Wait, no, I haven’t yet. Later. When we lived in DC, Mr. Shoe got an “I voted” sticker, which we promptly stuck on Monster the surly peke’s ID tag. If Monster had voted, the little bastard would have totally written himself in. And good on him.
We live in Massachusetts. Let me tell you about Mitt Romney. His hair scares me. Honestly, having to see his hair in the paper (with his face under it, I guess it would be a lot scarier disembodied) was probably the worst part of his being governor. He wasn’t anything special. He wasn’t horrible. I like Deval Patrick better.
Everyone can say otherwise, but truthfully, I pretty much think Obama and Romney are the same dude in different wrappers. I like Obama better (not because of his hair). I like him mostly because when he gets all pissed off or emotional, he looks presidentially pissed off and emotional… Like he is going to rip you a new one verbally and you had better not make him take further action against you. It isn’t hysterical pissed offedness, it’s… He’d make a good horse trainer. He looks like he’d make a good horse trainer… And Romney, alas, looks like a horse trader. Maybe not a shady one, but…
The hair. Oh god no.
Health care is of course a huge issue for people this time. Yeah, well, again. I live in Massachusetts. And I feel like in either case, whoever wins, nobody wins. They’re all doing it wrong, but no one asked me. I wonder why.
One of my favorite stupid terms that has been thrown around in the state races here between Elizabeth Warren and Scott Brown is “Big Oil.” I love to picture all those poor little mom and pop oil refineries that used to line the streets here in the good old days that had to shut their doors due to Big Oil. What the hell, people? That’s right there with “clean coal.” What is this supposed to mean? These friggin’ phrases don’t mean anything. Hello?
“I support jobs and education and safe work environments. My opponent wants to fire you, put you into indentured servitude, keep your children dumb so that they don’t realize he’s fattening them up with candy and pie in order to eat them when they inevitably have a serious accident at the oil refinery that replaced the one your grandpa used to run.”