You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
Him or Her.
Are you Serious?
In a world where the options are as limitless as the endless shrimp platter at Captain D’s, suddenly we have no options.
It’s him. Or it’s her.
Oh you don’t like him. then Pick her.
Oh you don’t like her. Then vote him.
That’s a shitty way to nurture a democracy.
The lesser of two evils.
When I pull the ballot in 9 days, I wonder, will I feel slimy.
Will I need to bathe or at least have a full grown Lab lick my fingers clean?
So this is it?
We are down to the wire.
It’s now clearly him or her.
As I walk the political gauntlet, I feel a choking feeling. It’s like a narrowing hallway filled with stink and discarded hypodermic needles.
I suddenly need to know as much about hazardous waste removal as the constitution.
When I vote, will they have plastic gloves for me? Can I spray myself with Lysol?
300 million people in this great nation and this is what it boils down to?
Him or Her?
OMG!
She’s a career this. He’s a chronic that.
LIAR. CHEATER.
Who am I talking about?
Exactly.
It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care about me. She doesn’t care about me.
The choice left for Americans is disgusting. Him or Her? It’s akin to licking the residue left in the tub after a roman orgy at a San Francisco bath house.
I’m watching the debate Sunday night and the tension is palpable.
The anger on stage is real.
I look at these two candidates and think to myself, “Oh My God. One of these people is going to have to forward their mail next month to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.”
Suddenly I realize that no matter who wins, I’m F***ed. I better pull myself up by my bootstraps because neither one of these people on stage gives a damn about me.
I better do better for me. I better fight harder for me. I better prosper despite of him or her, because if I don’t do it, nobody else will.
I think back to the beginning of this fiasco and I’m amazed it has come to this.
It use to be a Saturday Night Live Skit, a Jimmy Falon punch line.
Now this S**t is for real.
He outlasted a throng of other political hacks.
She beat out an old man and some other unknown guy.
And then there were two.
Him and Her. Her and Him.
These candidates are more fractured than a M*A*S*H unit. They are more soiled than a landfill after acid rain.
Choosing between him and her is like choosing between gonorrhea and syphilis.
Just dump a port-a-john over my head and hose me down with bloody tampons.
America has stopped at a truck stop for a hand job and a bottle of night train wine.
No matter who wins, we’re all gonna need a booster of penicillin and a body condom.
I watched the debate, the debacle, the deleterious mandate of political buffoonery and it saddened me.
I watched the pundits spew and spit and gyrate after it was all over. He won. She won. Nobody won.
Who cares anymore. I felt like I needed a dramamine and a shot of Pepto Bismol.
Anyone know a priest who makes house calls?
Linda Blair projectile vomiting pea soup while her head does a 360 seems preferable to me.
Early voting is in 2 weeks. I have three options. Him. Her. Or go to a bar and start drinking.
It’s like spinning the political barrel and pointing the gun at your head.
I guess the days of a shining candidate who inspires are gone.
Nobody is going to ride over the horizon with a white hat and rescue this nation, so deeply divided, so obviously pained.
300 million people to choose from and we’re left with Him and Her?
It’s like someone reached into a bucket of fish chum and pulled out the two most repugnant characters possible and said, “Hey what are doing in 2017?”
I’d rather vote for a belch and a patch of psoriasis.
I’m going to vote, but I’m disillusioned.
I am not inspired. I am not happy.
I feel like we’re settling.
Lick the leper or massage the child molester. Pick your political poison.
Hey america It’s last call for alcohol.
As the bright lights glare, and the bar tender ushers you to the door, you hear him say “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”
It’s only then, at 1:45 am, under the 100 watt burn of incandescent lighting that you realize you have to go home with someone you didn’t even dance with.
It’s now, in the waning hours of the voting night you realize, I gotta vote for mediocrity.
As you leave the voting center, try not to splash any regurgitation on your new shoes.
If this was college, you’d chew off your own arm and sneak out of the room in the dark.
Him? Her?
Jesus Christ.
Life’s Crazy™