With exactly one week to go until election day, we’re here for a roundtable discussion with the last undecided voter in Ouray County.
Actually, the table is a rectangle. It’s the linoleum-covered kitchen table of… well, let’s just call him Joe Undecided. Joe, welcome. And also with us today we’ve got Joe’s wife, Mary Jo, his son, Joe, Jr., and Grandpa Undecided.
“The hell I am! I’ve never been more decided in my life!”
Sorry, Grandpa, my mistake. Everybody else decided who they’re voting for?
“Sarah Palin’s hot.”
“Joe, Jr., you watch your mouth, young man. Besides, that’s not the point. The point is, she’s folks, just like us.”
“How can you say that, Joe, when she’s prancing around in that $150,000 wardrobe? And that stuff about having foreign policy experience because she can see Russia from her house? I’m sorry. How gullible does she think I am?”
“I guess she lets her kids go out on dates. Heh, heh.”
“That’ll be enough outta you, young man.”
“I say, throw the bums out! All of ’em!”
“Michelle Obama gets herself pretty dolled up, too. I wonder who’s paying for her outfits, the Communist Workers of the World? He’s a socialist, you know.”
“What’s a socialist?”
“It means you’re too eloquent.”
“No it doesn’t. It means you want to ‘spread the wealth’ around. Take more from the rich and give it to the poor.” “Like Robin Hood?”
“No. Like Sweden.”
“Lotta hot babes in Sweden.”
“I’m warning you, son.”
“I say throw the bums out! Right on their keister! The whole lot of ’em!”
“At the same time, though, I am having a hard time trusting John McCain. When he gets angry his eyes get all bloodshot and want to pop out of his face sometimes.”
“How ’bout that he says he’s proud of those mailers calling Obama a terrorist, and a Muslim? That’s not right.”
“That maybe does cross a line. But that’s the fighter in him, Mary Jo. He’s a fighter to the end. He’s a war hero, for chrissake.”
“Yeah, well, a POW. Did you know he graduated 894th out of 899 in his class at Annapolis? And he crashed three planes before he got shot down? He was a screw-up.”
“You mean maverick. He stands for things. Like less taxes. He will not abide homosexuals getting married. I admire that. I think. Joe, Jr., cover your ears. And he’s all for building that wall down on the border.”
“What, you want to do the yard work yourself now?”
“Don’t change the subject. Obama wants to take away my guns.”
“No, he doesn’t, Sweetie. That’s another desperate smear. McCain used to say just the opposite of some of the things he’s saying now. Seems to me, he’s copying everything Obama has been saying from the beginning. Change. Help out the middle class. Help people stay in their homes. Fix health care. Develop alternative energy…”
“Liars! All of ’em!”
“Hey, Gramps, I heard Obama shot eight out of ten from downtown when he was shooting hoops with soldiers in Kuwait. That’s frickin’ awesome!”
“I don’t know. How does he always stay so cool and calm? Like he was already president. Like he was Tiger Woods.”
“He is like Tiger Woods. He’s extremely good at what he does.”
“And he’s black.”
“OK, OK. I could maybe like the guy. I just don’t know how I’d own up to the boys that I voted for a Democrat.”
“You voted Republican forever, and look what happened.”
“You’re right. And if John McCain says, ‘My friends’ one more time, I’m gonna…”
“Free Soil Party! I like Ike!”
“Dear Grampa. Joe, could you help him back in his chair.”
So, if I may, Joe. Are you any closer to knowing who you’ll be voting for next Tuesday?
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something will happen between now and then that’ll seal the deal.”
“What else could happen, Joe? We find out John McCain and George Bush were separated at birth? Or that Sarah Palin actually went to six junior colleges?”
Grandpa? What do you say?
“Alf Landon. They threw away the mold after Alf Landon.”
And you, Joe, Jr.? I hear you’re voting this year for the first time.
“Eight out of ten from downtown! That’s frickin’ awesome.”