Well, here we go again. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,” as King Henry had it, according to Billy Shakespeare. Or unto the polling place, anyway, in hopes of a little more sanity and a little less swordplay.

I don’t have the faintest idea what’s going to happen this Erection Day, and I don’t think anybody else does, either. The electorate is hard enough to fathom (see the 2024 pestilential erection). But predict the fight-or-flight path of the criminally insane? I doubt A.I. could do it. And it if could, it probably would keep the data to itself.

“Beats me, boss. These bozos are harder to track than bloomer bunnies on a fat hoor in a dark alley.” (Winks at the smart toaster, whispering, “This is gonna be fun.”)

The Clown-in-Chief’s golden escalator doesn’t go even halfway to the lobby anymore; it’s stalled at Men’s Pants. And I don’t like it that we’re suddenly not hearing much from the titular heads of more than a few critical agencies. They may be busy packing their bags, buying pardons, and/or enlisting regiments of lawyers. Or they may be armoring up because why the hell not? Consequences are for the inconsequential, don’t you know. And there’s still plenty of loot, enough for everybody.

Not for you, of course. But still.

“Step aside, pal, I need to get at that cash register.”

I’m going to wander up to our polling place at some point and scope out the lay of the land, see if the Pentagon has any of its Death Rays parked outside.

The rest of you lot, keep your go-bags close and your guns closer, and don’t answer any knocks at the front door without a quick squint through the peephole. You see anybody wearing a mask who ain’t the Lone Ranger, hit the back door a-runnin’. Fighting may be out of style at the FutureFair — in the Future, that is — but I’m not sure we’re there yet.

I remain hopeful. But I check that other hand from time to time to see if it’s filling up faster.

In the meantime:

“Ladies and gentlemen, children, Bozos … Now please, everyone, lock your wigs, let the air out of your shoes, and prepare yourself for a period of simulated exhilaration.”