skewed polls and biased liberal media

you guys sure were right about that.

democrats got way oversampled.

boy, is my face red now.

Well, that is something. I agree. The Polls were right on this time. And there was a lot of deep bs about counting. Turns out they counted just fine.

The Electoral College proves it's worth again. All over before bedtime. No civil strife. All's well in the Great Republic.

Good job. Anyone that voted passed the Stupid Test. Another one in 2 years. The best team will win.

I failed the stupid test, why else would I go to all that trouble to get up and go vote when it matters not who I voted for? The Public does not pick the president, they just think they do.

Hmm, I guess I'm lucky. I got to vote for legalizing gay marriage, state and local bond issues, my state government, my states congressional reps, and none of that was through the electoral college.

Civics 101 my butthurt right wing friends.

NoDrama said:

I failed the stupid test, why else would I go to all that trouble to get up and go vote when it matters not who I voted for? The Public does not pick the president, they just think they do.

Click to expand...

That's the test. Did you fail or did you pass? I tend to agree, btw. But is that the point? This bit by, Will S. comes to mind. You are the master of your fate, and I of mine, brother.

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To be, or not to be: that is the question?: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;

No more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause:

There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin?

Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life? But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have?

Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action.

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Or, as a fighter pilot might say, "don't just do nothing!"