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Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Pull the Lever, Turn the Crank

For the most part, my family is ultra-conservative, not in the sense that they don't drink or smoke or have premarital sex or do drugs, but in the sense that they don't talk about doing those things in an attempt to look better than everyone else. And by everyone else, I mean Democrats.

I know I've told the story of how my grandmother reacted when I came home from school in fourth grade and told her I'd voted for Ross Perot in the school election, but since Blogger wants me to upload all one-thousand-five-hundred-and-twenty-three of my archived posts one-by-one into its system--thus proving BLOGGER IS A COMMUNIST--I guess I'll go ahead and tell it again:

This one time, in fourth grade, I voted for Ross Perot in the school election, and my grandmother had a nervous breakdown.

Wow, that was kind of anti-climactic.  THANKS A LOT, BLOGGER.

I failed as a granddaughter twice on that day: first, by voting, and second, by voting INDEPENDENT. To hear her tell it, Jesus wept tears of blood that day, as did George Bush, because didn't I know? INDEPENDENT is just DEMOCRAT spelled backwards! I can't adequately describe how this affected me growing up, but let's just say that if Jehovah's Witnesses were in cahoots with the mob, then Democrats were in cahoots with oh, I don't know, could it be...SATAN?

I think about her a lot this time of year, because no one brought the joy to political campaigning quite like my grandmother. I remember one year a DEMOCRAT tried to put a Clinton/Gore sign at the edge of her lawn, and she threatened to cut the blood out of him with a switch from the lilac bush. Probably she would have, too, if he hadn't taken her at her word, piled his heathen ass back into his Volvo, and peeled out of the driveway like he was on his third strike and had just overrun a sleeping meth addict.

Wait, make that a basket of really cute bassadoodles, because who counts meth addicts as people, anyway?

DEMOCRATS, THAT'S WHO.

Before the 2000 elections--before anyone knew what a hanging chad was, before all the W's had been ripped off the White House computers--I had about as much interest in all things politics as I did all things goat farming. As in, none at all. Between the electoral college and my own cynicism, I had convinced myself voting didn't matter unless you were a middle-aged white guy who made more than $250,000 a year. And while I think it sucks donkey balls that we're still using what is essentially a child safety lock of an electoral process, I realized then that whether you're heard or not, the most important thing you can do is say something, even if the only thing to be said is, "I'm votin' for myself, 'cause y'all both be batshit crazy, dog."*

I know by now most of the polls are long closed, but the message is simple: I don't care who you vote(d) for, as long as you vote(d).

* Overheard this at the polls this morning.

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