A Clear Case of Voter Interference

Okay, so I woke up yesterday morning after a long night of blogging and began the day as I always do. Those of you who have read my previous entries know about my usual breakfast of cable news flakes, so let me just say that I blogged, showered and shaved. As I put on my finest Tuesday-go-to-voting suit I was quivering with anticipation.

Voting is such a wonderful part of the American experience, even with all of the new identification requirements and new-fangled voting apparatus'.

At last, my lunch packed and a paperback novel in my jacket pocket, (in case of long lines at the polling stations) I prepared to exit the house and venture forth into the fray of democracy in action. That’s when it happened...

As I patted down my pockets to make sure I’d forgotten nothing of importance I couldn’t find my wallet. I quickly retraced my steps searching first the kitchen, then the living-room and finally heading back upstairs to look in the bathroom and bedroom. Nothing, it was as if my wallet had simply vanished into thin air. I looked at the nightstand, where I always put my wallet at days end and was dismayed to see nothing but spare change and my watch.

I began to think of where my wallet could possibly have gotten to when suddenly it dawned on me; Evil Republicans had slipped into my home during the night and stolen my billfold. There simply could be no other explanation! Those bastards! How was I going to vote without proper identification? My democratic voice was about to go unheard! Those wily conservatives would stop at nothing to prevent my participation in the voting process. What was I to do?

With only eight-and-a-half hours of voting time remaining I knew that I had to take action and take it quick. Reaching for the phone I did the only thing I could think of; I called C.N.N. and asked for the voter interference hotline. The phone call went something like this...

“C.N.N. voter interference hotline how may I help you?”

“Yes, I‘d like to report an incidence of voter interference, please.”

“What state are you calling from, sir?”

“I’m calling from Ohio.”

“Did you say Ohio, sir?”

“You heard me correctly, I did indeed say, Ohio.”

“We were expecting this, sir and are prepared to help in any way we can. Please hold while I connect you with one of our legal advisors.”

“Harold J. Weinberger here, how may I help you, Mr. Bauman?”

“Yes, I’d like to report an incident of blatant interference with my right to vote.”

“This is in the state of, Ohio?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go ahead and tell me what happened, Mr. Bauman. Do you mind if I take notes?”

Well, I proceeded to tell Mr. Weinberger how I always began every day the exact same way and what a creature of habit I am. I told him about my cable-news-flake-breakfast and my regular blog movement afterwards each and every morning. I told him about waking up, showering and shaving in preparation of going out into the world that very day to participate in the great American process of voting.

“That’s when it happened.”

“What exactly did happen, Mr. Bauman?”

“I discovered that my wallet was missing.”

“Uh, come again, sir?”

“My wallet is missing. I believe republicans have invaded my house during the night and stolen my billfold in an effort to prevent me from voting for the democrats of my choice.”

“Have you spoken to your wife, sir?”

“Are you implying my wife had something to do with this atrocity?”

“Mr. Bauman, we have serious incidents of voter interference to deal with here.”

“I can’t vote without proper identification. Are you saying my vote is of no significance?”

“I’m not saying that at all, Mr. Bauman. I’m simply suggesting that your wife maybe able to shed some light on where your wallet is waiting to be found.”

“I don’t think you understand the severity of my situation, sir.”

“No, sir, I believe I do.” And then he hung up the phone...

The conspiracy appeared to be much larger than I had first imagined.

At that point, fearing that Evil Republicans might in fact still be hiding in my house, I walked quietly to the armoire where I keep my gun. I opened the door on its front and when I looked inside, what do you think I saw? That’s right; exactly where I always place my watch at the end of a day, as if it had been sitting there the entire time, sat my wallet. Chills ran up and down the entire length of my spine. Perhaps the legal advisor I’d talked to had known something after all. The full scope of the nightmare conspiracy finally hit me.

Maybe my wife had more to do with this incident than I would have ever believed possible...

The End?