An Open Letter to the GOP

Dear Grand Old Party,

I feel like the use of the word "old" in this letter's title is appropriate because I feel like I'm talking to an ancient version of myself. I mean, we're made of the same blood and bones, but we're just so far apart.

Like this whole Sarah Palin thing you're doing. I'm really happy to see that you've let a women into your fortress, but it isn't really all that groundbreaking when you remember we did it in 1984. It isn't really all that heartwarming to hear you proclaim your excitement, since, well, it just makes you seem old.

Then there's the pro-life/pro-choice debate we've been having. Really? Still? I'm not against a woman choosing to have a child, but I'm not for forcing a rape victim to conceive. Are we still having this conversation? Are you somewhere where they're selling leaded gasoline right now?

Which brings me to this whole "junk science" thing called Global Warming. Are you still denying it's existence? Didn't you put a VP candidate on the ticket who had the fortune of watching the snow and ice melt firsthand? It seems like she'd be a great way to perform your usual bypass of scientific community, no? I know, I know, I'm giving her too much credit by hoping she governed with her eyes open.

And I can't help but think about how this Second Amendment keeps coming up. We don't have any militias, so using the second amendment to justify gun use is archaic. Just wondering, are you arguing by candlelight over there?

And there are so many gay and lesbian men and women giving us firsthand accounts of what it's like to be gay that it's hard to take your curmudgeonly dated account of it. You live in a divorce-ridden country that reinvents daily what constitutes an American family, yet you push an agenda that attempts to define it. I'm having a hard time understanding your logic, old man, or maybe you're being drowned out by the fuzzy reception on your rabbit-eared Panasonic.

We in the blue have decided to take somewhere great, somewhere where you don't have to feel old and alone. It'll okay. It'll be like a vacation. In four years when you start itching to come back, you'll hardly recognize the place. But it's all for the best, because we're going to fix it up and keep it clean for your eventual arrival.

Now go pack your bags and then take your nap. We'll wake you up on a Wednesday in November.