My Semi-Fictional Life #37 (I Goddamn Voted)

Hello, my demented democracy-crazed demigods. I goddamn motherfucking voted. I said I was #BernieorBust, but once I got in there, goddamn it, I caved. I voted for the lesser of two evils. Not telling you who. That’s my business.

My mother had an interesting interaction with a person at her voting location today. Dude wanted to see her ballot, and when she refused to show him, he rather adamantly told her “Just don’t fold it!” Talk about a WTF moment. She has no clue if the dude was a poll worker or not. She didn’t even catch whether or not he had a “I betoV” sticker or not. You didn’t get a “I betoV” sticker? Shame. I did.

Anyfuck, I know I said I would have some flash fiction for you. I’m sorry, but I must let you down this evening. Maybe tomorrow. If it makes you feel any better, I’m waiting on my editor to send the piece back to me. I don’t blame them for not sending it today, I just needed someone to throw under the bus. “Choo, choo, motherfucker!”

Buses go choo choo, right?

I managed to write today. 2,096 words, which might be the year America recovers from this presidency. That pushes my word count for NaNoWriMo up to 17,215, like a boss. Way ahead of schedule, which is good, because my bunker isn’t the most optimum of writing locations and I might just be down there permanently come tomorrow. Did I mention I live in the south? Did I mention they’re talking about rioting if a certain orange-flavored candidate doesn’t beat the two-faced one?

I’ll be so glad when tomorrow rolls around and we have a few years between now and the next one. I just want this shit to be over.

Excerpt time…


Maybe there was a simple answer to all of this. Maybe he could not respond. Possibly he’d had a stroke and was currently fighting for his life on the kitchen floor. Or he’d had a heart attack in the garage while working on some new book or short story.

Or… or… or…

I know, I know, it’s nothing fantastic. It can’t all be gold.

See you tomorrow,


Pic of the Day

I betoV


P.S. Don’t tell Al Kunz I voted for someone who might actually win. His last screw might come loose.