Train Of Thought

The conclusion, once reached, is typically traceable through what most people refer to as a train of thought, that is to say, the thoughts that one had, how they connected, and how they led from one to the next until their conclusion was arrived upon. The Latin phrase for this phenomenon, Conjunctabunkus, is apt in its description.1

So why did I vote for Bush the last time around?2

Well, considering my mind was unmade and I had spent very little time reading media releases, watching debates, or listening to the radio or watching television during the last election, I knew very little about the two major candidates going into the voting booth. 3

I had, the night before, tried to cram in order to reach the most socially conscientious decision. After hours of slurping coffee, poring over various publications, looking up standpoints and convictions of each candidate online, and watching a late night news release, I needed several bong rips to ease my mind and convince myself that the world was not going to end the next morning.4

So I woke up late and with a foggy mind on Election Day, unable to remember which candidate stood for what or aspired to which. As the day went on, I quickly forgot which candidate was leading my internal voter polls, in fact, I even forgot that it was election day, managing through sheer serendipitous means to avoid being confronted with the fact that it was the day to cast my vote.5

Upon arriving home from work that day I was confronted by my then wife's "I voted" sticker which she had fashionably affixed to the shoulder strap of her tasteful maternity halter-top.6

Visually repulsed and urgent to leave the house, I mumbled something about forgetting to vote and turned on my heel and walked briskly to my car, where I lit a cigarette, poured a coffee from my thermos and drove off shaking my head.7

What the hell was wrong with women these days? I mean, what is sexy about a big fat disgusting pregnant stomach? Why would there even be such a thing as a maternity halter-top? I could understand fetishes, but why on earth would anyone in their right mind find it possible to find anyone, no matter how pregnant, to be sexy. Why show it off at all?8

I mean, I reasoned, I was no saint. No strictly meat and potatoes guy. Not by a long shot. I mean I was edgy as the next guy, maybe more so. I like to choke a woman while making love. A little donkey punching, no problem. Fisting? You got it. Hell yeah I like butt sex. Yeah I go down. I go down like a chump in a fixed fight. But some things are just too dirty.9

Like pregnant women. It’s gross. I mean, I wouldn't wait till my kid was ten, open his bedroom door while he was sleeping and wag my dick just over the threshold. I sure wouldn't lay on the couch with my kid and her mom and hump her mom while she was right there. What's the difference between that and nailing a pregnant chick?10

(Here I must clarify I'm not turned off when the kid isn't mine)11

All these thoughts passed through my mind as I drove to the polls, shaking my head in consternation and mumbling what a sick world we live in. Why, there were serial killers, rapists, pedophiles, and all other kinds of sick people out there. They were voting too. I wondered what criteria, what secret movements they were aware of that these politicians were a part of that determined their votes. Would Ted Bundy have voted pro life or choice?12

I laughed out loud at the thought, remembering last night's rerun of married with children, when Al Bundy was reliving his glory days, telling his kids how he had scored four touchdowns in a single game as the running back at Polk High.13

I parked my car with the thought still fresh in mind and ambled up to the small village building, giving a cowboy style six shooter finger gun wave to nobody in particular.14

I laughed to myself, realizing how ridiculous I probably looked, then smiled at how amusing I would find it to be watching someone doing exactly what I was doing.15

Inside, I found the registry, found my name, picked up my ballot and went into the booth, drawing the little curtain behind me. I went through the ballot, casting votes willy-nilly left and right on issues and local and state and lesser federal posts until I came to the presidential ballot.16

I thought of my friend Chad and his dimples, as I recalled how he wouldn't be allowed to vote in Florida for some reason that year. Which was fine, as he is a resident of Ohio, and not a registered voter anyways. Still, the thought of him being turned away by the poles made me upset. Who did they think they were? I mean they are the butt of every ethnic joke that doesn't have anything to do with black people or Jewish people.17

Oh well, I wrinkled my brow as I looked over the list of names. Nader, Kerry, Bush.18

I couldn't vote Nader, it sounder too much like Nadir, and I hate math and anything that could conceivably have anything to do with it and since I couldn't remember the definition of nadir, decide that it was probably associated with the mathematical sciences and I couldn't vote for Ralph. I mean, who's named Ralph anyways, certainly not the president of the greatest country in North America, not on my watch. Ralph was out.19

Kerry or Bush?20

Well, it may be spelled differently but an automatic mark against Kerry was being phonetically identical to a killer car in a Stephen (Why is it pronounced Steven by the way) King novel. And I prefer them shaved so there was a mark against Bush right off the bat too.21

Someone coughed for attention outside of my booth and I turned, irritation making my voice ugly.22

"Don't rush me!"23

"Nobody's rushing you, it's a free country." Came the reply.24

Free country my ass I'm voting BUSH!!! And when you go cast your vote this next October, don't be disappointed when three months afterwards, Mad Dog George declares himself dictator for life. 25

And I knew it way back when.26