Where are My Votes?
At the turn of the century, two vastly different candidates were in competition for the American presidency.
Al, the more experienced of the two, lived his life cleanly and responsibly. A Harvard graduate and war veteran, he married his high school sweetheart before entering into the politics and eventually becoming the Vice President.
Georgie, on the other hand, could only be described as reckless. A draft dodger and a cocaine addict, the candidate seemed to command little respect from those around him. People assumed that the choice was an obvious one, and that it would be a simple victory for Al.
But it wasn’t. In fact, the election was so close, it was up to just one state to determine a winner. Unfortunately, that state was Florida.
Luckily for Georgie, however, he had friends in high places who ensured that the voting machines were not quite working the way that they were supposed to…
The next day, the election was over. Georgie had won. He retired to his new office to celebrate his victory with his favorite blend of champagne, pornography, and of course, cocaine.
Suddenly, in the midst of an intoxicated stupor. He heard a low, droning voice from behind him.
“Wheeeerrreeee arrrrreeeee myyyyy vooooootes,” it drawled.
Terrified, Georgie turned around to see Al on the television, his dead eyes burrowing into Georgie’s own.
“Wheeeerrreeee arrrrreeeee myyyyy vooooootes,” it repeated.
Desperate, Georgie reached for the remote and grasped it with a sweaty nervous hand. But, no matter where he turned, it was the same thing on every channel!
Badly shaken, he turned off the television and went to bed.
Things were no better the next morning, however. No matter where he went, or who he talked to, he could always hear the echo of that voice.
“Wheeeerrreeee arrrrreeeee myyyyy vooooootes”
Eventually, these words became etched in his mind. He could hear them in his thoughts, in his dreams. It followed him everywhere, and he began to wonder why he even wanted to become president in the first place.
Then, thankfully for him, came 9/11.
Reagan’s Apple Pie: A Game
This is a popular old political game, which continues to be played by Republicans today.
The first step is to gather a group of friends into a dark room, like a basement, closet or a voting booth, and have them close their eyes while you hand out your and tell them this story…
There was once a movie star named Ronald Reagan. He was a very poor actor, his worst role was playing the President of the United States. Still, he was quite popular with his base.
“Reagan is as American as apple pie,” people said.
But his pie was made of some very different ingredients. Instead, Reagan served up some very different flavors, listing them off throughout his campaign.
“This are our secure boarders” he said. (Popsicle sticks)
“These are our environmental initiatives (A bowl full of toxic sludge).”
(At this point, some players will get scared and tend to want to leave the room. Particularly minorities and disenfranchised groups.)
“Oh,” he added. “Don’t forget about our “trickle down” economic policy.” (A rotting carrot soaked in urine)
“Or our response to the AIDS crisis.” (Nothing).
(Now that your friends have their eyes closed, covertly sell weapons to Iran Contra terrorist groups.)
The Blue Dress
Billie Clinton had a problem with truth. He also had a problem with women.
Therefore, the trouble really began for him when he met the girl in the blue dress. A pretty young girl, she worked for him as an intern, which made it much easier for him to seduce her.
But, being Billie Clinton, he had to lie about it.
“I did not have sexual relations with that woman,” he told journalists.
In order to preserve his lie, Billie got vengeful, and decided to throw the girl in the blue dress to the wolves (journalists, pundits and other beasts), where her credibility was torn apart and laughed about around the world.
After that, Billie was certain that his problems were behind him, and went back to work. While there was still an ongoing investigation, he felt that he had the trust of the American people and that his detractors had no proof any wrongdoing.
So he was feeling quite confident when he walked onto the floor of congress a few weeks later and saw a a sight that terrified him to his very core…
There, in the middle of the room, was the dripping blue dress.
Chappaquiddick (or, The Kennedys Three): A Song
This is the story of the Kennedys Three,
The brothers Ted, John F. and young Bobby
Bobby was shot, John lost most of his head,
Though Ted was the one who’d have been better off dead
Ted was a drunk, and rowdy to boot
Didn’t cut a figure you’d bother to shoot.
As senator, he relied solely on name,
But held White House ambitions all the same
These hopes were dashed one dark night in ’69
When brother Ted committed a horrible crime
Leaving a party with a girl and a buzz
He drove off a bridge with his mind all a-fuzz
He swam to the shore in a narrow escape
Though the car and the girl were in far worse shape
The car sunk to the bottom, would have been hard to find
And reporting to police–must have slipped his mind
The courts found him guilty in the third degree,
But with all his connections, he simply walked free
He continued his life, with time to regret it
But as for the White House—boy, he could forget it.
Two brothers were martyred, but Ted couldn’t make it.
So when Death gives you a chance—be sure and take it.
Howard Dean was a senator from Vermont, and he loved his country. In fact, he loved it so much that he was determined to change how its corrupt elections were conducted. So, he spent time in every state in the country—not just those he believed he could win as a Democratic politician.
He went to the internet, a new invention, and began gathering funds from small donors rather than big investors. To everyone’s surprise, it actually worked— and he made it all the way to the Iowa Caucus.
Still, he knew that wasn’t enough. They made it to Iowa, sure, but he wasn’t done there. He was going to go to New Hampshire. He was going to South Carolina, and Oklahoma, and Arizona, North Dakota, New Mexico, California, and Texas and New York, and South Dakota, and Oregon, and Washington, and Michigan and then they were going to Washington DC to take back the White House. That was, until…
(Turn to one your friends and scream:)
Trump-A-Dee-Dump: A Poem.
There once was a troll named Trump-A-Dee-Dump. Fa-la!
He ran to give his deflated career a pump. Ha-ha!
The news said he’d never get far. Nuh-uh!
But then won the primaries. Wha-wha?!
He mumbled about walls, and yelled about email. Rah-rah!
Proving that people will elect a troll as opposed to a female. Ma-ma!
You might think politics are for the calm and the lucid. La-la!
But one must remember—never underestimate stupid. Duh-Duh!
Although from under his bridge he might tweet and offend
Don’t think for one second it won’t happen again.
Brandon Hicks writes plays performed by real people, and draws cartoons performed by fake people. His work has appeared in Splitsider, The Syrup Trap, American Bystander and regularly on The Rumpus, where he also serves as an associate cartoon editor. Unfortunately, he’s also Canadian.