Election day is Tuesday and I was prepared to plead with my friends who are Massachusetts voters to write in the name Pocket Dog, and the address 60 Hodges Avenue (which is the site of the State Mental Hospital across the street, but I've marked it enough time so it is mine) Taunton MA, for United States Senator.
But now I am reluctant to do so, because these humans who are campaigning against me, and their supporters, are crazier then a rabid squirrel in the noonday sun. The pundits (I must admit, I don't know what that is, it sounds like something I leave on the rug) say the race is too close to call. Sometimes I wish I was too close to call, when I'm having fun upstairs, and Mommy wants me down.
I have to admit I've been fooling you. I know a little pup like me can't win a Senate seat. And if I did I wouldn't want to leave my Mom and move all the way down to Washing Town. But I did have a goal.
I wanted, from family, my TB friends, and Mommy's Facebook allies, to get ten votes. Then there would be stories in the paper about the little dog that somehow got ten votes and it didn't have any affect on the election at all.
But what if the votes that went to me cost someone the election? Then all those tea baggers, liberal wing nuts, and other mean tweeters and bloggers would descend on us and burn the cone of shame on our lawn.
I don't want that to happen. What I have found after I dipped my paw in the pee puddle of politics is that politicians are cruel, vicious people, like poor pitbulls that have been beat too much. Just today, while Mommy were watching the news, both candidates kept running advertisements doing nothing but bad barking about the other one, and all I could wonder is how two such miserable people could get a nomination for anything.
Then during nap time, the phone rings. Mommy, Foley and I were in a pig pile on the recliner when our peaceful sojourn was interrupted. Daddy answered and, no lie, it was the President asking us to vote for one of the candidates. Foley grabbed the phone and asked him if he found a dog tag she lost during our crashing of the state dinner, but that old President just kept prattling on. So Foley hung up on him. I am sure there will be no repercussions from that.
(Our nap was also interrupted by Foley's grumbling that I was on Momma's lap. She went "mumble, grumble, whine, grumble, hey I can lick my crotch, lick, lick, grumble, mumble, whine, whine, hey that crotch is tasty, lick, lick, grumble, mumble, grumble.)
So, I decided, after my nap, that I would not be asking for votes. But I had planned to ask for votes by telling you what a vote for Pocket was for: And I will still do so, because it's stuck in my brain and needs to come out.
A vote for Pocket is a vote against the idiocy of bipartisan politics. In short: MA state law read that the Governor appointed a Senator if a seat were to become vacant; but when MA democrats thought John Kerry would be elected President (Ba-ha-ha-ha) they changed the law so Republican Governor Romney would not be able to appoint a Republican, and made it an election; after Senator Kennedy passed they tried to change the law again to let Democratic Governor Patrick appoint a Democrat, but public opinion was so harsh they settled on a temporary appointment with an election pending; then the Democrats could not decide on a candidate making taxpayers pay for a costly primary; leading to Tuesday's election. What a big pile of Vick. So a vote for Pocket is a vote against big piles of Vick.
(I'm not even sure what I just wrote.)
A vote for Pocket is a vote for whimsy. Of laying with your friends on the grass under the bright sun thinking of silly, fanciful things you would do with your life, like being a fireman in space, or someday having a dog who got ten votes in a statewide election.
A vote for Pocket is a vote for laughter, where we live in a world where everything isn't so somber and each drop of rain is argued over and blame isn't assigned to it. A vote for Pocket is a declaration that life does not have to be so serious and glum.
A vote for Pocket is a signal that we've had enough of the extremes that this country has become. A vote for Pocket is not a vote for us or them, but for ourselves. A vote for Pocket says if you don't cut this vick out we'll turn the country over to the dogs.
A vote for Pocket would have been fun. It's too bad we don't live in a country where you could vote for a Pocket without having to worry that you'd become the story of the moment knocking Tiger Woods and Leno off the front page.
A vote for Pocket is a vote for innocence and we could all use some innocence again.
But now I am reluctant to do so, because these humans who are campaigning against me, and their supporters, are crazier then a rabid squirrel in the noonday sun. The pundits (I must admit, I don't know what that is, it sounds like something I leave on the rug) say the race is too close to call. Sometimes I wish I was too close to call, when I'm having fun upstairs, and Mommy wants me down.
I have to admit I've been fooling you. I know a little pup like me can't win a Senate seat. And if I did I wouldn't want to leave my Mom and move all the way down to Washing Town. But I did have a goal.
I wanted, from family, my TB friends, and Mommy's Facebook allies, to get ten votes. Then there would be stories in the paper about the little dog that somehow got ten votes and it didn't have any affect on the election at all.
But what if the votes that went to me cost someone the election? Then all those tea baggers, liberal wing nuts, and other mean tweeters and bloggers would descend on us and burn the cone of shame on our lawn.
I don't want that to happen. What I have found after I dipped my paw in the pee puddle of politics is that politicians are cruel, vicious people, like poor pitbulls that have been beat too much. Just today, while Mommy were watching the news, both candidates kept running advertisements doing nothing but bad barking about the other one, and all I could wonder is how two such miserable people could get a nomination for anything.
Then during nap time, the phone rings. Mommy, Foley and I were in a pig pile on the recliner when our peaceful sojourn was interrupted. Daddy answered and, no lie, it was the President asking us to vote for one of the candidates. Foley grabbed the phone and asked him if he found a dog tag she lost during our crashing of the state dinner, but that old President just kept prattling on. So Foley hung up on him. I am sure there will be no repercussions from that.
(Our nap was also interrupted by Foley's grumbling that I was on Momma's lap. She went "mumble, grumble, whine, grumble, hey I can lick my crotch, lick, lick, grumble, mumble, whine, whine, hey that crotch is tasty, lick, lick, grumble, mumble, grumble.)
So, I decided, after my nap, that I would not be asking for votes. But I had planned to ask for votes by telling you what a vote for Pocket was for: And I will still do so, because it's stuck in my brain and needs to come out.
A vote for Pocket is a vote against the idiocy of bipartisan politics. In short: MA state law read that the Governor appointed a Senator if a seat were to become vacant; but when MA democrats thought John Kerry would be elected President (Ba-ha-ha-ha) they changed the law so Republican Governor Romney would not be able to appoint a Republican, and made it an election; after Senator Kennedy passed they tried to change the law again to let Democratic Governor Patrick appoint a Democrat, but public opinion was so harsh they settled on a temporary appointment with an election pending; then the Democrats could not decide on a candidate making taxpayers pay for a costly primary; leading to Tuesday's election. What a big pile of Vick. So a vote for Pocket is a vote against big piles of Vick.
(I'm not even sure what I just wrote.)
A vote for Pocket is a vote for whimsy. Of laying with your friends on the grass under the bright sun thinking of silly, fanciful things you would do with your life, like being a fireman in space, or someday having a dog who got ten votes in a statewide election.
A vote for Pocket is a vote for laughter, where we live in a world where everything isn't so somber and each drop of rain is argued over and blame isn't assigned to it. A vote for Pocket is a declaration that life does not have to be so serious and glum.
A vote for Pocket is a signal that we've had enough of the extremes that this country has become. A vote for Pocket is not a vote for us or them, but for ourselves. A vote for Pocket says if you don't cut this vick out we'll turn the country over to the dogs.
A vote for Pocket would have been fun. It's too bad we don't live in a country where you could vote for a Pocket without having to worry that you'd become the story of the moment knocking Tiger Woods and Leno off the front page.
A vote for Pocket is a vote for innocence and we could all use some innocence again.
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