With the presidential election a mere 24 hours away, get out the vote drives are at full force, with volunteers begging voters (mainly in swing states) to go to the polls and vote for their preferred candidate. However, the question of to vote or not to vote has always been controversial, with many Americans electing not to vote for ideological and other reasons. On the eve of the 2012 presidential election, The Gabbler takes a look at the arguments for and against voting.
To Vote: I Just Want To Feel Like A Woman Again
I know what you’re thinking.
I’m a sad-ass divorcée with a bad Bridget Bardot hair job who spends way too much time in the frozen food aisle at Kroger wishing I’d never met my Tweedle-dumbshit of an ex.
Well, guess the fuck what.
You’re right. I’m addicted to Hot Pockets and I never thought it was weird that Kevin owned 17 pairs of camel leather pants.
When life gives you lemons, you don’t ask questions.When your husband wants to wear your old Sweet Sixteen tiara on your wedding night, you take a Tylenol PM and you just go to bed.
But when you lose your day job at Jiffy Lube and full custody of the kids, you have to start asking yourself some pretty serious goddamn questions. Like: am I that shitty of a Mom? How do they cook the eggs inside of the Breakfast Pockets? Should I vote for the next American president?
The answer to two of those questions is, “Yes.” I know I can’t take my kids to Magic Mountain with my last paycheck, but I can walk down to the polling center in downtown Hamilton tomorrow and offer my 2 cents. Funny, how that works. The fact that I can vote makes me feel less like an emotionally crippled woman and a whole heck of a lot better about myself.
I used to wonder whether anybody really cared if I voted or not. But the future of our country isn’t relegated to either Obama or Romney without sad-ass divorcées like me, now is it? I know the Stevensons next door would beg to differ, but I’ll have you know that sad-ass divorcées are the only demographic both candidates happen to be calling at home today, thank you very much.
I know you think I’m pathetic for thinking my puny little vote counts, but guess what? I just don’t give a fuck. I want Christina from so-and-so’s campaign to call me at 7 p.m. during my game of Go-Fish with myself. I want to watch debates on the weeknights I don’t have the kids. I want somebody to hand me a little red or blue button to put on my crappy little handbag. I want to kill the Stevensons.
Sure, I’m no Hilly Clint or Condy Rice. Actually, my prime source of national information is US Weekly. But I have the God-given right to cast my vote based on what I interpret to be the most riveting, current events on Tuesday and nobody – not even Kevin – can take that way from me.
If casting my ballot makes me feel like a brand new woman who can afford $9 lipstick and a touchscreen microwave, so be it. If watching two handsome presidential candidates argue with each other about my right to choose makes me feel a little hot the way a vintage issue of Hustler magazine sometimes does, the American government can count me in.
Truth is, Obama and Romney have made me feel more desirable than I have felt in years and unlike the P.T.A. who has now ignored my request to participate in their monthly potluck six months in a row, I really think they’re listening.
Not to Vote: Politicians Won’t Get Shit from Me
People expect SOOOO much from us Americans. Especially the young. Oh be the best country in the whole universe. Oh the young are really weighing us down. They’re so lazy. Blah. Blah. Blah.
But you know what, man? Fuck em all. I am lazy. And voting, it’s just too much work. Like why am I going to go out of my way to vote for some old man who knows shit about what I’m going through? Especially not when there’s a Game of Thrones marathon on.
This is the way I see it. I’m not jumping through hoops just to put some guy who had no idea what he was doing the last four years back into the White House. And I’m CERTAINLY not going to do shit to vote in that other Ken doll who seems to think that the American electorate is some sweet little 16-year-old virgin whose pants he can lie his way into.
You know why? Because they’re certainly not going to jump through any fucking hoops to improve MY shitty life once they get there. Like, it’s all fine and perfect to talk about poverty and education problems and let your concerns roll off your tongue, smooth as the fine wine Romney probably drinks for breakfast. (Or wait, smooth as the fine apple cider…dude’s a non-drinking Mormon, right?) But that’s why they call that shit political rhetoric. Because no one actually does anything that even changes my life even a little bit.
I mean yeah, sure, there’s all this talking about Obamacare and jobs and shit and getting Americans back to work. Which is great, if anyone in the government ever bothered to get shit done. But, no, they’re too busy playing golf and traveling the world and starting wars and shit to even bother.
So, you know what? If you’re too busy hanging out with your family in Hawaii or gracing the London Olympics with your stiff as hell presence to even give a thought to me, the little guy, not even part of that sacred middle class everyone goes on and on about, then fine. But don’t expect me to go out of my way to even register to vote, let alone show up at the polls on the 6th.
And I never fucking have. For all of the long years I could’ve registered to vote, all the times I watched the ebb and flow of that shitshow of a government, never have I once lifted a finger to become a part of this little system. Why give them even the satisfaction of even the tiniest, little implicit support of this fucked up little world that they created from their tiny little bird brains.
You know what I do instead? I watch sports. I buy tickets and jerseys and baseball caps and I get wasted on cheap beer and cheaper wings every Sunday, Monday, whatever day. Because football and basketball and baseball and all its meaningless games and championships and bowls and series have done more to lift this poor man out of the ghetto than any president ever has, could, or would do. So you know what? Long live the New York fucking Giants, because there’s more hope in that team than there ever will be in the White House.
And all you do-gooders, you apple pie-eating, rosy-cheeked and blue-eyed citizens, you have fun trotting down to the polls on election day. Have fun getting off to the results show, while some fat, obnoxious pundit maths his way to the result he wants. Even, if you really want, have fun volunteering and calling a poor little fucker like me and trying to convince him to vote, just because he lives in some shithole swing state that only really matters to anyone every four years. But I’m not lifting one fucking finger for some D.C. asshole in a shiny suit who just wants $400,000/year in perpetuity and access to nukes.
POINT written by Shruti Sehgal & COUNTERPOINT written by Jessica Pierce