To Change or not to Change: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous Teabaggers
Or to take arms against a sea of Progressives;
And by opposing, lose them?
To fold: to Hope No more;
and by Hope to say we end
The facade and the thousand campaign promises
That won us the Presidency, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd.
To fold, to sell out;
To sellout: perchance to profit: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sellout what profits may come
When we have shuffled out of this Oval Office,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long a term;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of Rahm,
The Lobbyists' wrong, the Blue Dogs' contumely,
The pangs of despised wealthy donors, Tom Delay,
The insolence of Lieberman and the spurns
That patients who believe the uninsured unworthy take,
When he himself might his Honoraria make
With a co-op con?
Who would Progressives bear,
To grunt and sweat for penny ante donations,
But that the dread of something after Fold,
The undiscover'd backlash from whose blogs
No Villager returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather keep the Office we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus Change does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of corporate profits
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of sick people,
And enterprises of great greed and power
With this Public Option their shareholders turn away,
And lose their right to dividends.
--Soft you now! The fair Michelle!
Axelrod, in thy Polls
Be all my sins remember'd.
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