You Can't Vote Whig, So Vote For Me.

Believing the speed limit to be 45 miles-per-hour, I drove an innocent 52 when I passed a cop car on the side of the road. I saw him but I didn't bother braking or changing the way I drove at all because, unless you live in Amish country, seven over the speed limit is not exactly ticket-worthy. There sat the cop in the parked police car, lying in wait like some kind of jungle predator, but with doughnuts. Yes, he was ready for me. (As a matter of fact, and as I found out later, the name on the policeman's badge was "Officer Reddy." Oh, the irony!) After I passed, I glanced in my rear-view mirror just in time to see him flip on his lights and start following me. Fighting the lump in my throat, and the fleeting notion to "floor it," I quickly pulled into the parking lot of a Chinese restaurant and parked while he did the same directly behind me. It crossed my mind that we could settle our problems over steamed rice and tariyaki chicken, but as I found out, this officer was in no such mood.

Long story short, he gave me a ticket for speeding. The posted speed limit was 40, and not 45 like I had thought. This minor technicality boosted my innocent seven miles-per-hour over to a not-so-innocent twelve over. For the first time ever, I had a ticket, a court date, and that overwhelming sense of guilt like after you've had your fourth Twinky.

There's a first time for everything I guess. First speeding ticket, first time voting, first time running for office... What, I didn't tell you? Yes, I'm officially in the running for a major position in this county. It all started the other morning when I sat down at the kitchen table with my Dad to vote. For the first time, mind you. A quick scanning of the various political parties involved in the elections left me disappointed, as I had purposed to vote "Whig." As I have discovered since, the Whig party disbanded in 1850. My disappointment was short lived, however, thanks to the sudden realization that the voter's ballots allow you to fill in the name of a candidate of your own choosing. That's right, any name at all. In other words, all fifty bajillion people in the United States including me can legally run for a political position. Wonderful! Marvelous! Slightly terrifying! My Dad was quick to inform me that as a "responsible citizen," it was my "duty" to "vote" for "politicians" who "might actually win." Needless to say, I found his lack of faith in my potential political career disturbing, but we did reach a fair compromise when he allowed me to vote for myself for one position. Namely, I am running for Director of Water & Sewage in District 5. I admit that it may not be the most glamorous political title to hold, but somebody's got to keep an eye on the darn sewage. Besides, I see it as one step closer to my dream of someday building a water park on the roof of the White House. (I'd call it "The SPLASH of Allegiance!" Catchy, huh?)

For the sake of happy endings, I should also mention that a fair compromise was reached concerning my speeding ticket, too. I went to court (which, by the way, is nothing at all like it is on Matlock), and they told me that I didn't have to pay the full price of the ticket if I just fill out a few papers, attend an all-day traffic safety class, and fight the giant snake.

You'll have to excuse me now; I've got some major political planning to do. You know what they say (and when I say "they" I mean "me"): "Director of Water & Sewage one day, President the next!" Of course, one has to climb the political ladder one rung at a time. Maybe next election I'll just run for Congress or the Supreme Court, which I'm pretty sure is the same as the regular court, but with sour cream and guacamole. In closing, I leave you with these final words of advice...

Vote for me.