Can someone tell me when it will stop hurting?

My best friend, displaced to Maine, the poor bastard, these 32 long months, sent me a great shirt for my birthday. I'm not exactly sure when we started giving each other birthday presents. I think the last one I got from him was a Wolverine poster when I turned 16. Yeah, I still have it.

Anyway this is the shirt:
Now, those of you who are not from Louisiana and not on intimate terms with the history of this great state will probably not understand why this is so fucking funny. Even knowing the facts of it all will not let you in on the joke, but I will try to explain it as best I can.

Edwin W. Edwards (the "occasional" governor of Louisiana) is a crook and proud of it. He is currently in federal prison on a bribery conviction involving video poker licenses. This was after his four (4!) terms as governor. The last time he ran was in 1991 against David Duke (as in, former Grand Wizard of the KKK...) and he won. "Vote for the crook" was a popular bumper sticker that year. If he lives to see the light of day again, I guarantee the citizens of Louisiana will elect him again. Why? Because the crook you know is better than the one you don't. Because it's impossible to steal nothing. Because he didn't give a shit about the rest of the country, unless they could help Louisiana (and his wallet). Hell, I'd vote for him. Can't be much worse than what we've had since.

---An aside: The 80's were not too great for EWE or for the rest of the state due to the oil money vanishing(Thanks, President Carter! You fucker.). I find it funny that, once upon a time, low oil prices were a BAD thing. When I was 15, my dad, who was in Applied Geophysics (look it up) said he would buy me a car once oil reached $100 a barrel. I've tried to get him to make good on that the last few years, but he's not having it.
End Aside---

So it's funny, right? It would end there, but for some other products on Dirty Coast. Then there's the link to the comic A.D.: New Orleans After the Deluge.

I couldn't get through more than a few pages. I can barely concentrate now. It's been almost THREE FUCKING YEARS! When can I let it go? When will it STOP?

But Jazz Fest is happening right now. And my best friend, displaced to Maine these last 32 months (the poor bastard), is home for the weekend. And we will eat and drink and laugh and be New Orleans, for a little while. Maybe a long while. But we have another reminder in four months. And always another and another. Each step forward on the road to recovery is also a reminder of everything we've lost and might never regain.

I just want it to go away. I want my friends to come home for good. I want my broken heart to mend. Is that really so much?