The City is getting a facelift. Denver is getting all dolled-up for the Democratic National Convention. I saw a City maintenance worker mopping a lamppost. I saw the "parking for a fee" signs replaced with pin-up murals of dead musicians and Spider-Man. I've seen more street sweepers in the last 48 hours than I have in the last 48 months. The City is getting ready like a prom date. Or a whore. There are rumors of Oprah staying in the riche side of town. Every café swears Obama loves their coffee and will stop in for a cup of joe with the Regular Joes. Bullshit. The Southern gun nuts voted in Bush (twice!) because he was a President they could have a beer with. I have never seen Bush at a bar or, for that matter, near anyone who does not earn six digits. In the last five minutes, I've seen two Pro-Life trailers (cars towing a ratty trailer festooned with pictures of aborted babies) and two local news vans. The babies frozen faces seemed to shriek and wail the antithesis of Barack Obama's parroting of the word "change." While abortion doesn't seem to inspire change in the minds of the general public, it does in me. Just imagine if Bush's (and by proxy, the GOP's) rancid, lurching, mongoloid ideals had come to term. What's that you say? It did? Rubbish. Gas prices could (and will) go higher. The infrastructure of Iraq will remain Good and Fucked. As will any relations with the United Nations, the nations we share the planet with, and indeed, the planet itself. And I'm considering this election a scrambling chance at a late term scraping at the womb of the country. A womb that has been shat in and utterly ruined with greed, deception, willful ignorance, and apathy. But really, who doesn't think of the President and many supporting members of the GOP as water-headed troglodytes that don't quite seem fully developed? Why Communists and Terrorists are only allowed to such thoughts and I'll see you in Guantanamo. ` Ah, but here in Denver, everything is pretty and clean and perfect. Life is good a mile up. Streets paved with cupcakes and blowjobs. So The City takes a long hot shower. It puts on its prettiest dress, straightening seams and smoothing out any wayward wrinkles. It careful applies its make-up, painstakingly coloring inside the lines, wary of the colors too garish or conflicting. It will dance all week, making sure the awkward missteps are avoided or quickly and quietly covered up at best. Then, ensuring that the blood soaking into the shoes is not seen, it will coquettishly slip into bed with the Party In Opposition. Let's all hope that the whirlwind fling of politics and exposure is mindful of our first time. Let's hope it's not some cruel hard fuck that wipes its dick on our knees and throws down a five-dollar bill. This is just the first of 1000 Points of Hate.