There was a time when voting was fun. It was something to look forward to with excitement. Well, a bunch of imbeciles ruined that for me. I’ll be glad when I am no longer a prisoner in my own home, hiding from the throngs of misguided do-gooders knocking on my door every twenty minutes trying to register me to vote or some other nonsense. It got so bad that by the middle of the afternoon I was threatening these voting activists with violence. I guess it’s a good thing that Brian Mackie won’t prosecute me, or I could have really been in trouble.

By the time I did roll into the polls, it was pandemonium. I was actually voting next to a young woman who could not read her ballot. I don’t know if she had a medical condition or what, but when she raised her issue, she was quickly helped by her mother and an “election official” who told her for whom to vote. It’s rare that you hear someone say that voting made them feel icky, but boy did I feel icky. The only thing that could wash away this thick, greasy layer of democracy was a couple of beers at the Sidetrack. In a rather stunning turn of events, the service was unreal. I wanted to propose to Jen, our server, but it was decided that a big tip was more appropriate.

So I slunk back home and have spent the past thirteen hours watching returns. If Kerry doesn’t pull this out, I put the blame squarely on MoveOn and it’s incompetent minions. Whether or not Kerry was going to carry Michigan has never been in question. Rather than hop in a van and drive down to Toledo and get out the vote in a true swing-state, these clowns knocked on my door asking us to vote, asking us if we had voted yet, or asking if they can drives us down to the polls. This is all your fault.

Of course, if Kerry does pull this out, then good work chaps.

In the wake of the coming armageddon, I think I’ll slip down to Mexico and check out the real estate market.