I Didn’t Watch the Vice Presidential Debates

look at this fucking love connection

For the first time in my life, I’m actually really invested in an election. Don’t judge me please, I struggle against the boredom-induced coma politics puts me in every day. I attempt to be an educated, engaged American citizen, and for that I should get some credit. But I can’t help that political discussion does NOTHING for me but incite rage, quickly followed by drowsiness. Rather than throw my hat in the ring, roll up my sleeves and participate (Seriously, would you vote me into public office? Duh, no.), I would rather take the Bane approach and smash it all down. From the rubble, we will rise.

So my engagement in Romney/Obama battle is novel. And uncomfortable. What I’m experiencing is not excitement for the triumph of democracy, but shambling, ugly terror about the outcome. My dreams are haunted. I irrationally fear the ugliness of the near future. I’m looking into real estate in the mountains, where I will sustain myself on the fruits of the woods and shun mankind.

So why didn’t I watch the vice presidential debates last night?

Because Project Runway was on.

It was the finale, you guys. THE FINALE. Who would be the best designer of clothes?? What words of genius would Tim Gunn pour into my knowledge-thirsty ears?

all the votes for this man

So backup plan time: DVR the debates for later viewing, right?. Wrong! I  already dvr-ed six other completely necessary shows at the same time as the dumb debates! I can’t be expected to make King Solomon-esque choices between It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and 30 Rock. Don’t make me cut the baby that is my TV infatuation in half! (That’s how the story goes, right?)

The amount of fretting that went on for about 15 minutes before the debates just highlighted what I already knew: this wasn’t about the beauty of Thursday night comedies on network television, this was much more serious. I had contracted acute Election Exhaustion.

I’m so tired of being irritated, judging people on Facebook for their Mitt Romney “likes”, worrying about which man is going to tell me what I can and cannot do with my beautiful junk, and how I’m never going to be able to retire because of social security blahblahbalfhihihbiwjtnpoijethj. I care SO MUCH about the outcome of this goddamn election, but you guys, I don’t think I can handle three more weeks of this. Give me action! Give me a ballot! I may live in a red state, but by God, I’m ready to do this thing.

And I want to get a jump on the remote cabin market.

the stuff of misanthropic dreams


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