Ok, here it comes; a super-quick post about voting.
Yes, 99% of the time, it’s a waste of a perfectly good holiday. There is always a gigantic list of things we’d rather be up to, often beginning and ending with ‘be hung-over’. It’s a veritable all-star list of the least pleasant things to be doing and/or suffering simultaneously: headaches, queuing, people, standing, early mornings and, inevitably, children. Why people bring their kids along to vote will always be a mystery to me. It benefits no one. The kid cares a little bit less than fuck-all and, as the screaming of a spoilt toddler that can’t understand why its mother isn’t currently shoveling sugar-coated cereal into its face is in the top five list of ‘worst-things-to-endure-with-a-hangover’, the experience is ironically detrimental to its future. The responsible parents are, in a very real way, endangering the life of their child, a deed of such colossal irresponsibility that the only just punishment should be for said folks to be held upon the ground and Five-Knuckle Shuffled by each and every voter under the age of thirty.
|“Your kid is next, soccer-mom.”|
Personal space is a concept that a large portion of our population has yet to grasp and, as such, becomes a problem over voting day. Elbows are the accepted tools of negotiation under these circumstances, but throbbing headaches, screaming children and a loathing for all things people can often result in the overactive employment of said instruments and, current legislation aside, it’s trickier than one would think to cast a vote from a holding cell.
My solution of choice? A particular cologne titled ‘Ew de Beere’. It’s more of an internal marinade, really, requiring a few hours of preparation, but it’s cheep and you can make it yourself.
The truth of the matter, however, is that one has to vote. HAS TO. Not doing so shouldn’t be an option. A lot of people whine about how pointless it is, either because they don’t think their vote will make a difference or because they claim minimal difference between the disreputability of each candidate.
As so far as the first notion is concerned; don’t be an idiot. Of course one vote makes a difference. It’s simple fucking addition. You learnt it in sub-B (grade two to those of you who are still working on body hair). Claiming otherwise displays a complete lack of sensibility, and I hope to never hear anyone make such a ridiculous assumption again (although I fully realise I will).
To the second claim, I say this: things don’t get better overnight. You don’t wait for a single candidate, decide to vote, and then suddenly the world changes. It’s a slow and steady plod that begins more with an idea than a grand Ta-da! If you think the country works perfectly and nothing needs to change, then be my guest and don’t vote. If you are a rational human being, however, and realize that our beautiful country is slowly going to pot, then get up off you lazy ass and do something. Read the news; research online; speak to you friends and parents; fucking educate yourself, because contrary to what a life of nachos, Facebook and television has taught you, each candidate differs drastically, each party has its own manifesto, and each potential government has its own ideas regarding the molding of both this country’s and your future. A step in the right direction is still a step. Even if you party doesn’t win, a shift in numbers may cause the ruling party to reevaluate their position and maybe make a few changes for the better.
At worse, you’ve instigated a change in yourself for the better and decided to take a bit of responsibility for your future rather than idling away your life like a kid in the basement with his fingers in his ears while Mom and Dad duke it out upstairs.
|“I voted.” “I didn’t.”|
What’s the difference between the two men above?
One of them voted because he is a responsible adult who justifiably feels the need to exert a little control over his future and that of the country he loves and lives in.
The other is a sewer-dwelling man-child who never registered because he was too busy masturbating to episodes of Pokemon. He calls his dad ‘landlord’. He has never made eye contact with a woman and believes that self-respect is wetting himself while blubbering over his laptop because his mom forgot to restock the Doritos cupboard before his twelve hour Glee marathon.
He is also a closet pedophile, but mentioning that would be mean and irrelevant.
Grow a pair and vote, otherwise you have no right to complain.