Election Reroute

I can hardly wait for the live streaming of the recount of the 2020 Arizona election retreads on Offal Air Network.

It’s taken so long, even the Cyber Ninja Turtles are dying of boredom. However, I’m willing to bet my Barbie Doll House (where I keep my private collection of intelligent designer toys from ages ago) that the auditors manage to find 11,780 votes for Donald Trump that were lost in the Maricopa County shuffle, which would more than suffice to give Trump the victory, since Joe Biden won the Grand Canyon state by a slender margin of 10,457.

Unfortunately, all but one of those votes were added on in Georgia, while Brad Raffensperger was tied to a chair, gagged and handcuffed, and locked in a bunker with Marjorie Taylor Greene, then flown west to serve as proxy votes until such time as Stacey Abrams agrees to take Raffensperger’s place and sacrifice herself as a martyr to the cause of collective insanity. (Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms cast the other vote, to save Abrams from ever having to drive through Dalton, even at high speed).

Whether those 11,780 votes count in either jurisdiction, let alone in both, is, as the Supreme Court has ruled (cf. Sleaze vs. Sludge, 1776 U.S. Rt. 66), “highly problematic.” But in the worst case — which we are rapidly nearing, as if the edge of the abyss were only a few yards from the approach to the South Rim — at least we know where to dump all those votes. Provided it doesn’t violate an EPA regulation against political pollution or desecrate what was once sacred land — that is, until Coronado gave the New World Disorder a head start on the 1619 Project, 80 years before colonialism became offal, er, official.

Meanwhile, if Trump wants those 11 electoral votes, I’m all for rigging something up, simply to satisfy him. Give him a fairway chance to finish first by making a hole-in-one at Kaibab Country Club, where the water hazard is 3,600 feet below the tee, and the pins are neatly spaced along the needles of stately Saguaros. Even if he doesn’t win the race, he’ll be in his cups — unlike the rest of us losers, who are still teed off at the world, yet stuck in the sand.

John Thomas
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