Tuesday, November 07, 2006
or
She's Bi . . . partisan
To be honest, gentle readers, I don't give a water-damaged holographic Pokemon sticker about the election. You heard me. I don't. I don't even know what we were supposed to have been voting for, or why. Naturally, I skipped the polls. Just like I skipped the papers, CNN.com, Fox News, and the company of anyone who assumedly has a political opinion. This pretty much limited me to recorded episodes of Robot Chicken and Zack's head in my lap, but I don't care. I'm infinately saner for my abstinance.
Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, a concerned Kindergartener named Larkin wrote an impassioned letter to former president George Bush Sr. In her missive, the child poured forth her views on nature and natural resources, and implored the president for justification as to his shitty-ass environmental policies. She also suggested that the United States of America adopt free or subsidized health care, like other civilized nations.
Days and weeks passed. The child checked the mailbox every day, in hopes that the President's reply would be waiting for her among her parents' bills and magazines. Four weeks later, it arrived - a thick envelope addressed to Larkin Dennis. At last!
But when she severed the packet's seams, no heartfelt response slid out onto the table. Instead she found a glossy booklet about the white house, and a sterile form letter. Not even the signature at the bottom was real, it's likeness having been printed in the same ink as the text.
And she never payed attention to politics again. The END.
Though that isn't to say I'm not a patriot. I recently made a pilgrimage to the pulsing brain-tumor of capitalism they call THE MALL OF AMERICA. In case you're uninformed, The Mall of America is so big that there is an amusement park inside of it. The roller-coasters were pretty cool, though I adored the carousel. Here's a picture of me riding a giant cock:
Zack, not to be outdone, chose to straddle the first pussy he could find:
Blessed is this sacred land.
