Friends of the decanter have no doubt been asking themselves recently, “Self?  Why isn’t Tom giving us his two cents on the coming elections?”

Well, the short answer is that since I work for Uncle and am subject to the tender mercies of the Hatch Act, I do not consider it to be a-tall prudent to raise the least smidgen of a suggestion of a suspicion that I might be violating its provisions here at Port Swiller Central by posting over the wrong keyboard anything that might be considered advocacy of a particular candidate.

Nonetheless, I have, of course, been following the fortunes of the politickal campaigns with the slave-like addiction of the dope fiend  the keenest of interest, and have paid very close attention to the MSM, the pundits and what I can only call the atmospherics immediately around me.  As a result, I have formed in what passes for my braims some very solid and definite conclusions about What’s About To Happen.  It is only with supreme self-control and a lot of lip-biting that hitherto “(hitherto, mark you!)” I have refrained from shouting these conclusions from the virtual housetops and instead kept them to myself.

Well, since I cannot yet disclose my per-dictions,it occurs to me to construct a kind of time machine, albeit a crude one, in order to prove my prognosticatory powers, um, after the fact.  [Ed. – or not.]

Here is what I propose to do:  The Mothe and I are in the habit of engaging in a weekly telephonic chin-wag every Sunday afternoon after I get home from Mass.  I’ve been offering her general predictions for, oh, a good six or eight months, so she knows my overall thinking.  Now I’m prepared to throw down.  Prior to this week’s jawfest, I will draft (in bullet-point form) a short summary of what I believe is going to happen this coming Tuesday, November 6 and, perhaps more importantly, why I think it’s going to happen.  I will then proceed to relate said bullet points to the Mothe.  (I am even prepared to email them to her if she feels that she can’t get the gist during our palaver.)

When the smoke clears after Tuesday’s vote-fest, if  I am correct I will publish said bullet points to you friends of the decanter here, accompanied of course by a restrained and tactful amount of gloating over my prescience.  (And if not? I will try to find on yootoob that scene from Mad About You where Helen Hunt programs the virtual reality thingy to get Paul Reiser to repeat over and over, “I was wrong..I was so wrong……” and will attempt as suitably a groveling explanation as I can manage.)

The Mothe will act as umpire, attesting to the authenticity of my pre-election prognostications.  (And anyone who doubts the integrity of my mother is invited to meet me outside just as soon as I find my horsewhip.)

I will say nothing more about the matter from here until the close of polling except this:  1) I’m pretty durn confident about what I’m sensing, and 2) in the 2002 midterms I won the office pool, much to the amazement of my colleagues.