On both November 4 and 8, I will be watching with intense joy as the sorest losers in world history take it to the streets yet again. I will feast on their unhappiness as if it was a bowl of gumdrops. I will take tremendous pleasure—borderline sensual—at the fact that a year later, they still have no idea why they lost, which gives me hope that they will continue to wail, gnash their teeth, and lose even more.
