Who Wrote Me In?

You know me. One of the things I miss the least about life on Earth is Election Day. (Right after bagpipes and the song Amazing Grace). I was sooo glad I didn't have to choose between Obama and McCain in Novemebr 2008. I would have written in the name of Ross Perot anyway, whether anyone, including Ross Perot, liked it or not. Mr. Perot was one of the few politicians in America who knew that the United States was a representative republic and not a democracy. That's why he wanted democracy for America, which is every citizen being actively engaged in making the laws of the land. What a pipe dream.

Even the Greeks didn't have a democracy. But they aspired to it more than any other nation in the the history of the world. Too bad ol' Ross wanted to use the Internet for our participation in democracy. If he'd have gotten away with that, we'd all be up for sale on the Russian black market. Or else making commercials for fast food joints. But I'd still have wanted to elect a well-meaning lunatic for President of the United States over two Illuminati puppets. Republican Presidents and Democratic Presidents have been serving the same master since FDR. The global power elite. They're the people who make sure Americans never run out of cornflakes or gasoline. They're the ones who shop for Armani and Ferraris like we shop for socks and lawn mowers. Screw the Illuminati.

But American politics isn't the real reason I fired up the old Commodore 64 today. No way. I couldn't care less who gets on the dole "down there" anymore. A greased palm is a greased palm. And a friend for life, as long as the votes and the cabbage and the pork keep coming and going. No, I'm so mad I can hardly see because of this stupid, unauthorized Campaign poster (see pic below).

Apparently, a bunch of Martian homeless people (abductees from Earth, who else?) got together and began circulating these campaign posters all over the Martian underground. They can't circulate them on the surface because the low atmospheric pressure, lack of breathable air and horrific wind storms would turn them into blue-faced balloons in two seconds and then frozen sushi. Even homeless bums who are desperate to be freed from this Martian Attica wouldn't go up top.

But they're dumb enough to think that I'll run the whole show for them just because I tried to back in July 2008, Earth Time. That's what got me in such deep doo-doo with Liz, our bigass Reptilian Warden, in the first place. My ass is in a wringer so much these days that I doubt if I'll ever have the time to make my fourth Martian broadcast. And those videocasts only get me in more hot water anyway. Besides, who would be dumb enough vote for a homeless bum who's tackled other homeless bums on a regular basis and rifled their pockets for Slim Jims and Twizzlers and shit? Dumb ex-stockbrokers, mostly. They're the biggest cry babies of all when they're cold and hungry.

And, now, because of this dumb-ass unauthorized poster, I'm like a metal duck in an old-time shooting gallery. It's hard to make conspiracy videos (my conspiracy shit is as good as anyone else's) when you're ass-over-tin-cups and lizards as big as kangaroos are on your tail. It's no way to run a solar system. Spokesperson, my ass. If I was willing to represent the Martian "homeless" in 2010, I'd better be their goddamn spokesman. Which I'm not.