Hey, gang, it’s finally here! The assfucking that America has been waiting for since Harry Truman suggested universal health care is gonna happen — this week. It’s only taken the health insurance industry sixty years to get ready to ram home their own tumescent Big Bailout plan to make us take it, dammit: take it all the way, rigid and hard and, um, Too Big.

And Big Democrats are gonna make us feel grateful for a little lube called Public Option. If we’re very lucky. "Please, please, sir — can I have a dollop of Public Option?"

Would we like a distraction to dull the pain? Why, yes, we certainly would!

America, here’s several absolutely meaningless, terribly expensively-produced athletic contests the weekend beforehand! Or would we rather relax with I.V. Valium by watching other people competitively dance — or cook, or runway-model, or fashion-design, or choose a life-mate or tonight’s date — on our immense home theatre screens? Maybe you’d like to engage, with like-minded anxiety-ridden Americans, in some newly popular but old-fashioned race-baiting and -bashing. Is the anxiety over penetration really overwhelming? Perhaps every telenovela can be reshuffled the week before! Then our hunt for the new time-slots of our favorite true crime and true romance and true family and true first-responder stories will pay off with a little fictive simultaneity.

Are those enough to keep America distracted from what’s coming?

Because, America, this back-forty plowjob is gonna hurt. We will never be the same, and neither will the insurance companies once they gain access and ram it home. They are ready to possess us just like they own our electeds: wholly, and with malice aforethought. If you or someone you know got hurt when Big Insurance & Big Pill co-rapists laid down the pain on the donut hole, well — that was just the head, baby.

You really want that hole plugged? Here it comes.

There’s lots more reaming ahead. Fast, thick, hard, without mercy.

And it’s gonna happen — now. Bite the pillow called National Exchange, go to the happy place in your head called Universal Coverage, slather on all the Public Option you can scoop up in both hands. Then put yer butt up & shut up: Big Health is gonna own us, Big Insurance is gonna plug us, Big Pill is gonna make us their very own beeyotch.

And they are Big. And it is gonna hurt.

Oh — the safe word, did you ask? 202-224-3121.