You may find this very hard to believe but despite the fact that I’m probably one of the two or three smartest people I’ve ever met, my grades while I was in school left much to be desired.

I like to think it was because my teachers were a bunch of philistines whose dreary recitations of facts and fallacies bored me to tears.

The truth is a little more prosaic. I daydreamed in class constantly.

One of my favorites at almost any age was my “Rookie sensation hits Grand Slam Home Run to win the World Series” daydream. That was one guaranteed to bring tears to my eyes so that when my English teacher thought I was digging on Joyce Kilmer, I was really enjoying the fantasy of being carried off the field in triumph.

Then there was the “Academy Award acceptance speech” dream where I was on stage accepting my 10th Oscar for Best Actor, thanking all the little people while being mobbed by the likes of Al Pacino, Robert DeNiro, and of course, Farah Fawcett who would then ditch Lee Majors to shack up with me and be my body servant. No tears with this fantasy, although there were other, more embarrassing outward manifestations of the vision, especially when getting to the part in my reverie where Farah was getting a little frisky.

Such a pleasurable way to pass the time, daydreaming. In fact, why don’t you and I try it right now, shall we?

Let’s imagine it is early tomorrow morning in Connecticut. We are watching CNN as a breathless Anderson Cooper is talking about the victor in the Democratic primary for Senator. We are told that he will make an appearance in the hotel ballroom shortly. Scenes from the ballroom flash across the screen of overjoyed people, dancing and singing.

Just then, the winner appears on stage to the roar of his supporters. The happy, smiling candidate raises his hand for quiet but the crowd simply won’t settle down. They worked hard for this victory. Finally, the room begins to settle. But as it does, a strange barely discernible noise can be heard in the background. Straining, we try and pick it up but it is almost too indistinct to be understood. Suddenly, it dawns on us. It almost sounds like…like…one hundred thousand people screaming in agony and rage at the top of their voices.

That’s right. The candidate making the victory speech is Joe Lieberman. And the howls of pain and anguish are coming from the legions of netnuts whose smug, self righteous crusade to take down Lieberman failed in the end as a direct result of their own hubris.

Kos is so bereft he announces that he’s getting out of politics and going back into the telemarketing business. Hamsher writes a goodbye note to her blog readers, goes back to Hollywood and makes millions doing acne cream infomercials. Oliver Willis is so overcome with grief that he rejoins the circus.

Softbank puts a “Stop Payment” on their $5 million check to Huffpo. Chris Bowers was last seen weeping uncontrollably in the lobby of a skid row hotel in Norwalk with a bottle of Mad Dog and a 3 year old Hustler. Matt Stoller asked his mother not to disturb him for three days (Her response: “Matty, as long as you’re living in this house, you’ll take out the garbage. Now, march!”).

Digby outs himself and joins a convent. TBogg dissolves into a toxic sludge of excrement and bile. John Aravosis refuses to acknowledge Little Neddy’s defeat and spends the next 5 years proving that Diebold employees hacked into the voting machines and gave the victory to Lieberman (he’s eventually proved right).

Atrios stops blogging, posting an “endless open thread” (Wait…that’s what he does every day anyway). Maha goes catatonic – not that anyone could tell the difference between before and after the primary. Dave Niewert is convinced that Neddy’s defeat is a sign from God and joins a Druid monastery where he accuses a tree of being a Kluxer. Billmon goes on the wagon and renames his blog “Juice Bar.” James Wolcott is so upset he lets his mask fall off revealing his true identity – Joan Rivers.

Pleasant dreams, everyone…