I Don't Care What Your Political Beliefs Are, You Are Wrong

Mom and I were at The Hungry Bible, eating some slop, when we decided to engage in some vaudeville as is our wont.

"I hope you're voting this year," Mom said, bits of scrambled egg visible on her tongue. "It's really important, you know. It's your civic duty."

Mom's eye bruises, nicely healing from her precipitous trip into the toilet, were now a mellow burgundy with just a hint of saffron.

"Did you hear me? I hope you're going to vote!"

I grunted around the waffle lodged sideways in my craw. Every four years we went through this: Mom chastising me with vituperation for not voting. As I have explained repeatedly, I am not a good person. When was she going to get that through her head?

"What was that?"

"I said, I'm really busy with eHarmony and stuff."

"What? What does that mean?"

"Though I have to admit I really thought I'd be on the baloney bus to tuna town by now. But since Dad..."

Mom was not listening. She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a mail-in ballot envelope.

"This is Dave's. I'm going to mail it for him. Is there a mailbox nearby here?"

Dave was Mom's next door neighbor, who was in his nineties and had survived Pearl Harbor--the movie. He was a brave, brave man. Sometimes he tried to kiss Mom. Mom would retaliate by yelling "Japs!" and then run away, making plane noises with her lips, and Dave would suffer a post-traumatic stress episode. Oh, the laughs they had.

"He's voting for Truman, I assume," I said.

"He doesn't have a clue anymore. The poor dear. He's really confused these days. So I helped him with his ballot."

"What does that mean?"

"I filled it out for him. I had him vote for Romney. Just as you should too."

"Did he say he wanted to vote for Romney?"

"Not in so many words, but..."

"Then how do you know? Maybe he wants to vote for, say, Bill the Cat. Come on. You shouldn't be voting for him, Mom. That's wrong."

"Don't you lecture me on what's wrong! You're the one who doesn't vote!"

I crossed my arms and stuck out my tongue. "I'm not voting until they institute the Voter 100 system--as expounded upon in my pamphlet that I sell out of my garage."

Only 100 people should vote in Presidential elections. These 100 will be chosen from all demographics--young, old, black, latino, northern, southern, robots, trannies, albino midget karaoke-singing lesbians... These people will be chosen by random from each demographic and receive a Voting Summons in the mail. Then they will all convene at some hotel convention center where they will meet the candidates personally and interview them. This will eliminate the need for TV ads, robocalls, swing states, exit polls, hanging chads, and straw boaters. Think of the savings! Also, more than two parties can run. Each voter will be sequestered to make their final vote. One by one the candidates' tiki torches will be extinguished, until one is the survi... er, the President.

"And then there's Mimi, the poor soul. I've been helping her with her ballot, too."

Mimi, as readers will fondly recall, is the 88-year-old woman Mom burgles on a regular basis.

"Wow, Mom. You're a one-woman voting fraud conspiracy. Let me guess. You have Mimi voting for Romney, too."

"She hasn't a clue, Greg. Of course she's voting for Romney."

Ba-da ding! Thank you.

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I am the jerk who writes this blog, and I approve this message. Kinda.