It's Like a Bountiful Banquet of Horrible, Horrible Flavor!
Well, it took me two hours to drive 25 miles, but I'm finally home. The traffic was far more insane than usual tonight. Apparently the undecideds have waited until the last possible moment to get to the polls. Some of the other things they're undecided on: which lane of the freeway to be in at any given moment (if in doubt, pick two!), whether turn signals are really all that effective, and the difference between the two little foot pedals.
For the many of you who are no doubt hanging breathlessly on the results of my beer selection, I ended up going with Coors, if only because Hugh Hewitt was announcing that Pete Coors had pulled into a narrow lead as I was pulling into the narrow loading zone in front of the liquor store.
The liquor store was an experience in itself. First the 2.5" television that is a fixture of scary liquor stores everywhere was tuned not to the traditional Argentinian soccer coverage on Telemundo, but to election coverage, though the guy manning the counter claimed to be neither a voter nor somebody who gives a crap. Then, as I stood there proudly paying for my Banquet Beer, in walked a very gangsta looking young Latino, head cleanly shaven and tube socks pulled up well into his colon. He glanced quickly up at the electoral vote totals, turned to me and announced, "All right! Fuck John Kerry!" directing his knuckles toward me in an apparent gesture of solidarity. Which I returned, along with the sentiment.
Anyway, nice to see the young folk getting charged up about politics.
Oh, I also bought a 20 oz. can of Busch for good measure. I'm calling it my "Big Ol' Can O' Whoop-Ass," and I plan to open it when the election is decided one way or another. If my memory of what Busch actually tastes like serves, I don't mind if this thing drags on for a while.
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