The mob has gathered round the house of Governor Rod Blagojevich, waving their virtual pitchforks and shrieking for justice. Our own Deadman has even called him "ugly." Shame on him. Governor Blagojevich may not be married to a hot Star Trek actress, but he's a fine looking man, if a bit jowly. And no one is fooled by Aman's crocodile tears; we know that he yearns to return to his hometown and claim the office of Governor for himself. (When asked who would replace Blagojevich as Governor, he innocently shrugged in mock ignorance.)

I ask you, cruel mob, who among you is without avarice? Show some empathy. The Governor is a poor, underpaid public servant at the mercy of his constituents. Every year, he has to bow and scrape for money to run his campaign so that he can continue to serve the people. And then Barack Obama, like a modern day Brutus, forsook his roots and lobbied for a bill to restrict the poor Governor's ability to fundraise, resulting in the cruelest cut of all: a humiliating vote to override the selfless Governor's vote. Where was the man to turn to continue his career and maintain a lifestyle appropriate to his status? Do you think that people give away money for an ideal? That is not how politics works, not in Illinois. You can't sell dreams. As the Governor himself eloquently proclaimed, the open Senate seat "is a fucking valuable thing, you just don't give it away for nothing." People of the mob, are you in the habit of giving away fucking valuable things for nothing? I call you hypocrites.

No, Governor Blagojevich is not, as Deadman self-righteously intoned, a "creep." He's an innovator, a visionary. Like a canny investment banker, he recognized the value of an asset and sought only to get the fair market value for it. In recognition of his brilliance, I offer him the sincerest form of flattery--imitation. I hereby offer my position as Blogger, Dagblog Administrator, and Chief Font Officer to the highest bidder. You may have my avatar, the rights to my work, and the loyalty of all 11 of my readers, including my dear mother. I promise to invest the proceeds in the Vegas market and use my winnings to obtain a position of public importance and a modest New York co-op, nay, a condo with 1½ baths. And a doorman. I deserve a doorman. With luck, I can even buy myself a Senate seat and a position on some powerful Subcommittee, which I promise to exploit to make more money and better serve the public's interest. President Genghis? It has a certain ring.