Vote. Just don’t tell me about it.
My apathy level is at an all-time high right now — that’s how I know it’s Winter — but seriously. This circus we call American Politics is going to take a break soon, right? It’s all but killed my enthusiasm for my laughable-but-budding music writing career and made the unfortunate dayjob that much harder to stomach. If I get one more forwarded email about a funny political video or get stopped in the hall to listen to my co-workers complain about our executive staff’s Conservative bias, I’m going to endorse Senator Fuck You as a third party candidate.
No more debates, which were a terrible excuse for drinking and Twittering at a time when no one needs an excuse. No more inane stories about which candidate spends too much on wardrobe or which candidate is a terrorist. God willing, no more assassination attempts to foil.
Just get me to November 4th. Put me in a smelly elementary school cafeteria with a couple of old ladies that might have literally been daughters of the American Revolution running the front of the line. Get me in one of those tiny booths and give me my Goddamned sticker when I’m done.
I’d like to get back to my regular life in time for the Holidays to make me wish I was dead.
Thanks to A Writer Dodging Bullets for the image.
