oh, god, i miss president bartlet

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Agent 86 had a television set. He turned it on for the Daily Show and for the 5am fishing shows. During the long months of my fight against the Wall Street bastards trying to take out 80,000 acres of redwood timberlands, fried, sleepless, very late at night, the stove crackling behind me, the moonlight pouring through the trees out the window, I'd turn on West Wing reruns on some cable network, sprawled on the couch with my thirty-pound cat sprawled on me and cry while I pretended, every single night, that Jed Bartlet was really the president and I was watching what was really going on in the White House.