We had the election, right? It’s over, isn’t it? I’ve been napping and I haven’t called the Clerk’s office yet, does anybody know if I was swept into office with the Dust-broom of Destiny? What sort of mandate will I have when I take my big, comfy seat on the Council (out the back door)?
What?
Huh?
They haven’t counted the write-in votes? They don’t plan on counting the write-in votes? So there’s no chance Mickey Mouse, Spongebob Squarepants or any other “imaginary” candidate will win an elected orifice? These write-in votes are “just a joke” and “waste election officials’ time”? Really?
Let me get this straight, we can undo an election and vote in the imaginary Ahnuld the Terminator, but voting for me is a joke? Yeeeeahhh, riiiight.
I mean Wally Herger doesn’t really exist, does he? He’s leaving Washington anyway, isn’t he? He’s still attached to Dubya’s backside via his proboscis, ain’t he? (No, you Prop. 8 fans, it’s not what you think, no need to call the Grand Inquisitor… yet). Last I heard, he goes wherever George goes, and ol’ George is buying his tickets and packin’ his old National Guard kit bag for Crawford as we speak. Wally will be dressed as a jockey out by the driveway. Hey, a gig is a gig, you don’t have to explain to me.
Still, we mounted a campaign like Bosco mounted the neighbor’s cat (calm down, Prop 8 folks). And I’m proud of myself. The “Don’t Blame Me, I Voted For Philbert” bumper stickers are in the works!
