Comment: A James Baker's Democrat Dirty Dozen

We are free at last of algore and his pathetic lapdog, Poodle Joe Lieberman. Only an encyclopedia could adequately record their campaign's countless contumacious corruptions of truth, fact and reality.

Aided and abetted by the liberal media, they espouse a bankrupt ideology of anointed visions and socialist schemes. Turn on Katie, Matt, Peter, Tom or Dan (just to name a few), and you will tune in on new age delusions and drop out of 5,000 years of Judeo-Christian tradition. The media mob abandoned all pretense of objective journalism to drive algore down the nation's collective throat. It's been hellishly unfair fare: Half of us swallowed, half of us gagged. We, the people of strong constitutional fiber, would rather gag in conservative heaven than swallow in liberal hell.

We are free at last of Robert Wexler and the butterfly ballot brigade, perfectly emblematic of the Democrat constituency. Pathos, thy home is Palm Beach! The swallows there flutter feebly in the machinating winds of liberalism, blindly blown where angels fear to fly – into the rarefied air of self-incrimination, proudly proclaiming themselves helpless victims of confusing little arrows, trumpeting their abrogation of self-reliance, denouncing those who would dare to suggest they accept some modicum amount of responsibility for their actions.

We are free at last of the despicable Alan Dershowitz, spinning warped opinions of law like a demonic top on acid; of the terrible Paul Begala, likening Bush states to racist and fascist regimes; and of the horrific Donna Brazile, urging whole unions to demonstrate against the rightful president-elect.

We are free at last of the Rev. Jesse Jackson, the renegade Al Sharpton, and Jabba Gerry Nadler. The ubiquitous Jackson hustled Florida, playing not a race card but a veritable race deck, pulling out all his usual shell-game, zero-sum stops to foment hatred between the races. His charges that black voters were intentionally prevented from voting, stopped at police checkpoints, and generally treated like the Negroes of Selma, are totally groundless and beneath the pale, even for him.

Sharpton's immoral and criminal race baiting also knows no boundaries – from the pulpit of black churches, urging black congregations to refuse to accept Bush as their president, ominously echoes the Third World coup attempts of tin-hearted tyrants. And then there's Jabba Gerry, all over the dial, likewise pontificating and prevaricating, nowhere in the vicinity of reality.

Do these people know no truth? Have they no shame?

We are free at last of VNS, the Voter Network Service, that prematurely (and probably premeditatedly) called Florida for algore, thus setting in motion the wheeling and dealing for votes. Free, also, we are of the Broward County Canvassing Board, those sorcerers who could with the flick of a flagrant wrist and the blink of a hooded eye magically transform a pregnant chad into a vote for the veritable algore.

And free we are as well of the slippery-tongued William Daley, son of the king of stolen elections. And, thank the good Lord, we are finally free of David Boies, attorney from hell, if that – not to disparage the fine barristers of Bush – is not an axiomatic term. Boies and his boys would have us counting and recounting until doomsday, when they could, presumably, litigate with the Lord and cut us all a deal into everlasting life (were they to believe in such a quaint notion).

We are not free, however, of their legacy of counting and recounting. I must confess that I myself have engaged in a counting and recounting – not of ballots, but of this humble list. I have counted and recounted and must, alas, acknowledge that I cannot come up with an accurate count of how many people and groups comprise the Democrat Dirty Dozen. Therefore, I submit that we best elect to call the aforementioned list – drumroll, please – "A James Baker's Dirty Dozen." So be it. Let us be done with them all once and for all.

So let us now celebrate. Now, at last, we can enjoy the Twelve Days of Christmas, free of algore and his minions.

Do not despair for algore. He is now right where he belongs – within the democratic world of his own making. For algore, the mind is its own place, where every vote, forever after, was never counted, and the controlling legal authority has cast him unfairly from the presidential Paradise.

We, the people, are merciful and wish him well. Having fallen from grace by the overreaching hubris of his Faustian grasp, may algore and his hellish Dirty Dozen find happiness as denizens of history's lowest circle – those for whom the power was the glory. May they succor solace from Satan's own grand justification: Better to reign in a democratic hell than to serve in a republican heaven.