Let’s start with some precious gems from this article:

“If Hillary's success is less exceptional, does she deserve my vote as much as Barack?”

“But on Tuesday, I have a feeling that for the first time in my life, I'm going to keep my vote to myself.”

“I wouldn't have to tap one under-represented population on the shoulder and say, "I pick you to advance first"”

“I think, every day, of what it would feel like to vote for Barack Obama. I can feel the pull of Obama-mania”

“How could I ever tell those women that I voted for Barack Obama? What do I tell my aunt, my mother”

“What if I have a daughter someday and she asks me about why we've never had a woman president? Do I tell her that we once came close, but that Mommy was really digging Obama that day?”

“There is shame in voting for Hillary Clinton, make no mistake -- pulling a lever for someone who voted for Iraq and proposed anti-flag-burning legislation provokes its own brand of self-loathing.”

“But here is the honest part: Hillary Clinton is a woman. And so am I. And my president doesn't have to look like me”

"Hillary would not be a purely intellectual choice, and certainly not a politically enthusiastic one, but an emotional one,"

"And so I'll spend the next two days waging this internal battle. …tugging in their bellies and their brains. …All I can say with assuredness is this: Whatever move I make, I bet it's going to hurt."

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Did you hear the surging music? Did you feel the Byronic ennui and weltshcmertz?

Every now and then we are treated to the personal musings of one of Salon’s cub reporters as they grapple with life’s tough decisions. Today we’re graced with Rebecca Traister’s precious and self- reflexive journey to the heart of political angsteville. As I was reading this letter, the ‘me’s and ‘I’s tumbled of the page and I couldn’t help but see this cinematically:

INT.-DAY-BEDROOM

Rebecca, dressed in her best no nonsense, ‘I’m in charge’ work outfit lays on the floor of her bedroom looking tortuously at her tear soaked Diary. She glances at the poster of Obama on one wall and then spins her head with cheetah like reflexes to fixate on the cardboard cutout of Hillary on the other side of the room. The camera starts to circle the room as the dizzying image goes in and out of focus (giving us the sense that she is truly whirling in an eddy of despair). Rebecca looks up toward a god that will not answer her prayers and tears at her matted hair screaming, “Please take this bitter cup from me”!

Seriously though, when I first read this editorial I thought that it was a letter to Cary Tennis that has mistakenly made it on to the political desk.

But all perfidy aside Rebecca, what is the big deal? I’m sure you don’t want my advice but I’m going to give it to you anyway. Cut the crap about the tortuous “do I vote for the capable, experienced, yet flawed ‘woman’- or- the charismatic young, flawed ‘African American’. Don’t worry, your vote isn’t going to permanently set back or advance either group.

Instead, look at the issues (you wont find them articulated very well in Salon but you can find them on the web easily). Then write down the things that matter to you the most. For me it was: Iraq, health care, the economy, lobbyists, reproductive rights and last, but not least, how snug the candidate is with the entrenched power structure and corporate interest running Washington.

I chose Obama and I see no point in making it a secret. There was no “tugging in my belly and brain” or guilty conscience involved. It was just a good old fashioned rational decision based on data, intuition and predictions based on past experience. There was also the desire to see Obama pick Edwards as his running mate. Something I see happening if he gets the nomination.

Using reason is fun—you should try it!

Anonymous 10:03 Said, "Get a life, clown-boy"

And this is coming from someone who gets annoyed that I criticize Opus.

All I basically said is that Opus is not funny to me. I then asked for someone to explain the allure. I didn't grow up on BC or any Sunday morning strips for that matter so I guess the genre never really appealed to me..

I don't think that I ever infered that others don't think it's funny or that I'm advocating a police state where fans of Opus and Garfield ar hearded into railway cars bound for camps.

And anonymous, as for jumping around in my underroos- how would you know that. Do I need a restraining order?

Well said!

"But of course, you assume that since you don't, nobody does. That must be very comforting."

I don't assume that nobody finds him funny. It's pretty obvious that many people do. I just don't get it because in my opinion the humor on about on par with watching someone slip on a banana peel.

Every Sunday there are dozens of letters to the editor twiterpating over how brilliant this comic is. I have never seen one that I thought was remotely funny or even clever--let alone the kneeslapper that so many readers make them out to be.

I think 'Tom the Dancing Bug' is funny and very clever but it doesn't get half the letters that this peurile pap gets.

Somebody please explain to me the allure of this strip.