Is this voting thing awesome, or what?
If you're like me, you exercised your freedom of democracy and voted on Tuesday. If you're a lot like me, you then celebrated the mid-term elections by swallowing six cans of Mountain Dew and all the remaining Snickers, Kit Kats and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups from the office Halloween bowl, so you can't remember -- nor do you care -- who you voted for anyway.
Ain't this a great country? It most certainly is, and not just because it's perfectly legal to write Clint Eastwood's name on every line of your ballot. I think that's the key word -- your -- because that ballot does belong to you as an American citizen and you can abuse it any way you want -- even checking the box beside the name of the candidate who says he works for you, the taxpayer. Horse hockey. He works for the special interests who paid for his campaign and his Jaguar, and maybe the Mafia, for all we know. Who cares? Just so he votes for more paid holidays, that's all we care about anyway, when it comes right down to it.
And cookies, oh, yeah, we care about cookies, but you don't find plates of fresh ones at the polling booths like you might expect because, well, I'm not sure. I mean, just think about it, a town hall would be a great place for a bake sale on a Tuesday, what with all the good folks coming out to pick the next governor, senator, sheriff and chief wizard (things aren't all that sane where I live). Just think, you could exercise the rights given to you by the Founding Fathers and then taste the joy given to all of us by Betty Crocker, and at the same time raise money for the local Garden Club by purchasing Helen Martin's macadamia nut surprises for a dime apiece. What could be more American than participating in democracy and contributing to obesity simultaneously? Got me.
Speaking of Helen Martin, she may have been the lady next to me at the polling booth on Tuesday, although it's highly unlikely because I just made her name up. Anyway, this woman next to me was trying to copy from me, I swear, like a third-grader on a geography quiz about the continents and oceans. Every time I'd put my head down and color in the little oval (gosh, I like votin') beside the candidate of my liking (invariably the ones who part their hair to the left), she'd sneak a peek over her shoulder to see who I was choosing. Really. The nerve. And, if it wasn't bad enough that she had to cheat, she went over to the ballot clerk and tattled, 'That weird man over there just voted for Clint Eastwood for state treasurer.'
What? He played Dirty Harry. I'm sure he can count money.
Speaking of dirty, I never vote for politicians who run television ads criticizing their opponents. Rather, being the model citizen that I am (do you always have to bring up the felony convictions?), I spend countless hours studying the various candidates to learn their views on important issues and to balance their ideological philosophies against their professional accomplishments. Then, at the polls, I apply my extensive knowledge to make the wisest selections possible for the good of my country and my fellow citizens. Even then, sometimes I need some help with my final decisions, so I use the little clues they print on the ballots (you know, R for Rapist, D for Dirtbag, I for Idiot, that sort of thing). Once, in a really tight race, I voted for some guy named Write In. Yeah, I know, Chinese immigrant, I think.
THE
BORN
LESAR
Speaking of Chinese, I never eat kung pao chicken before voting, because I figure if I get queasy and hurl on the ballot, the clerk would probably rather clean up something a little less sticky, like, oh, maybe a lettuce salad, or Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch (they really do stay crunchy, even in milk). I don't know about you, but I get nervous when I vote, because I figure that my vote could make the difference in a race, and if it turns out that I'm the one responsible for electing a senator who casts the decisive vote to get us into war against an irresponsible nuclear-armed rogue nation, then I'd better take it seriously. That's why I always -- no exceptions -- wear underwear when I vote, and if you don't believe me, well, you've got far bigger problems than any of us realized.
Speaking of problems, do you think it's an issue if I always start at the bottom of my ballot and work my way back to the top? I know, I know, you may think that's slightly eccentric, but when you realize that I have also named all the hairs in my goatee, maybe you'll lighten up just a little. See, here's my rationale: ballots tend to be arranged in order of importance, with say your president, your senator, your master gargoyle, usually near the top, and the town constable, assessor, etc., near the end. I like to make the less momentous decisions first, see, and by the time I get to the big ones, I'm 'in the zone' and have committed my full mental capacities to the crucial choices. Besides, I've researched it, and backward voting is not only legal, but constitutional. I know the law. Speaking of the law, do you know that one out of every four American voters breaks it by failing to turn on their signal light when they pull out of the town hall parking lot? True fact. I conducted an informal survey Tuesday morning, and of the four vehicles I saw leaving, only three drivers properly signalled their intention. You talk about exit polls. That's hard data. Irrefutable, immutable, possibly even communicable. That's right, people. One in four.
One in four. No margin of error. Plus or minus zero, baby.
Speaking of zero, that's how many of my candidates won this Tuesday. It's not surprising, I suppose, because you really can't expect a Dirtbag to carry that many precincts. I've already accepted that I am not in the majority this time around and that I now must live with the decisions of my fellow citizens, unless I can persuade a district judge to order a new election because this one violated my religious rights by falling four days before the New Moon immediately preceding the end of Daylight Saving Time (it's worth a shot).
Meanwhile, Clint, stay available. I think Helen Martin voted for you, too.
