I hate election time. It’s about as pleasant as a six month menstrual period. Not only do I have to make difficult choices of my own after poring over websites, news articles, debates, and the like…but I also have to listen to other people talk about the candidates. You know, those two doofuses with a jillion bucks between ’em who know everything about everything in this great country.
Sure, I feel certain that both presidential candidates can relate to me. They’ve both had the pleasure of waking up one day as an unemployed, overeducated, single-mom living with her parents while struggling to keep Sallie Mae‘s evil henchman from stalking her. They can relate. They know my struggles. They feel my pain.
They don’t know shit about me.
That’s not my situation anymore, but it was my situation not too long ago. What I feel was once a job of high honor and prestige has been degraded by men who do not know what life is like in Middle America. While being escorted from one itty-bitty town to the next, they’re briefed on the current plight of the area. They hear anecdotal tales of random Americans, living in battleground states like Ohio,who the candidates will not remember in the morning as they gather themselves to head to the next small town full of problems and undecided votes.
Tell me this: how can these candidates look at themselves in the mirror? Head on over to CNN.com to feast your eyes on the magnitude of CASH that they have collected and spent funding the mass-peddling of their questionable morals and spending plans. Millions upon millions. How is that a good use of discretionary spending by those who are financially able to contribute to campaign sloths? Why aren’t Americans pooling their $40K per plate campaign funds to help REAL AMERICANS who are unemployed, uninsured, etc? Each one of those $40K contributions could pay an average woman’s salary for a year! Food for thought.
At any rate as I rant on about the injustice of the political machine that is this election, my fellow americans struggle with the decision they soon face. Well, some of them struggle. Most of them just blindly follow the masses in order to feel a part of the crowd. While hanging on every word of the candidate’s enraptured speech, the sheep line up for slaughter at the closest IRS office.
God save the Queen!