After all the hoopla, hankies (for happy tears), the high-fives, and everything else that constitutes a euphoric political consummation, the democrats are in for a harsh reality when they wake up next to a strange man the morning after.

The media is starting to admit the inevitable. Barring an unprecedented delegate betrayal, Barack Obama has the nomination wrapped up. But will this tasty morsel of Liberal cream turn sour in our mouths?

The liberal prophet of moral transparency isn't so transparent after all. In an attempt to explain away a twenty-year association with a voracious bigot, Obama gave, as principal reason, avuncular loyalty. My major objection to this is that you don't usually inherit pastors like you do uncles or grandmothers.

March means death.
Death to winter.

Death to Caesar.
"Long live the King!"

Would he believe them?
Friends like winter turned cold

And March means fragrant olives--
The symbol of peace.

The olive tree is overgrown.
Peace is ripe, ready to fall

The Ides of March portend--
Caesar, winter,

March means an early grave
Who is Her soothsayer?