore!! HUHUHWAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!

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