For a person who considers himself intelligent, (and yes, I am talking about myself), I sure do ignore a whole lot of the election coverage.
In fact, I think most of my information on the candidates comes from “Saturday Night Live.”
Surprisingly, this doesn’t conflict me very much. I tend to look at politics in the same vein as I do religion. You have goofy fanatics on both sides and a whole mass of people in the middle who really don’t care strongly one way or the other about what happens.
Believe it or not, I’m actually fine being one of the unwashed masses in this case. It isn’t that I don’t care as much as I just don’t care to care.
Call it apathy. Call it a lack of civil duty. Call it irresponsible, but I just don’t have the motivation to get too jazzed about one guy who has proven he knows how to screw up the economy and another guy who looks like he can’t do much better.
I know this might be looked at as un-American and a slap in the face of the party I’m supposed to blindly root for, but for once I feel like joining the slackers and making fun of the jocks and “cool” kids.
Frankly, I’m even too lazy to throw on a black hoodie and take the time to Goth myself up, but if being a slacker means not cluttering my mind with a lot of worthless political jargon, I’ll take it.
If I can lose the image of 47 percent and Big Bird from my gray matter, it will feel like my hard disk is getting defragmented.
Actually, it is pretty sad that the two major images I’ve taken away from this race are a Sesame Street character and a comment about 47 percent of us in which I don’t know the punchline. I should just go sit in an empty chair. I think there’s one over there by Clint Eastwood.
Our Constitutional right is to vote. I can just see Thomas Jefferson looking with disapproval at my insolence. Ben Franklin’s hair is standing on end at my snubbing of the process (or is it the lightning?).
I don’t want to be anti-establishment. Had I lived in the 1960s, I’d have been too lazy to protest even if I would have sided with long-haired hippies who liked to shed clothes and give the rest of the people a lot of bad nakedness moments.
The realist in me thinks that if the entire state of South Carolina – every single eligible voter – cast their vote for one guy, it would still only be worth eight electoral votes in the long run.
So this idea that each vote has power looks like a lot of baloney, or even my preferred term lately – malarkey.
I’m starting to feel as disenfranchised as a company bought and sold off for parts by Bain.
All I know is that if I do vote, and that’s a big if right now, don’t be surprised if I’m laughing behind the curtain picturing Obama with the big ears they give him on the late-night parodies, or if I picture Usain Bolt sprinting against Paul Ryan.
If I’m lucky there will be an option to pull a lever for Joe the Plumber.
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