Votey Oh-Dough
We’re not supposed to discuss politics on the NitLet -thank God!– but apparently we can post satirical pieces that aren’t too “acutely current,” to borrow a phrase from MAD magazine”s submission guidelines. (But don’t worry, this stuff isn’t current. It first appeared here about six years ago. Nobody can say Auntie doesn’t recycle.)
On this coming Tuesday, November 8, in “these” United States, the long national nightmare will at last be over. (Or we certainly hope so.) Of course I’m talking Election Day, though as evident by their choice of lascivious subtopics, pundits on both sides must think “Election” is spelled with an “r” instead of an “l,” if you catch my drift. Even so, they aren’t far off the mark. As I said on this site before, voting is a lot like sex.
For instance, when you get to the polling place you go into a “very, very” * private space, close the curtain, and pull the lever. Before you know it, you’re done! The differences are that after sex you usually don’t get a sticker –and six weeks later you don’t get a summons for jury duty.
The main speaker in the piece below shouldn’t serve on a jury–he should be in front of one. You be the judge.
Good afternoon, ladies, and welcome to our meeting of the East Hogwash Chapter of the League of Disgruntled Women Voters. Right now I have the distinct honor of introducing our special speaker today. Please put your hands together for the man who put the “pain” in “campaign”, the honorable Glibban Slimey, who hopes to be re-elected as representative of the forty-third legislative region, District 6.5, in the first Cleaver Ward. Mr. Slimey. . .
Good morning. My fellow Americans, I come to you today with a heavy heart. Perhaps it was a result of the beef burrito I had at the Hispanic Heritage Dinner last night, or the corn dogs at the VFW hall, or maybe it was the extra helping of kielbasa at the Polish Community Center. Erp! Er, pardon me.
Many of you may already know me. You may have received my latest flyer with my family’s portrait, including my non-threatening wife, Dixie, and my two lovely daughters, Jenna and Fond du Lac. You know that I am just an ordinary citizen just like you. That is why the photo on the front of the brochure shows yours truly mowing the lawn, just as so many of you do – although most of you probably don’t cut the grass in a three-piece suit. (Speaking of “grass,” drugs are bad.)
My concerns are the same as YOUR concerns. For instance, my opponent believes that we can solve the crisis in education by throwing money at it. This will not solve the problem. It’s not the money, it’s the principle. Also the assistant principal, the vice-principal, and the assistant vice-principal. Make no mistake, my fellow Americans, no teachers’ union will be left behind. We CAN solve the problem in our schools, AND we can do it by cutting YOUR taxes.
On the campaign trail, many people come up to me and say, “Glibby, what about health care?” Well sir, I am here to tell you that Glibban Slimey has your health in his hands. When I am elected, I solemnly vow to make the world SAFE from erectile dysfunction, restless leg syndrome, and the heartbreak of toenail fungus. AND I will do this without increasing YOUR taxes.
My fellow Americans, I implore you not to pay attention to the vicious smear campaign waged by my opponent, who, may I say, never met a lobbyist he didn’t like. Neither have I, but that’s beside the point. And while I do not wish to dignify some of my opponent’s false charges with a reply, his allegation was ingenious, I mean, disingenuous. He was wrong when he said that I had been planning to run away with a female intern to join a splinter religious cult. Let me say this about that: I did not have sects with that woman! And another thing I didn’t do was raise YOUR taxes.
Soon Election Day will be here, and just as quickly it will be gone. When this race is over, I won’t lie to you, I am going to go home, relax, and kick back. (Well, maybe “kick back” is not the right word choice.) But until that day, it will be a long, hard slog. And I need your help. Come Election Day, please get your Photo I.D.,your Proof of Citizenship, and your complete financial portfolio ready so you can exercise your right to vote. Please cast your ballot for me, the honorable Glibban Slimey, and I promise you that you won’t see hide nor hair of me for four more years. Except of course, for the campaign signs on your front lawn, which I promise to remove by Christma– -er, Holiday. Did I mention that I will remove them without raising YOUR taxes?
And finally, may the god of your choice bless America. And while He is blessing us, I won’t raise YOUR taxes.
*
For some reason, the aforementioned pundits are physically unable to utter the word “very” only once. They are compelled to say it twice, like “shocked,” (shocked.)
