Voodoo Voting

We can’t believe we actually did it! We cast our
precious vote for George W. Bush, the incarnation of political evil,
the antithesis of everything we believe in. What could have possibly
possessed us? Will we burn in hell for this?

It was surprisingly easy, after the agonizing moral
gymnastics leading up to the election. We simply marched over to the
Armenian Church across the street, a mere fifty strides from our front
door, and declared our name. No ID required, but the poll workers did
make us remove our "%#*&! BUSH" button. We took the proffered ballot
into the tiny booth and did the deed.

Here in Massachusetts we are given cheap felt-tipped
pens and instructed to connect the dots between the candidates name
and an arrowhead to its right. We voted for a number of lackluster Democrats,
but wrote in the Dowbrigade for a number of single-candidate races (we
have a instinctual distrust of any election with only one candidate)
and our old college roommate Britt for Sheriff (a long story). And then,
finally, unable to delay any longer, we connected the dots for old George.
As we did, we whispered a little prayer: "Goodbye, George."

Our reasoning is simple, if twisted. It seems the Dowbrigade
has a deeply ingrained talent for picking losers in US Presidential races.  Six
times running, going back to Reagan over Carter, we have managed to vote
for the loser. This is no time to change our technique.

25 years of losing is a grand tradition and a heavy
burden to bring to a race as close as this. That’s a lot of negative
Mojo built up over six election cycles and consistently idealistic selection.
Perhaps, if we can’t change our luck, we can change our strategic thinking.
This time we will cast our vote with cold, calculating Karma in mind.

It would be a shame not to use all that negative Mojo
for something constructive. So we are bequeathing it to George W. He
doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning Massachusett’s 10
electoral votes, even with our vote and an extra million others. If our
vote, and
the six-cycle charge of loser’s luck that goes with it, can produce one
iota of Karmic harm to  Bush’s chances, it’s worth the gallant gesture.

Like all truly gallant gestures this one comes with a price.
The first people we told of our plan, the tech twins in the computer closet at work,
told us we’d better pray Bush didn’t win, because if he did they would string
us up with coaxial cable. We hope they mean win Massachusetts. When we
told our dear Mom, she almost hung up the phone on the spot.  We
could tell she wanted to, but it would have been unprecedented, and rude.
Still, she threatened to disown and disinherit us if this doesn’t
work. These tough karmic calls inevitably involve a heavy price for betting
wrong.

If it DOES work, and we are karmically responsible for
Bush’s defeat, we expect a Cabinet Position (Education? Homeland Security?),
or at least a juicy, top-shelf, Haliburton-type contract to teach proper English
to everybody in Iraq, and we don’t mean just the G.I.s.

So here we sit,
glued to the tube and feeling personally responsible for the results
of the election. The games mean so much more when you’ve got something
real riding on the outcome.