Bad Genes

For the last year or so I've lived five minutes away from my grandparents, and so I often stop by to say hello and steal some cookies. Almost every time I do, we exchange a couple shots back and forth about politics- all in good fun, course, as they have given up on trying to actually convert me to the GOP, and the odds are rather poor that I will be able to convince to vote Democratic two people who lived through the Depression and yet still think Herbert Hoover was a better President than Franklin Roosevelt.

Today, though, I thought that my constant shots against Bush and the modern Republican Party had actually had some effect. We were discussing the Wall Street Journal editorial page, and Grandma said, "You know, I will admit, I don't know why so many people hate Tom Daschle so much. He seems like a very polite man, and I like that he is so soft spoken when so many other people in Washington are loud and rude. I like Tom Daschle. And I think I'm going to vote Democratic next year."

And the sky turned black at noon; and the rivers ran red with blood; and the lion laid down with the lamb.

"But only if Tom Daschle gets the nomination."

Evil Grandma. Evil Grandma.

Evil. Evil. Evil.