Election night used to be fun. I'd sit down with some pop corn and watch the votes roll in. Chuck Todd would be touching his touchy-touch board, NBC would be painting their Ice Rink Of Divisiveness, and people and holograms would finally be working together for the greater good.
It was fun! Knuckles were enwhitened, nails were bitten, and eventually, one team won and the other lost and everybody high-fived and said "good game."
It's way less fun to know a week out that Mitt Romney had a snowball's chance in Mormon Hell Planet of winning. While I was relieved to know everything worked out in the end, I still felt like the kid who found his Christmas presents in his parents' closet: I was smug for figuring it out, but bitter about having nothing to look forward to.
Nate Silver ruined ElectionChristmas for me by using his magic powers to tell America it's future.
On election night I was sitting in comedy club under a sports bar and I heard cheers coming from upstairs. "Surely," I thought, "they must have finally read Silver's column from last Friday." But no! As the dimly lit bar echoed with chants of "Bronco Bama *clap clap clap clap clap*" I slowly realized this wasn't feigned surprise. These ignorant wretches were genuinely excited to learn the outcome!
I envy those blissful party goers. They walk around oblivious to what the Election Oracle has preordained for all of us. But since I lack the self control to leave the presents in the closet (or the New York Times' blog un-refreshed), I think we must burn Nate Silver for witchcraft. He won't be surprised. He predicted it months ago.
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