a new career.

As a result of what’s been going on lately, I’ve decided to pursue a career in politics just so I can run for President. I know, I know, I’d need to magically become a much more serious person. But I’m sure I can buy seriousness off of eBay. The race for the Presidential election seems like such a fun little game. Candidates get to call each other names for Christ’s sake! I remember being scolded as a child for saying that someone was stinky or calling a classmate a butt-muncher, so why not get a job where I won’t get in trouble for it? How many people can honestly say that they can call someone a bitch, tell a crowd that someone’s fake, make up ridiculous stories about someone being a terrorist, or say that a man is lucky not to be white? … Well, then again, Mitt Romney sure made some of us uncomfortable in being Caucasian when he shouted, “Who let the dogs out? Who? Who?” and commented on a baby’s “bling-bling”. But, hey, at least the man tried to reach out, even if it kinda made him seem like a racist cracker. Presidential candidates should try reaching out to all minorities like Mr. Romney, perhaps by rapping in Spanglish. Trust me, the kids will love it.
If you haven’t yet heard, Governor Richardson is now endorsing Mr. Obama, which will probably fuck it up for Clinton to gain Latino/Hispanic (circle your adjective of preference) voters. Getting someone to endorse you is like a bitchslap, and I love bitchslapping people. Well, maybe a bitchslap analogy isn’t right. I guess it’s like… it’s like calling someone a bitch, really.
Apparently, at least from what I hear, Mrs. Clinton and Mr. Obama have been playing some sort of game called “chicken” this entire time. If it’s what I’m thinking of, it’s pretty violent, yet strangely amusing. Is that the game you play in the pool with two teams, one person sitting on the other’s shoulders, and you beat the shit out of each other until one falls down? I hope so; that’s the kind of political debate I’d like to join in. I am the chicken queen! I don’t ever recall being defeated in a game of chicken. But then again, the Democratic candidacy race has also been compared to a staring contest. I suck at those. How sad would it be to lose the race because you blink? That sure does not sound like fun to me, so we’ll keep referring to it as a game of chicken.
So, in the end, when I push those bastards into the shallow end of the pool and win, I just pray to every divine being out there that I don’t get caught with a hooker.

[Lola.]