Fist bump to the Dark Side

June 22, 2008

I‘m a terrorist. No doubt about it. I didn’t want to go over to the Dark Side, but some forces are too powerful to resist.

The Obama Fist Bump nailed me, or OFB as we converts call it.

It happened today on a Portland pedestrian bridge over Interstate 5. I was among throngs of people walking bikes across the Failing Street Bridge. We were part of Sunday Parkways, a trek along six miles of streets closed to cars for six hours.

Wheeling his bike toward me beneath a gray sky was a harmless looking dude. A skinny summer-time Santa with an Obama sign on his bike. Behind me, Suzame, my wife, saw the sign and yelled out the candidate’s name over the din of cars streaming past beneath us. Santa stopped next to me and held out his clenched fist.

I felt not an urge but an irresistible call, a cacophony of sinister voices commanding my hand to curl. With fingernails digging into my palm and knuckles bulging, I bumped Santa’s fist. The sun broke through the clouds. Suzame cried out. No need to turn around; I knew the OFB had claimed her, too. Oh the joy!

Now we’re a terrorist cell of two, waiting instructions.

Fox News warned me. But I didn’t listen. Are you next?