“Who has the mandate NOW, bitch?”

“Holy shit, Lieberman, what are you doing here?”

“I dunno, I kinda like ‘Pelosi Posse’.”

“I guess I can always go back to coaching wrestling.”

“I got your House Bill 11AR, 24-33, C, RIGHT HERE.”

“What do you mean we’re to blame now?”

“I hate to admit it, but that Santorum WAS kind of a dick.”

“OK, everyone, put your entitlement programs into this hat, and we’ll pick to see who goes first.”

“Yeah, no thanks to you, you Frankenstein-looking motherfucker.”

“I guess we don’t need to worry about election reform anymore, what’s next?”

“Rebulicaaannnnsss. Come out and plaaaayyyy.”

“Yes, Phil’s House of Drapes? You can go ahead and place that order.”

“mommy?!”

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That’s right, I voted. Big fucking deal, right?

Maybe it is. After six years of being constantly served heaping, steaming piles of voter disenfranchisement, stolen elections and vote fraud, with a sprinkling of Cristina’s latest report of election shenanigans on top, my expectations were pretty low. As if all that were not bad enough, our county just added computerized voting machines, and I happen to live smack in the middle of our Good Ol’ (soon-to-be-former) Speaker of the House’s congressional district. If anyone would be expected to turn into this guy (by the way, kudos to him — a lesser man would have just used a large rock; the cat paperweight was an extremely nice touch), it was me.

As I strolled to the polling place, I kept watch for burly politicos trying to block my path. After ducking behind a mailbox to avoid a suspicious looking Republican type (he was wearing an expensive tie and kicking a puppy), I was able to avoid confrontation and made it inside. I had only made it a few steps when I was immediately confronted by a tall, elderly gentleman. Surely he was about to ask me for 5 forms of identification, one of which I would undoubtedly not have, and I would be sent on my merry way. But no, he merely asked if I was familiar with the new voting machines and how they worked (I was). I was then directed to a table of more elderly folk, whose only offense was breath reeking of coffee and donut holes.

So far, so good, and I made my way to the last hurdle in my democratic process, the electronic voting machine. I entered my access code, and waited for the machine to say, “You’re done! Thank you for voting a straight ticket!” But it did not. I selected my choice for each race (a hodgepodge of Democrat, Republican, and blank write-ins), it let me confirm those choices on the screen, and again on the printed paper trail. Success! I marched outside, patting the little “I Voted” sticker on my chest, and was proud that democracy had triumphed, at least in my little neck of the woods.

What does this prove? Absolutely nothing. But it does, perhaps, make a statement that instead of counting on Nancy Pelosi to solve all of our troubles we should lean a little heavier on our local government, and maybe we can restore America’s confidence in the election process one county at a time.

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