So apparently some people missed the FISA vote protest. Well…shucks. You snooze, you lose. Not me, though. I was there, and it was AWESOME. 100,000 bloggers stormed the Capitol, dressed in preppie business suits, carrying pocket Constitutions, and wielding their laptops like deadly maces. People trampled each other to kick Harry Reid in the balls. The old coot put up a hell of a fight, but in the end the numbers were against him, and he submitted meekly, like we knew he would.

We even asked Feingold and Dodd if they wanted a go, but Chris demurred and Russell said it would be Wrong. They’d used up all their spinal fluid on the floor of the Senate, and they needed a refill. Fat chance. That precious liquid is now trading at like $380 a gallon, and even on a Congressional salary, that’s only a week’s supply.

The Republicans thought it was hilarious until we turned on them. Let’s just say that the hallowed halls of Washington ran thick with blue-blooded muck and leave it at that. I know, I know- you’ll never get the real story from the Liberal Media either, but hey, in this case that’s because we stripped their credentials and herded them all into the Tidal Basin for ritual cleansing at the hands of Helen Thomas.

Hell, by the time the hippies showed up, there was only some mop-up work to do, and they were “totally not into that, man.” And yet they found plenty of time to passive-aggressively guilt-trip her us all over again, that is until we snapped their collective-consciousness’ spine with our righteous fury.

A few celebrity bloggers tried to hog some glory, but we stuffed their mouths with cash and reminded them that no one’s name was on the Netroots Nation marquee in Austin anymore. We left them under the guard of voter-registration fanatics until further notice, and lemme tellya, those kids will not be denied. No sir.

That wasn’t enough for some people, though. You all know who I mean. The ones who ignored all the surrounding silliness and sped like heat-seeking missiles for the office of Barack Obama. Alas, he was forewarned of their sortie, and was nowhere to be found. Only Ted Kennedy stood firm, jabbering something about “I dare you motherfucking kids to mess with me, yo. I’m even freakier with only half a brain, bitches!!!”

Teddy didn’t get a chance to lay a finger on any of those unfortunate souls, though. Michelle Obama had her way with them. It was ugly. Or so I’m told. I wasn’t there- I’d made my way down through the Rayburn building, looking for Waxman. I had a sternly worded letter all ready for that dude, but Conyers and Kucinich picked me out of the crowd from fifty feet away, and they sicced the Speaker on me.

And Nancy was not kind. She humiliated me in front of my wife, shamed me in front of my friends, and exposed me for the ass that I am. “Keir,” she said, towering over my cringing form and twirling her gavel, “Come on, sweetie. What would you rather do? Tar and feather me, ME, or try for the easy way out?”

She stood aside and showed me the fateful choice, and I knew I would Sell Out with all the rest of them. I knew I’d become just another Humorless Suburban Liberal all over again, just like so many times before.

You see, the Speaker had a leash in her other hand. It was a good thirty feet long, and though it strained with great force, she held it firm. It was an astounding feat of discipline. “Holy fucking shit,” I heard a girl whisper from behind me. “Who ARE those people?”

The guy next to me knew, but he only hid his head in his hands. Another grizzled protest veteran shook his head quietly, and the smell of slime soon overwhelmed us all. It ran thick on the pavement ahead of us; the ground was positively greased with the burbling excrement of bowel-shaking fear, and it was emanating from the direction of the end of the Speaker’s leash.

Ten or fifteen Congresscritters were lashed together in a huddling mass of angst, whimpering like whipped dogs, trembling and cowering and slathered in blue paint. The only one I could really recognize at that point was Hoyer.

The Speaker smiled calmly. “Now children,” she said, “you will have your chance to commit meaningless, self-aggrandizing acts of vengeance upon the chosen Punished. You will all get five minutes each. Make it good. Everyone has full immunity. We don’t care if you tell everyone about it. In fact, we’ll encourage it, and now no one will be blamed.”

We gaped in astonishment, but she wasn’t finished. “Oh yes, you can brag to your friends and family, but only if you’re on an AT&T plan.” I don’t remember much after that. We became One with our own personal Bacchic revenge, and many horrible deeds were committed in the name of Purity.

I woke up the next morning covered in welts and bruises, with blue paint chips under my fingernails. I didn’t recognize the people sleeping around me, and had no idea which hotel we were in. The less said about the morning after, the better. Even the President wept when he heard the news. They were, after all, His Creatures.