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So this is how the story ends.
I hereby concede this defeat at the hands of my worthy opponent.
Ladies and Gentlemen, this epic and embarrasing defeat leads me to only one conclusion: very few people on the Chicago Sports Fan Message Board are interested in the product that I am selling. What is that product, you ask? A United States of America of days past, where a candidate who openly took pride in his massive consumption of illegal narcotics would have been placed in an insane asylum, not Round II of this fine Tournament. Please do not misunderstand me; I bear no grudge against Darkside (provided that he doesn't one day drive a school bus in which my children are passengers). In fact, when his marijuana saturated brain inevitably reduces him to a patient on Social Security Disability, requiring long term in-home care, involving a thrice daily feeding of Farina by a nurse, I will think fondly of him. It will give me great solace to think that a very small percentage of each of my future paychecks will be earmarked to assist Medicare in paying for this compassionate treatment.
I ask myself, what has become of this great country? Well, my friends, it would appear that we are on the verge of electing a Socialist as our President. A woman, no less. As I once told my friend Baku, whose betrayal of me makes Iago look like an innocent child receiving his First Communion, I am a prehistoric mosquito, stuck in amber. I can not, and prefer not to, change to adapt to these troubled times. I fear that my children will be entering a much different world than the one I gleefully experienced in my youth.
In closing, let me just say this: I have enjoyed my interaction with most of you. A special thank you goes out to my good friend Mustang Rob. As many of you know, I am from the East Coast, a child of the sands of Long Island Sound. Being a native New Englander, I grew up amongst many, many Red Sox fans, and enjoyed a childhood of schoolyard bantering, made easier for me by the fact that the glorious Yankees always won. My interaction with Rob has taken me back to those wonderful days, a time before unfortunate familial circumstances necessitated a move far away from my beloved Connecticut and The Bronx. Fear not, good Sir, I shall not forget our wager. Come October, should your Red Sox host Game I of the World Series, you will be toasting your club with a premium Tequila, with my compliments.
I also want to thank the 12 people who saw fit to cast their votes for yours truly.
To the rest of you: you won't have Stone Roses to kick around any more.
Good night. And may God Bless the United States of America.
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