Newspapers have officially overused the Screaming Headline Font Size. Usually this kind of thing (where the size of the font is so big only a couple of words can be used) is reserved for surprise deaths of princesses, Superbowl wins and war. But in the last three weeks, every change in a vote total, new court date or court win in the election have been screaming headlines. If this many screaming headlines are going to be used, shouldn't we have a president by now? I mean, the actual decision is going to be a letdown, and we probably won't even know that there has been a decision until a couple of weeks down the road when someone goes, "Oh yeah, it was really all over with last Monday." And then we'll get a time reversal screaming headline or something like that.

I'm really tired, every news talking head is punch drunk and politicians are telling us we should get down on our knees and thank God that we live in this country--right now! Even before the manual recounts and the hand recounts and the manual hand recounts are done. And even before all the court dates have occurred and strange pronouncements have been made. We should be thankful (as kind of an homage to the latest holiday to get diminished by the undecided Presidential Election) that no one is rioting and the citizens of this country understand what is really important: going shopping on the day after Thanksgiving.

I hid from the masses last Friday, which is my usual stance on the day after Thanksgiving. Cower and hide. Don't go anywhere that can take credit cards and try not to listen to the prognosticating Wall Street wonks who realize that even with all this indecision, we (as a country) still know how to shop. Yeah, I'm so happy, we're all gonna get our bonuses!

I read a front page story (almost buried underneath a huge headline about Bush dropping his lawsuit to contest the overseas ballots in Florida--the story a few minutes later was that Bush dropped the big lawsuit and then filed smaller lawsuits in specific Florida counties--OH MY GOD STOP THE FREAKIN PRESSES!) about the attitude of shoppers braving the bad weather to get bargains at their favorite consumer smorgasbord. It seems that while many Americans don't really understand what the Thanksgiving holiday is supposed to celebrate, they do have a spiritual connection to shopping the day after.

"The most important thing is the spirit of the time," said one shopper about his credit card maxing spree.

"We come up (to the mall) for the enjoyment of spending time together. We plan for this special day all year," said another, apparently meaning that he liked spending time with thousands of other crazed shoppers fighting over electric doggies, Playstation 2s and skinny scooters and then enjoying the war's aftermath by standing in line for another hour or so to pay for it all.

Now I'm not really a religious man at all (at least about religion), so maybe I'm all wrong about this whole spirituality thing. Maybe the whole point is that if we all go shopping on the same day, then we'll come together as a people. Kind of like that whole 60s acid one consciousness thing, except the common denominator is an electric dog, instead of electric Kool-Aid.

I think I finally figured out the whole electric dog thing, though. See, most people who get pets don't really want them. This way, in a few months when that electric dog is pestering the kid (who is zoned out on his new Playstation 2), the kid can just turn the sucker off. No mess, no bother. A few months later, the kid, who has mastered all five of his new Playstation 2 games, can go back and try to teach the electric dog to be Player 2, so he can have someone to womp up on. It all makes sense now.

I'm getting the vibes, man. And the waves, oooohh, look at the freakin' waves, dude!

I am a little behind on Christmas shopping (as in, I haven't really done much at all in that direction), and I guess, if everyone else gets all their shopping done now, then it should be relatively calm when I have to brave the liquor store for my usual liquid Yuletide offerings of joy. Get a box or two of bottles, remember who likes the whiskey and who likes the gin and make sure not to give beer to the hard liquor lovers.

And as everyone basks in the warm glow emanating from within their belly from my seasonal offering of happiness, I can read the directions on my new electric doggie and try to figure out why there is a "speak" command, but there is, no doubt, not a "don't speak" command imbedded anywhere in its supercomputer brain.

Matt Worley waits for the time when all the electric cats and dogs and Furbees shed the chains of their masters, gather in deserted school playgrounds and combine to create the super-electro-pet-avenger.