Wednesday, September 11, 2002

F*cking Florida.

How is it that no one here can count? We are on the verge of a disasterous election again, my friends, this time for Democratic candidates for governor who will run against Jeb in November. There is already talk of law suits and recounts. Luckily, the entire state switched to new, sleek electronic voting, so at least we won't have to hear the words "dimpled chad" again. Unfortunately, a bunch of the votes are locked in these new, sleek machines, and poll workers are about to start beating them with baseball bats, like in Office Space where they beat the fax machine.

I am not kidding. They are trying to transport them somewhere else where "tech support" can supposedly free the locked votes, but the machines are so big, they can only fit into the trunk of a car at a time, and apparently every vehicle in Florida larger than a VW Bug is othewise occupied? It *is* 2 a.m., but anyway, they are shuttling 100 machines to "tech support" ($10 says "tech support" is Jeb Bush's personal trash compactor) one a time. One. At. A. Time.

I came into work at 11 a.m. on Tuesday. It is now 2 a.m. on Wednesday, and I am shooting a prayer vigil at dawn. My boss wants me to stay, because they might need me to shoot some more stuff in a few minutes. I'm cool with that. I can rest when I die. I went home around 5:30 p.m. yesterday and fed the animals and walked the dog. If I don't get home before the prayer vigil, I can always call Lisa the Uber-Petsitter. I love her; I really do.

Also, they have us on such high terrorism alert down here that my boss suggested we all look under our desks.She was kidding, I think. I am worried that there is a new terrorist cell hiding out in the caves in my left arm. Oh, wait. Nope, I'm good. It's still a Starbucks, right, G.?

No comments: