*This particular message not endorsed by Blake Boston (a/k/a Scumbag Steve)

Blake Boston might be the most adored degenerate on earth. But even without hyperbole, he's one of the Bay State's biggest exports. Ever since a photo of Boston (that's his real name) posing in his kitchen doorway was sucked into the viral whirlwind two years ago, and universally branded by internet users as Scumbag Steve, the Massachusetts native's fur-lined G-Unit parka and signature patterned fitted hat – the latter famously cocked back and to the side – have transcended the underground world of web memes and effectively highjacked the pop culture agenda.

I wasn't supposed to cover the Hofstra debate, or even the protests outside. But a family emergency recently summoned me back to my native Long Island, so I broke away for about five hours yesterday to sample the madness. It felt good to be home; despite all of the warranted abuse that the Gold Coast gets for harboring guidos, the place really is a magical bourgeois paradise, and a phenomenal place to people watch.

It's been four days since more than two dozen buildings and public spaces across Boston, Cambridge, and beyond got smacked with posters of Mitt Romney and Barack Obama flashing cash like Biggie at a strip club. The life-size black-and-white images are hard to miss; from a lot near Malden High School to Jamaica Plain, both candidates appear to be laughing at the voting masses as a caricature lobbyist cracks a suitcase full of Benjamins.

I never thought that I'd find myself at two o'clock in the morning, hanging solo on a corner in uptown Charlotte, having two kind older black women telling me to stop preaching about war and the prison industrial complex. Yet there I was, one block from the Charlotte Convention Center, hailing a taxi for two sixty-something Georgia peaches who had missed the shuttle back to their motel.

While Democrats were masturbating one another last night, pretending that America is not at war and that the current administration is a friend to all immigrants, about 100 wet and wild protesters hit the concrete despite rain by the bucketload and a tough day in the streets. By Tuesday evening, more than a dozen activists had been arrested outside of the convention, including some immigrants' rights picketers who caused a scene as delegates filed inside.

It wasn't a conspiracy that more protest news didn't come out of the Republican National Convention. There weren't utterly significant events to report, let alone a larger bloodbath for journalists to hang a week of coverage on. Considering the circumstances, authorities in Tampa weren't all that unreasonable; the few arrests that did go down could have been avoided if protesters heeded simple requests from cops.

The 2004 Democratic and Republican national conventions were all about the bloggers. Mainstream reporters even wrote articles about their scrappy young counterparts, who in turn provided some long overdue alternative coverage to the mostly mundane quadrennial festivities. Four years later it was Twitter that was red hot, though mostly only insiders, reporters, and attendees took advantage of the service, since it had yet to fully click with the American public.

Richard Harding Wood was riled up before Occupy. Along with other friends from Malden, the then-20-year-old started coming into Boston on weekends early last year wielding placards to protest the Federal Reserve Bank. So when Occupy Boston settled across Atlantic Ave from the Fed in late-September, it was a no-brainer for Wood to get involved.

Last night in Chicago was surreal . . . There was zero violence, unconditional love, and peaceful pandemonium. I accidentally stepped on some dude’s Jordans and he shook my hand . . . Cell phone lines were so jammed that people couldn’t reach one another, but I was far from alone. I must have wrapped my arms around 100 people .

Few things clarify the absurdity of partisan politics more than presidential elections; with their mud-slinging platitudes and vague assurances of a better tomorrow, red and blue would-be presidents present a continual tableau of the very worst of our politics and ourselves. We vote for them in the way we cheer for our favorite sports teams, paying more attention to the execution of their strategies than to the ultimate purpose of the game.

This is probably a joke. We're pretty sure this is a joke. Well, we're hoping it is, in which case, shame on whoever exploited these kiddies for political humor, but whatever, we'll take it. Brianna and Jolene of Phoenix, Arizona really want you to vote for Michele Bachmann. They've been following her campaign, and they know she's got the goods.

Last weekend Sarah Palin, once again, showed her incredible brilliance -- and this time she doesn't have McCain's team or anyone else to blame for the backlash. Speaking at the first-ever National Tea Party Convention, Palin tried to rip on Obama for being just a "charismatic guy with a teleprompter" right before she flashed her hand with notes scribbled on it for her Q&A session with Tea Party founder Judson Phillips.

I once saw a bumper sticker that read “Rape a Gay Whale for Jesus.” Assuming that the driver was not a homophobic bible boy who likes to diddle blowholes, it was possibly the most brilliant protest ever forced upon my eyeballs. I wish I had a massive oak tag shouting that catch phrase with me earlier this afternoon.

Remember Bill Ayers?  The man the McCain campaign tried to tie to Obama so they could say he "palled around with terrorists" and is a distinguished education professor? His invitation to speak at Boston College was just cancelled. Leaving many things up to the imagination and up for question.