Electile Dysfunction

Well, it's finally here. Election Day. Voter intimidation, hanging chads (which is my name as a porno actor, by the way), exit polls and the like.

After an incredibly long primary season, and all the pre-election mumbo jumbo, I'm just ready for it all to stop.

This is indeed a historic day. Not because the candidates say so though. I mean seriously, when has an election ever not been historic? If just once, a candidate said, "You know, this election isn't all that historically significant," I would vote for them in a heartbeat.

But it is a historic day. This is the first presidential election I have voted in. I was under 18 in 2000, and away at college in 2004.

Now, I'm not going to get all partisan on you, and I'm not going to preach to you about which candidate is better (because to be honest, the Slavery party hasn't fielded a viable candidate in years), but I will share with you the story of my voting for president.

The place where I am registered is a small town, so I wasn't too worried about the massive crowds. I voted at a small Episcopal church, where I waited in line for only about five minutes.

But since it was my first time voting, I couldn't help but notice the people giving me on odd look as I wallked into the polling place. Maybe they could sense my newness at this whole thing. Maybe they knew my pro-slavery stance, and were wondering who that would translate into.

So I went to wait in line, and since my last name (O'Boogie) starts with M-Z, I had to wait in the longer line.

I got to the front, and handed the nice gentleman my ID. He gave it a glance, looked back at me, looked at the ID again, and then looked back at me. He repeated this several times, which made me increasingly nervous that I had done something wrong.

Finally, he said in a low voice, "I'm sorry sir, but you can't come in here with blackface, you'll need to wash that off."

I wasn't amused. Did he know that I spent hours the night before carefully applying brown shoe polish to my face, just so I could make a statement. That doesn't even count the ruined pillowcases, or the painful eye burns.

But he insisted, and so I retreated to the bathroom to scrub my face.

After, he gave me a card, which I was to plug into the voting booth, make my choices, then give it to the lady standing next to me.

After carefully writing Dirk Nowitzki in for president, congress and the house, and voting against any measure to give schools more money, I gave the card to the lady.

She responded with a much-too-chipper-at-6-a.m. voice, "Congratulations! You've just voted! Have a great day!" And have me the biggest shit-eating grin, complete with the chicklet teeth.

After letting c-bombs fly like Mussolini from the balcony, the police arrived to escort my off the property, and they warned me that pending the outcome of my trial on Jan. 13th, this could very well be the last time I vote.

So I voted, got hives from the shoe polish, and may or may not be forced to spend the remainder of my life as a registered sex offender. That's Democracy for you.