Oh, right, it’s Inauguration time. My fellow armchair liberals have all been dreading this day and, in dark rooms, as they caress their mother’s underwear, they’ve worked hard to convince themselves that this isn’t happening.

There’s been no escaping the post-election freakout. I’ve tried. But everyone’s talking about it…seemingly more than usual. The four stages of jilted liberal grief are just so predictable though.

Every once in a while I have, in my real life interactions, what I like to call “a Nacho moment.” I’ll sort of slip into the Nacho persona and say or do something that horrifies the regular people. Actually, it …

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