Barack Obama is not perfect. He is, in fact, FAR from perfect. He is not The White Knight (or even The Black Knight,!) that we had all dreamily and ignorantly envisioned he would be four years ago, but neither is he The Socialist Muslim Anti-Christ that some of the more dangerously imbalanced people on my friends list believe him to be.

Look, I would LOVE to be a fearless, ruthless maverick and cast my vote for Roseanne Barr and The Peace and Freedom Party — if for no other reason than JUST TO BE ABLE TO SAY I DID. HOWEVER — speaking as someone with three children — with four Supreme Court justices currently in their mid to late 70s and ready to retire any second, I do not have the conscionable luxury of throwing away my vote just to make a point about the wickedness of government. It’s ALL wicked. As a parent, I must just make the LEAST wicked choice before me…and that’s Obama. Whoever is in the White House for the next four (or eight) years will very likely appoint judges who will go on to shape the legal and cultural entirety of my children’s lives — and for whatever else he or she may be, that motherfucker cannot — CANNOT — be an insane religious fanatic. FUCK THAT.

I totally have hope for a victory by a third (and fourth and fifth!) party candidate someday, and will, at some point, cast my precious vote for one of them…however, with (at least) four seats on The Supreme Court at stake over the next couple of years, all I am saying is…this is NOT the fucking election in which to do it. Like a scorching case of herpes, elected politicians rise and fall, come and go, erupt and go dormant — but appointed and anointed Supreme Court justices stick around FOREVER and in their wake, SHAPE EPOCHS.

If you doubt the power or potential malfeasance of a Supreme Court that skews Hard Right…just think back to the counterfeit presidential election results of 2000. Eight years of Karl Rove gutting this country like a carp. Even as I type this, Herr Rove is waiting in the wings, wearing women’s panties and a ball-gag and covered in some 19 year old DC hustler boy’s feces, and eagerly sharpening his de-boning blade in anticipation of regaining his power. (DE-boning, of course, BECAUSE HE CAN’T FUCK.)

So…for me, for my daughters, for my sisters, for my friends…on Tuesday, BARRY IT IS.

Shantih. Shantih. Shantih.

And amen.