Once again it is Tuesday after lunch, that cosmic time in the universe when everyone can see without glasses and hear without idiot-assisted commentators. And smell. God damn that smell.
I realize some people think that democracy is a step up the evolutionary ladder from slime mold, but I've always viewed the act of voting as a form of self-abuse that doesn't even engender the slightest pleasurable shudder in the loins. Voting is an unnatural act designed to debase human beings and have them genuflect before the altar of supreme secular stupidity.
I don't need you to be the boss of me, and I surely don't need whoever you voted for. Are you kidding?
I recall exactly when I decided our wonderful democratic system and its freedoms was unadulterated horse exhaust. This was long before George W. Bush became the world's most powerful developmentally disabled little Eichmann on the planet through the exercise of the rule of law and Biraq Insane Obama took over to make the world safe for the rest of the idiots.
You all remember, of course, how James Baker soothed the troubled soul of the nation when he assured American voters that although the Constitution and various amendments do indeed gaurantee the right to vote to the idiot douchebags who engage in such mindless activity, there is no guarantee anywhere in the law that requires those votes to be counted.
I learned this self-evident truth back during a duck and cover drill after getting dinged by Mrs. Hairston for not wearing my dog tags during civics day in second grade. Back then, when the country was getting its ass kicked in Korea, kids had to wear dog tags so that after the bombs rained down and the smoke cleared, the insurance adjusters would be able to identify the dead and pay their parents.
Back then, all good American parents insured their children because you never knew when the Cold War would suddenly get hot. The Russians were sure to target all the schools because they knew, unlike my countrymen past and present, that educated people are more valuable than morons. America has always grounded itself upon an proudly uneducated proletariat, although that kind of talk could get your liberal tookus branded a commie and faggot or worse — a goddamn Islamic terrorist!
Americans love their morons. Hell, they are proud to be called morons, because it shows how non-liberal they are, because everyone knows that liberals are smart asses with all the answers, and they're always rubbing our noses in our own shit and telling us to go ahead, lick it off.
Where was I?
Oh, yeah, I was talking about the day we did the duck and cover drill, and I realized what a terrible cluster fuck of a situation I had been born into. It was bad enough my parents were idiots, but the schools were run by idiots as well. You know how I found out? Well, Jimmy Piotti raised his hand and asked to go to the bathroom, and Mrs. Hariston told him she couldn't let him leave the room and he had to hold it, "Because if I let you go, then everyone will want to go."
So Jimmy pissed his pants in second grade class and came to be known as Jimmy the Pisser, Pisser Piotti, Squirt, and The Wet Spot for the rest of his days, and I'd be surprised if his given name is on the big black wall in Washington where the names of a not-so-greatest generation are etched so that idiots can go commune with patriotic lunacy.
So don't ask me if you can go to the bathroom. Do what I do. Whip it out and piss wherever you are. If God had meant for people to hold it, He wouldn't have given them troublesome bladders.