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.