Tag Archives: election 2012

The November Man

This just in! VNN (Vomitola News Network) calls the election for Barry O’Bama. Paddy Power  always believed! And if it floats in South Park, it must be true. They’re in a swing state, after all.

O’Bama was buoyed by a last minute revelation wherein he held a fireside chat and came out to America as Irish. America was so glad he did not say Kenya that they cancelled the election halfway through the day. If you’re already the President, just stay in line!

All the signs were there.

You see, money is green, and so are aliens and leprechauns. In other news, Massachusetts is fine with medical marijuana now, and I happen to have a hideous case of terminal anxiety. Stupid Massachusetts then failed to allow me to kill myself via Question 2, so the only option left is more green.

Money, that is. I am reclining on a tuffet of money, enrobed in a dressing gown of stitched together money. The gown was sewn especially for me by clumps of money that I animated by magic, Fantasia style.

I have my money specially printed. It is made from silk extruded by worms of the finest pedigree. I have Lambchop’s picture on one side, and mine on the other. Thank goodness the poors have not yet rioted and upset my extraordinarily polite silk worms or my other horticultural projects.

What were we talking about again?

Slinging the Levers

I got on the commie bread line at a Polish church this morning for thirty minutes in the cold to vote, like people.  Far too late came Mary’s suggestion that I wait in the Escalade and have a migrant worker stand for me. That’s how Romney votes, he is a job creator!

So I inked my little ovals for the Kill All the Little People Party and got my dram of potato vodka and was then ready to ride from the land of no working subway into the freezing blasts to the city.  Last night at my theravada massage, my guru suggested I needed some empathy exercising.  I know “what’s that?”  Apparently my compassion organ has shriveled like a sad balloon from last New Year’s.  Other people have things a lot worse than I do, apparently.  My local market is out of Lapsang Suchong!  But there are also the homeless.  I know, because one looked at me today in a way that displeased me.

I digress.  The important thing to remember as I wear my manicure to a ragged state looking at election returns is that it hardly matters if you voted for one War Pig or another.  The rich will still be rich, the poor will still be poor, and the ugly will need vouchers for facial reconstruction.


What’s It Like in Ohio

Get Out the Vomitola: 2012

It begins, chitterlumpkins! People are posting their “I Voted” stickers on Facebook. The Obama voters all used artfully framed Instagram shots, styled and filtered to appear fresh and glistening in the morning light. The Romney voters served up shaky Android shots of crumpled stickers not even removed from the backing, clutched with sausage fingers.  I guess this is only fair considering there is no filter called “Apocalypse.” Kelvin might have worked.

Also, dear Facebook pundits, just shut down the “I’m for the squelching of people’s personal rights in the name of fiscal conservatism” thing.  Know who else was a fiscal conservative? Bill Fucking Clinton. Go on, check the Wikipedia. I seem to recall getting some government hand outs that allowed actual trailer trash, me, Licketysplit, to go to college.

From this vantage above the tree line, Lambchop and I took enough drugs to disqualify us from ever being presidents. But you have no idea how much valuable financial planning we got done while coming down from those drugs, and this has led us to all the great success we enjoy today as latter day more attractive Buffetts. Much of the wealth of our later years has stemmed from the success of our killer app, the RAPEOMETER!

To this end, as Empire Vomitola, we are accorded a vote as a corporation, plus we each get an individual vote. The ultimate luxury these days is being so filthy rich it doesn’t matter who wins, and so we stepped into the booth this morning and voted our true conscience: Hello Kitty and Kucinich write ins! Yeah, take that, you striving almost upper middle class Republicans concerned enough about a few hundred extra bucks in taxes to trample the rights of all. We, Empire Vomitola, voted for a cartoon cat. We are so incredible that we are exempt from these little tiny issues that trouble you.

Eh, whatever. Ohio, as usual, it’s all up to you. I’ll be in my Mercury retrograde shelter in my nest of shredded money. Please poors, don’t pick today to figure out you can band together!

A better idea for today: vote, then stay home under the couch and listen to Love’s Secret Domain on repeat.

Heil Mary

My fellow citizens, you probably can’t read this because you are in the dark of your Brooklyn boudoir, scraping the scum of the Gowanus Canal from your floor with a toy shovel that blew in from Rockaway.  Fear not, for it will likely freeze soon!

We managed to stop those scrawny Eritreans from running through the ravaged city so our police can concentrate on things that really matter, stopping apoplectic jagoffs from throttling each other at the Sunoco.  But it looks like we won’t stop the election.  After all, this isn’t Ohio!

I am sure you will all agree that Everything Sucks.  Even if you are not trapped under a fallen tree, you probably don’t have a job.  And if you do have a job, you probably spend your days wishing a tree would fall on you.  Well, Mitt Romney has your solution.  You have been so short sighted- Life could be a whole lot worse!  Once Mitt is in charge there will be rapery all around, and no more of your fun time, lazy Sunday abortions.  Health insurance and retirement benefits will only be available via the dice table at Monte Carlo.  But don’t worry, you will still get a tax break for being beautiful.  Me, I will be disappointed if I am not personally raped by Mitt Romney himself.  But those are the kind of high expectations that have been mostly dashed in this hopeless economy.

In sum, please take your heads out of the ovens and vote for Brock Omama.  You probably don’t have gas, anyway.

I Have a Special Plan for This World

Get Out the Vomitola: 2012

Natural disasters have been blighting the world for eons, but like wearing babies in slings and mustache grooming, this means nothing until white people in Brooklyn happen to experience these things. It is surprising that the hurricane did not exclusively target Williamsburg. Why inconvenience the reasonable and wealthy folk of Manhattan? But these things are not for us to know. Suffering is no joke, which is unfortunate since there is so much to go around. Funny suffering would really lighten things up.

Just as nature is always sneakily waiting to beleaguer us, this great nation insists on rolling out a national election every so often. Lambchop and I very recently realized that the time is once again nigh. Perhaps it was the roiling seas and blackened skies that alerted us.

Actually, it was Morrissey, who informed us that he does not care one whit about our election. We took him at his word after he turned his back on us and threw himself down the stage. We were sure he really, really meant it after he showed us ten minutes of de-beaking videos.

So we retreated to our prayer grotto (the hotel where Morrissey was staying) and took quick inventory of our views. Turns out we are predominantly bored. Huh. Would Romney be more favorable to Attractive-Americans? That could be a thing, as we are endlessly persecuted. But Obama is in favor of gay marriage, and there is nothing we love more than a wedding! Ugh. What to do?

We were despondent until we got a call from Romney headquarters. It seems Mitt took notice of our normal deft handling of the man on the street (stepping over him!), and he thought we might be the ones to put the ol’ Zazz in the P.

We decided on an 11th hour pivot. Mitt needs to pretend to be a real human who knows how much things cost at a dollar store. He needs to get in touch with America’s farmers and the other darlings of the Republican party, America’s hard-working legitimate rapists. Thus we suggested a new campaign anthem. Please enjoy “Fields of Rape!”