And they seem to believe there's going to be a huge difference between Kang
and Kodos. So far, the only things Kerry seems to have promised is that he'd
be better at doing all the crazy shit Bush has dove into. So when they ask
me (at the corner of Wall and Broadway), Are you a John Kerry Supporter, I
reply, Well, 'supporter' is not the word I would use. And then I 'move
on'.
-TD
From: J.A. Terranson [EMAIL PROTECTED]
To: undisclosed-recipients: ;
Subject: Musings on getting out the vote
Date: Tue, 2 Nov 2004 08:42:41 -0600 (CST)
rant
Several weeks ago, a couple of MoveOn droids showed up at my door to take
a survey. I told them that yes, I was a registered republican, and that
yes, I was voting for Kerry, so fuck off.
Last week, while I was away, they came back to check that [my wife] was
still planning to vote for Kerry.
Today, after two hours in line, after braving the lawyers with the
republican stickers hovering over the line, and challenging voters who
Seem A Little Dark For This Part Of Town, and casting my vote for the guy
I hate the least [Kerry], we were walking to the car and were again
accosted by a couple of *very pushy* MoveOn droids:
Sir! Sir! Have you voted?
Yes. Go away.
Sir! Wait a minute! Have you been contacted by your MoveOn
representative yet? (as he tries to physically insert himself between me
and the street)
Yes. Too many fucking times: get out of my fucking way!
First of all, while I appreciate their willingness to help throw the angry
little midget fuck in the whitehouse out on his ass, they are alienating
people. I *guarantee* the sight of me fighting off the MoveOn people made
a mental impression on the hundred plus people on line.
Second, I signed up to drive folks to the polls today for a few hours,
*with* MoveOn. I also came very close to saying fuckit - these assholes
need an IMMEDIATE attitude adjustment, or they are going to help turn the
vote *away* from their supposed goal.
/rant
--
Yours,
J.A. Terranson
[EMAIL PROTECTED]
0xBD4A95BF
An ill wind is stalking
while evil stars whir
and all the gold apples
go bad to the core
S. Plath, Temper of Time
_
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