felidae

As I begin this sentence I find myself one and a half hours into the second time in my life where what I think might, just might, make a difference. Today I vote.

I dont even begin to think that which candidate I choose will matter, because I live in an area so unbelievably riddled with Labour voters that Tony Blair would probably cum in his pants should he set foot within ten miles of my house. However, I could never NOT vote, because to refuse to vote is to refuse to have an opinion, and refusing to have an opinion is justmoronic. If every American citizen I knew had voted against Bush, and persuaded just one other person to do the same thing, and they done similarjust THINK of the possibilities. The average IQ of our world leaders would have gone from Forrest Gump toerWinnie the Pooh. At least! Just think: if Id managed to get my Ex to vote against Bush we may have saved ourselves from being in a situation where, should aliens land and request a meeting with The King Of Earth we might not be stuck with someone whose immediate response would be to giggle and page his friends to come look at the funny people.

Politics matters.

Actually, no, for the large part, it doesnt. Vast swathes of law could be right now getting fed through a paper-shredder and used in a supremely childish indoor snowball-fight by clerks, and nobody would ever know. England has a law which states a Welshman attacking someone standing on the steps of Chester Magistrates Court may be killed legally, so long as its done with a longbow. Who cares? Maybe a really bored murderer, but thats it.

Politicians are bastards wrapped in a shell of bastard concealing a creamy centre of purest bastard. None of them deliver what they promise, and few even deviate from the vast round of hairpulling and name-calling the election swiftly degenerates to once a date has been set. Nearly all parties are elected according to the one major thing they have/havent done during their previous term; the one major thing that sticks in peoples memories long after every single person involved has become dust.

So today I shall brave a short queue and the beady eyed stares of the Polling Station volunteers (Womens Institute Member, Bowling Green Warden and Man With Food In His Beard), to ignore the elderly ladies of a certain age who believe, erroneously, that anyone with more than two piercings should be stricken from humanity. I shall brandish my voting form with great pomp, and strut into the cubicle to place my cross firmly in my chosen candidates space. Then, I shall proudly march back past the line of packed-lunch-eating curtain-twitchers, place it in the ballot box and parade back to my car, knowing I have had my say in the affairs of the universe.

My vote will mean nothing. But I will use it.

I will use my vote because not to vote means not to try. I will use it because I live in a country where ordinary people, yes, even idiots, have a say. I will use it because perfectly ordinary women, and men before them, suffered and died just so I can sit around and write rants about the ineptitude of all the candidates and why none of them deserve twenty seconds of my time, much less twenty minutes of my writing. To be able to vote is a privilege, even if it seems wasted, it is my voice to speak out with.

A single candle can dispel great darkness.

It may also light farts. Vote well, and prosper.

Fun Felidae Fact: As a child I featured in the local newspaper, pictured with our (then) Conservative candidate. As an adult I was refused to be allowed to shake our (current) candidates hand. Apparently small children are more photogenic than SuicideGirls. I fail to see the logic.