The Patterson Protest and other Midterm Musings
It’s Election Day kids! I did my usual – vote straight Democrat or, if no party affiliation, then vote for the person with an Irish last name. Sure signs that I was born in the wrong era.
I was going to vote for the Republican underdog Mike Philips. This was largely because I thought his main campaign platform to “Get rid of Pepco” was amusing. Clearly, his goal is to turn our district into an agrarian community run by a ruthless council of theocrats. After Year Zero, the possession and use of technology would be forbidden and punishable by death.
And that’s fine. I want nothing more than to throw this laptop out the window. And, believe you me, I want a position on that theocratic council. The Reverend Lord Inquisitor Nacho Sasha. Kiss. My. Motherfucking. Ring.
But, after a few minutes of hovering over Mike’s name, and the old biddy guiding people to machines at our polling place staring at me like I was crazy (probably because I was mumbling the bones of this article out loud to myself), I just couldn’t bring myself to vote for a Republican. So, instead, I wrote in Jimmy Patterson for Congress. He’s become one of my new heroes in the last couple years, and he also happens to be one of my favorite employers. How I’d love to quit my other five jobs and actually work properly for a person who doesn’t inspire me to show up at the office with a rifle.
The least I can do, I figure, is to vote him into Congress. Then, maybe, he’ll hesitate to replace me with beautiful English girls. Especially if I threaten to make these pictures I have on my laptop public.
Of course, if Mike Philips has his way, I won’t be able to use these pictures at all unless I can quickly print them out and get them into the only post-agrarian apocalypse news outlet: Malachi Olafson’s Weekly Farm Report and Prayer Circular.
Seriously, though, take a moment to get to know Jimmy and buy his book – Bermuda Shorts. Because then you’ll be supporting one of the last advocates of independent publishing.
My second little protest is to always vote against the continuation of offices. You know, all those people at the end of the ballot who don’t seem to matter. I started voting against their regimes in 2004 when I actually took the time to research these judges and elected civil servants and realized that they had all been in office for longer than I’d been alive and, suspiciously, none of them had aged.
In the end, no matter what I do, this is Maryland. We really are a theocratic enclave run by armchair liberals with large suburban homes and no real cares. This is the Dream Zone.
Around the nation – especially you primitive fucks in middle America – our fate is being determined. People mock the mid-term elections, but, folks, these are the assholes that count. Who cares about the President? If you haven’t been convinced by Obama’s administration that the Presidency is just a big straw man, then you’re as dumb as you are ugly.
It’s these idiots you don’t think about who hurt us. Not just the senators and congressmen who take us to war, negotiate treaties, and legislate our lives. I’m talking about these state officials who drive bypasses through our homes, put up toll booths, and cripple our infrastructure. The school board whackos who decide what our children read, say, and do. The judges who gavel us into oblivion. That’s where we need to take action.
Okay. 9:30 AM. Lots of Irish names selected, so that means I’m allowed to have a drink.