All right, my turn.

Vote for Bush. This is why . . . quickly because I have to watch Kill Bill.

Nothing will change in this country unless it is hopeless. Until we have nothing, people will be complacent. If Bush gets re-elected, which is entirely plausible, things will happen. People will quote the D of I. They will read Marx. They will be more unhappy than they already are. The dust storm will come and those who did not need water before will ache to have something to quench their thirst.

Then a Woody Guthrie will come, or a new Dylan, or Zorro. But someone will make a stand and things will get bad in this country, which in turn, will cause things to change.

The Bastille needs to fall people.

I will vote for Kerry because I agree with Chris, but YOU should vote for Bush if you care about America. I'm just afraid of, and look forward to, what will happen if he gets back in. I want nothing to do with putting him there, but you should.

I thank you.

Okay Uma, I'm ready.

I thought everyone had a tank bra? What the hell?

Definitely get a tank bra. Make sure it supports your tank though. There is also the tank g-string and tank douche which is not the most comfortable thing but useful when you're camping.

I used the tank condom before, but it fell off. I would not suggest such a thing.

Goddamnit, is anyone listening to what's going on in Boston! It's a bit fucking exciting I have to say.

Hell I might even get some hope back . . . but let's not jump into that boiling water too soon.

The place is always different, but in the end it doesn’t matter anyway; it’s always the same.

I’m on a beach with what looks like dozens of other people, which has never happened before. From the very start, the sky is that layer of blue-black atop that layer of tan sunset that tells you it’s going to be very bad, very soon.

The water picks up. The water always picks up. Now it's because of the wind.

The beach has lifted and is now on an angle of around 45 degrees, as if it’s just turned into the side of a mountain. It’s still sand though, so people are slipping into the water which is now crashing to the sand with the intent of peril. The wind picks up causing a sandstorm that you could still see through. Everyone is screaming.

Except me. I know about this already.

Gusts of wind come and knock me over when I try to walk. I look up. To my left is midnight at noon. To my right is the hint of the sun on the horizon. But then I see it coming towards and all I can think is well, that’s new.

A tornado is in a direct line to me, picking up bodies like they were tin roof tops. I could dive into the water, but there’s no reason to rush into that. I could climb up, just missing it, but when I look . . . I almost said love . . . when I look up again, the sand is now a cliff that won’t let me go.

So I take my arms. I say fuck you then, and bury them into the sand up to my shoulders, gripping and clawing, face now on the ground. If it’s going to hit me, it’s going to hit me. But it won’t take me with it.

When it passes over me, as I hear the screams and the crying, I think, please God, don’t let a body hit me in the ribs. I’m too vulnerable. Don’t add that variable. Please God.

When the tornado goes, the water comes. That wave. That monster forty foot wave hits me and drags me out with it. Bodies are everywhere. This is the end of the world.

I’m floating in a tall structure that one could call a house. I am alive. I prop open the doors and see the waves. They’re not too bad, but once I decide to leave the house, they turn. It knows. I’m going any way. If I die . . . well at least it’ll all be over.

I swim away and a house falls on me, but the stairway just misses. It rolls along like it has somewhere it needs to be. I finally make it to a camp, a refuge for everyone still living. The waves give us some time. Half the people are dead, floating in the water and half are scrambling to a structure, to get out of the water. It’s not over, and the tragedy is that they don’t know it.

Or is the tragedy that I do.

I try to tell them and no one listens. There are people in charge. I want to warn them. I want to tell them that we need to go north. The waves will return.

There they are.

I close my eyes and wait it out. That’s all you really can do when the inevitable is coming.

Aren't you all excited by the socialist rhetoric flying throughout Boston this evening?

By the way, young Ron . . . if you're at the democratic national convention, you are making a political statement.

It's about goddamn time.