Bill Whittle has some waning-days election thoughts:

If we are mark’d to lose, we are enow
To do our party loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
Let he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not vote in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to vote with us.
This day is call’d the eve of Elect-ian.
He that votes this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,
And rouse him at the name of Republican
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is the fourth of November’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his hands,
And say ‘With these I moved yon levers on election day.’
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember, with advantages,
What votes he did cast that day.

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that shares his vote with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen and lady pundits now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their book deals cheap whilst any speaks
That voted with us upon election day.

As he says, the asteroid is only inevitable if we believe it is.