Tuesday, November 8, 2016

My Democracy

Today I voted. For the first time in my life I participated in the electoral process without even the slightest twinge of remorse. Every Loser Party candidate I ever supported, until today, carried a certain amount of regret. For Ron Paul it was relatively little, mostly focused on his autism spectrum economic ideas and refusal to openly acknowledge basic racial realities, like "negores are more criminal than Whites." For most others the distaste could have been delivered in a dump truck. Glove Romney? Juan McCohen? Well, what else are you going to do, vote communist? Today, I put the stone down the well with clear eyes and a clear conscience. This wasn't a lesser evil. This was a mighty good.

I was home today, since the brick and mortar that represents my illicit racial dominance over nigga bodies (Ah! Ah!) is showing its age and repairs are needed. Incredibly the work team was only 25% la-teen-oh and otherwise completely lacking color, so I felt confident leaving for a short while without worrying about coming back to discover all the copper wire is now gone. I hopped in the privilege-mobile and proceeded to blithely pump hydrocarbons into Mother Earth, lacking the massive concern of the indian (feather, not dot or rags) who lives in harmony with nature and would never, for example, torture women and children captured in war.

I live in a White area, but the demographics are steadily changing. Phrases like "armed robbery," "breaking and entering" and even "random incident" are starting to appear with alarming regularity in local news reports, but for the most part the population remains blissfully unaware of the slow but steady encroachment of demographic rot and the fact that we're only still 80% White because the criminals in our government haven't chosen us for an experiment in racial terror, yet. In other words there's plenty of cuckservatives and delusional liberal true believers. Still, I was heartened to see several Trump signs on the short drive to the polls, including a truly YUGE homemade one that must have been ten feet by ten feet. If I had a dollar for every sign I saw in 2012 for the mormon catcher's accessory I probably wouldn't have had enough for an exotic foreign dinner at Taco Bell, the cleanest best diversity.

I arrived and made my way across the parking lot to the building where my date with destiny awaited, enjoying the ableist privilege of parking far away and walking the intervening distance. I was nearly brushed by a car pulling into a handicap space near the door and it disgorged an overweight middle-aged White man. Apparently being a fat loser is now a disability. Maybe put down the fork? I'm just saying. In the doors, down the hall, it's time to Make America Great Again.

I was greeted by a young woman, slender and tall, pretty face, a solid 8 out of 10, the kind you'd like to grab by the...you know what, we're supposed to be making history here. Take this square of paper, sign here, take this sticker. A negro was voting, otherwise the booths were empty. Boy is he going to be disappointed to discover there's no "He look like me" choice, just Miss Ann. I was finished in about twenty seconds, a phrase I never expected to report with pride, but here we are. With that I'd done everything I could do. Feed it into the machine, beep beep, here's hoping some sort of fraud didn't erase or change it. If we win this thing by one vote you can all thank me.

In the lobby a bake sale was going on. It's hard to imagine something Whiter than that, other than what I'd just done with my secret, sacred ballot. Old people were making their way in as I left, some looking literally days away from death. What future would they visit on me, on that pretty volunteer, on my race as a whole? A nightmare of globalism or a new hope to turn back the tides of oblivion? I could only wonder. It's out of my hands.

My house was still there when I got back, always a good sign. I took a nap. Later I guess I'll read the results, along with all of you. It seems hard to believe this amazing ride is over. The Trump Train has arrived at the station, final stop, everyone get out and vote. Months of exhilaration, of cheering the victories and being filled with righteous indignation at the setbacks, a war for our nation's soul that I fought in with all my might. Now the next chapter begins, whatever it is. There's an "I voted" sticker on my cool leather jacket. It's true. I did. And I'm damned proud of it.

I'll see all of you tomorrow.

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