you can’t spell “quadrennial presidential election day” without “tuesday”


A potent symbol of democracy.

When the Evil was in kindergarten, Tuesday was his favorite day of the week. Why? Because Tuesday was pizza-flavored Goldfish day.

What does that have to do with anything anyone could ever possibly give a damn about? See here:

Whilst the Evil was in China . . . then recovering from jet lag . . . then battling a gui, a Chinese demon he inadvertently brought back (and somehow got through customs) in his checked baggage . . . several of his friends, nemeses, and associates (you know who you are) voted early. Thought they were doing their civic duty—overdoing it, in fact, in a kind of namby-pamby teacher’s pet way. “Look at me,” they seemed to say, preening as they did it, “I voted early. I’m more patriotic than the Statue of Liberty waving the Stars n’ Stripes at a Lee Greenwood concert!”

Well . . . ha. Some reports claim 40% of Georgians (the American kind) voted early. They waited in the cold, in the rain, for hours. Whereas the Evil waltzed into the voting booth and out on this perfect fall day, lickety-split. Even sunned himself ‘neath the dazzling foliage of the elementary school playground within which his polling location stood. Took all of half an hour, including 20 minutes of drive time.

The lesson here? Don’t fuck with the founding fathers. What’s the right, the proper, the patriotic day to vote? TUESDAY! they proclaimed, and Tuesday it is. And ever shall be.


2 thoughts on “you can’t spell “quadrennial presidential election day” without “tuesday””

  1. Word. Took me no time at all going to the same undisclosed location. To think I almost used a perfectly good lunch hour standing in line to vote early for fear of standing in line.

  2. If Burroughs has taught us nothing else, the Do-Rights are the bane of civilization and should be exterminated at the earliest possible convenience. Last week would have been perfect, in fact –gather them all together in central locations and WHAM! goes the trap. Would have saved my nerves all day today, too, worrying about how they’re gonna give us a royal fucking this time.

    But I’m not letting it get to me. Nine days from now I’ll be Connecticut-married, and only a full constitutional convention can put that asunder.

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