The Urban Sherpa keeps a collection of stories and curios filed under Mythic Proportions.
Tomorrow 

Tomorrow, when we elect Barack Obama, all my worries will go away and my blood pressure will drop twenty points. The stock market will soar and the price of oil will plummet. The weather will be sunny and cool and breezy, like for flying a kite.
The pothole outside my house will fill in, and the garbage smell will lift away. Mail will never be lost again. Sinks will flow with chocolate and champagne. Credit card debt will be forgiven. We will all lose ten pounds. Our teeth will floss themselves.
Tomorrow, when we elect Barack Obama, the world will fill with flowers. The milk carton children will return. Heartbreaks of the past will turn to wistful happy memories; we will shed our fear of all things, and we'll dance and make love in the streets, except the streets will be better, too, and won't give brush burns.
When results are in, and he has made his acceptance speech, we will gasp in genuine awe at the rightness of things; we will get choked up to have rediscovered our lost faith; and we will believe, like our forefathers believed, in the power of democracy, and in the good that lies buried (sometimes too deep) inside the human heart, tomorrow, when we elect Barack Obama.

