Is it election night?

First, a special message to all my readers from Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Europe and, god help me, Singapore.

If after watching this week's election you now think the United States can be compared to a South American banana republic, I think it's time for you to rethink your negative attitudes toward Colombia.

It's the media, stupid.

During the course of election night, American TV networks first announced that Al Gore had carried the state of Florida, then later changed that to George W. Bush, and then finally decided it was too close to call. As of this writing, neither candidate has won the state of Florida, which means the Presidential race is still undecided.

And just to add an air of corruption to the works, the governor of Florida happens to be Jeb Bush, the brother of George W. Is that an amazing coincidence or what? You non-Americans might be suspicious, but I'm here to tell you that Americans accept this coincidence as readily as the lone gunman theory.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It took all my energy to drag myself out of the house on a rainy election night and head downtown to ridicule the private party being held for George W. Bush on the streets of Austin. I got to Sixth Street about 5 p.m., but I couldn't face the crowds without a pint or two, so I headed for Lovejoy's Pub where I hung out with several non-voters.

"I didn't vote," Kelly said as she bustled into the bar. "I guess I should have voted early, but I found out I'd have to drive all the way to south Austin to my old precinct."

My god, I thought. That's nearly three miles. Have a beer girl.

I had a few beers myself, which I didn't mean to do, since I'd been on the wagon for five days. The first two pints hit me hard, but not as hard as the other seven. I couldn't help but drink. I'm Irish, I'm a reporter and it was election night. I didn't stand a chance.

A cop came into the bar for a quick cup of espresso.

"I heard Gore took Florida," he said.

"No shit?" I started chatting him up, until I realized he was a cop and not a bus driver. Then I clammed up and kept my eyes glued on the TV. I had a wager to think about, and I didn't feel like becoming a political prisoner.

Of course, Gore didn't win Florida at all. The American TV networks jumped the gun. "We can project Gore the winner of Florida," the TV anchors said. That was later changed to, "We have to put Florida back into the too-close-to-call category." A few hours later that was changed to, "We project that Bush will win Florida and be the next President." Then it was changed to too-close-to-call again.

Way to go, television. You have now surpassed the Internet as the worldwide leader in bullshit news.

The media needs to act more responsibly and remember that there's serious gambling money riding on these horse races. I had placed $100 on Gore to win, but now it doesn't look like I'll know the outcome until Ground Hog Day's finally over.

"Right," the cop said. "I've got to get back to work."

After the officer left, Chris, Kelly's boyfriend, pointed excitedly at the television. "Look. Hillary won for New York Senator."

"You know, I fucked her," I said.

"That's not funny." Chris said. Chris looks like Matthew Modine on steroids, so he can probably kick my ass. I stared blankly at him. I wasn't prepared for someone defending Hillary's honor, and worse yet, he was right -- my comment wasn't funny. It just happened to be true, so I blurted it out. I stood on my bar stool and shouted it out again.

"I fucked Hillary Rodham Clinton and I don't care who knows it."

I continued to stare Chris down, until another guy at the bar said, "Well I voted for Nader." We all stopped talking and stared at the guy. Then we looked at each other with the same collective thought. "Ah, ha! A Green With Envy party member." We grabbed the puss from his bar stool, threw him to the ground, ripped off his shirt and gave him a pink belly. "Welcome to the party," I said.

For the benefit of my non-American readers, Ralph Nader ran for President on the Green Party ticket and had as much chance to win as you have to bite your own ass. You can try. You can even get people to root for you. But it isn't going to happen.

Back at our beers, there was a nice sidebar going down on the television. Former Governor Mel Carnahan defeated incumbent John Ashcroft for the Senate race in Missouri, which was notable since Carnahan died in a plane crash a few weeks before the election. Now Carnahan's wife will become Senator, because Missouri law states, "When a dead guy wins political office, his spouse will do just fine in a pinch."

Missouri is known as the "Show Me" state and I guess they showed us. Poor Ashcroft. Despite running some highly successful campaigns against the living, he now has to hear "Dead Man Running" jokes the rest of his life.

Two beers later, the TV told me Gore had carried California, so I figured it was time to hit the streets. I downed my last pint of Guinness and staggered to Congress Avenue toward the Capitol. The crowd wasn't very large, since it was 11 p.m. on a school night, but it was big enough so I couldn't get close enough to see the action. I stood next to a guy wearing a baseball cap with a balloon tied to it.

"Bush won for Governor," he said.

"What?"

"Bush won for Governor."

"You've been partying out here for awhile, huh?"

"Bush won for Governor."

Truth is, I had had too much to drink and my reportorial skills were somewhat diminished. At one point, I swore I heard Wayne Newton's voice coming over the loudspeakers, but chalked that up to a drunken hallucination. When I hallucinated Bo Derrick, I decided it was time to go home.

I'd like to tell you I stayed awake to hear the final results, but I passed out in front of the TV about 1 a.m. Despite my soporific shortcomings and annoying alliteration, I can guarantee that everything reported in this column is absolutely true.

That is, it's as true as anything else reported on election night.

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: This column aims to be funny. If you can read anything else into it, you're on your own. Copyright 2000 by Mike Jasper.