Gotta be one of the sweetest words in the langue Anglaise.
It’s what you gotta have high in the sky apple pie of.
Add “x” parts hope to “y” parts mustard seed and you get faith.
Hope is the most vital ingredient in almost every human endeavor: hope for a better future, hope for a better day come sunrise, hope for safe travels, for the lucky scratch off, pick & chose but hope plays a part in just about every thing we do.
Bugsy Siegel had hope and because he did we now have a glittering city in the Nevada desert dedicated almost entirely to the proposition of hope.
The waters of the Fountain of Youth may have proved illusory but the waters of The Spring of Hope have proven eternal.
Hope is the foundation of dreams and when dreams die, as they did for a very large and arrogant number of people on Election Night 2016, all that remains is bitterness and recrimination.
And of course the Special Council Office of Robert Mueller where the last embers of what was once a Lead Pipe Cliche Certainty now give faint hope to The Deniers, The Dead-Enders and The Resisters of the political world.
I encourage them in keeping their hope alive.
Because I’m still gloating and still not tired of winning.
I derive hope from seeing story after story about safari’s to rural Wisconsin to find out What Went Wrong, of expeditions to The North Country to discern why The Locals would rather work in a cold and dangerous taconite mine than serve a sherpa for The Packsackers from the Rich City who see their homes as a seasonal playground to be used in summer and ignored from Labor Day to school’s out the next June.
The Magical Misery Tours of the Wizards of Smart to find out what went so frightfully wrong in Michigan and Pennsylvania and the other now Orange Bricks in the former Blue Wall.
Endeavors, as they say in Texas, that are All Hat and No Cattle because Their Real Hope is that Election 2016 will somehow be overturned and The Smartest Woman in the World will ascend to Her Rightful Place.
Which leads us back to Robert Mueller, Bringer and Keeper of Donk Hope.
I’m actually pullin’ for The Bobster in a selfish way, because as long as My Bettors are focused on the dim light being shown by his Torch of False Hope the Donks and their hangers-on won’t really do a thorough autopsy of the corpse they were presented with when day broke on the morning of November 9, 2016.
And they’ll repeat their mistakes – in 2018, 2020, 2022 and beyond.
At least that’s what I’m hopin’…