GateHouse — I think I speak for everyone in this election cycle when I say: I NO LONGER CARE IF YOU WIN, MR. PRESIDENT, JUST STOP EMAILING ME.
OK, so yeah, full disclosure: I’m voting for Obama. I may have already voted for Obama, depending on when this runs in the printy newspaper. Anyone reading this who just went “Yay!” awesome, let’s have a cross-country fist-bump or whatever. Anyone who just went “Boo” at your paper or personal computer machine reading device, take comfort in knowing that I love in South Carolina, and there’s literally nothing I can do to make my vote count, south of launching a plot to dismantle the electoral college and WHY WOULD WE WANT TO DO THAT WHEN IT WORKS SO EFFECTIVELY.
Seriously, I could vote 50 times in South Carolina and still, nothing. Jack democracy squeedoodle. Last time I voted it was at a retirement community, one of those four million-acre deals with tract housing and street names like Singing Robin Lane and Glorious Waterfall Cul-De-Sac and the fanciest shuffleboard courts this side of Branson. Honestly I was pleasantly surprised my machine even had a button for Obama on it. (Turns out it was a very small button with one of those old green Mr. Yuk stickers on it, and when I pressed it said “Syntax Error.” Finally I had to request a write-in ballot, which also didn’t work because in South Carolina all write-in ballots are delivered by alligator.)
(True story: I brought my four-year-old to vote with me, because, I figured, nothing could divert the sweet, elderly and very Republican South Carolina populace from my nefarious Democratic Voting by distracting them like my adorable mop-topped son, who sang patriotic songs and mispronounced “refrigamator” adorably while I snuck into the voting booth and cast one of South Carolina’s 34 votes for Obama, and then we both sprinted out of there, hoping the locals remained lost in warm nostalgic memories of their own grandchildren before they could realize what we’d done.)
For those of you keeping track this member of the criminal liberal media has given precisely $25 dollars to the Obama campaign. That’s right: TWENTY-FIVE AMERICAN DOLLARS. For that kind of financial access to The Power Of Democracy I could, um, buy a nice lunch for two, or like three things at Starbucks, if you don’t count the marble bread or that banana coffee cake with chocolate chips, which is like two square inches of delicious for $12.99 but TOTALLY WORTH IT.
Twenty five dollars is obviously not a lot of money when you’re dealing with an election cycle that deals in the billions, when with the money that’s been spent in Ohio you could basically not only provide generators to all of New York City for the next 500 years, you could pretty successfully fund research into a Tony Stark arc reactor to power it for the next 50,000, which would be good, as the Mets would win a World Series during it, probably. But no, it’s cool, everybody drinking filtered rainwater out of coffee mugs on the 25th floor of the public housing projects are deeply glad you can’t watch reruns of “How I Met Your Mother” in Cincinnati without being reminded 600 times that Obama did some junk with health care.
Related, sort of
- Paul Ryan’s Marathon Lie: Great, Here’s Another Political Who’s Apparently Not Kenyan
- GET YOUR GOVERNMENT HANDS OFF MY GOVERNMENT-OVERTHROWING SEIZING ASSEMBLY
Anyway, giving twenty-five dollars is no great shakes; it works out to something like four molecules of a Koch Brother. And while it doesn’t get me access to legislation or cool perks or really even a POTUS coffee mug, it does get me one thing: unfettered access to Obama’s email list, which I have been on relentlessly for months. And I can’t just click Mark As Spam, because what if Barry needs to email me about a fantasy football trade? So however things shake out this week, one thing is clear: Actually I have no idea if anything is clear. But let us all agree on one thing: Marble bread is pretty amazing.