Unto dust shalt they return

The priest stood somberly over the grave of Election, the dead horse. "We are gathered here today not only to mourn this horse, who passed away during the earliest stages of the presidential primaries, but also to lament the incessant beatings bestowed upon him after his untimely death. Is there anyone who would like to say a few words on this beaten, dead horse's behalf?"

A political pundit was the first to arise and step towards the grave. On the verge of tears, he exclaimed, "He showed promise for many great races. It was a shame that he passed, but even more of a shame how much we beat him after his passing. I say 'we' because the responsibility lies within us all. No one is free from culpability. Especially-" he let out a great sigh, "especially me and my kindred fellows." Looking on, Rupert Murdoch shed a single tear.

A Congolese victim of rebel aggression watched from the back, mustering the courage to speak his piece. He stood up and cautiously advanced, his eyes darting about. As he loomed over Election's tomb, he bowed his head, in quiet reverence for the departed. "In my country," he said, still looking down at the coffin, "we do not tolerate cruelty such as you have done to this horse. We do not wait months to bury a dead horse, and we do not beat it." He turned back to the crowd of onlookers and continued, "Because of your actions, I have lived in this animal's shadow for the past few weeks. I hope burying Election once and for all will allow my country, and all those forced to cower under the shadow of Election, to come to light." This touching reflection moved the crowd, except for several AIG executives, who scurried off.

As the Congolese man began to limp away from the grave, Dow Jones had already lifted himself from his seat. He took several steps forward, but, in his weakened state, was unable to stay up. As he fell to the ground, he cried out, "Forget not the promises you have heard while beating this horse. Its passing may sadden us, but you must never... forget-" He collapsed. Thunder rolled, and the rain began to fall.

Ron Paul, tears cascading down his wind-whipped cheek, was the last to approach the grave. "We have both been beaten," he whispered, "may we both now find peace." Weeping, the no-longer-presidential candidate walked slowly from the grave. As the pallbearers shoveled the last clumps of dirt over Election, the beaten, dead horse's coffin, a thick fog rolled over the graveyard and enveloped the onlookers. Tony Rezko, William Ayers, Joe "the Plumber" Wurzelbacher and Levi Johnston slinked away into the black abyss. Ashes to ashes; dust to dust.

Amen.

Danny Lewin is a Trinity junior. His column runs every other Wednesday.