Voter Turnout in Senate Hits All-Time Low

tories of voter apathy in this off-year election have more merit following Monday's vote in the Senate for an $87.5 billion budget for Iraq reconstruction. The spending package passed with a 5-1 ratio, but only received an estimated 6 votes among the Senators in attendance.

Using the cop-out, or "strategy" known as a voice vote, the Senate skipped the usual procedure of recording who votes for what in the record so as not to embarrass apathetic Senators and possibly damage their chances for re-election or campaign contributions.
Using the voice vote, a verbal "yea" or "nay" or "no fuckin' way nay," Senators kept their names off an official record as being for the Iraq war or against it, so in due time when the majority of the populace reaches consensus on the wisdom of the war they can finally tell us how they really felt.

Some theorize the miniscule number of Senators voting had more to due with disillusionment and disappointment in Congressional legislation, rather than a despicable show of cowardice and political tightrope-walking. For the Senators, the "seniors" of the D.C. school, they've been around the block and seen how the game is played, and their cynicism is manifesting itself in voter apathy.

"It doesn't really matter anyway," said 39-year-old Hunter Whepley (D-SC), "no one ever listens to me. It's not like one vote in the Senate ever made a difference anyway."

The words express what many feel is an unwritten truth in the Senate: Voting is for nerds. Actually, it is a written truth, if you check out the men's room in the Capitol building. But instead of being the attitude of underachieving legislators or a handful of stoner congressmen, many point to the voting record as proof the Senate no longer thinks voting is cool.

"I'm not saying anything against voting," said Montana Republican Rooton Hardsandal, "but when was the last time anybody even passed any good laws or anything? You can't change nothing. The president just does what he wants. The states all do what they want, you can't make a difference. And those assholes in the Congress, they'll vote for anything you put in front of them. Gaylords."

Pennsylvania Senator Eli Keith expressed the lack of power many Senators feel.

"Sure, you can 'yea' or 'nay' a bill until the cows come home, but you know it's got to get approval from the House, and then the dorkwad president has to agree to it. And by that time, like, a hundred riders have been attached to it making it so it's illegal to smoke frogs or something, whatever some jerks in the back think is funny. Then, if you actually do show up, and nobody does, all the other Senators hear about it and get on your jock about it. I don't really care what everyone else thinks, but I don't want to be the only guy voting besides Robert Byrd. That old fossil votes for everything. I guess when you actually get Medicare you give a shit whether it passes or not."

Some peppy strategists on other congressional committees have proposed ideas to win bored Senators back to voting, including a Senatorial "Rock the Vote" special on C-Span, with guests like Nelly and Coldplay, or luncheons with motivational speakers like Tony Robbins to espouse the virtues of showing up to vote. The problem, according to Senators who wished to remain anonymous, is all those ideas are super-lame, and organized by king dinks of Dinktopia, doing more against voting than for it.

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I have never had my fingers pulled off one by one through my asshole. My wife Arvelyn used to tell me I should not knock things until I have tried them at least once, but I dare to say the experience is one I would not like even without trying it.

To avoid such an unwelcome new experience I have agreed to occasionally drop off packages for my new in-laws, i.e. the mob, to cohorts of theirs. Their reasoning was quite sound, even complimentary: "Rok, you are such a square as would not bat the eye of a policeman or G-man like Eliot the Ness, eh?" That's how my new cousin-in-law Yogi put it, and I agree. The police have no reason to suspect me for being a bagman for the vaguely-Russian mob. But it is exactly the case now.

The shame of it all! And imminent danger. Me, Rok Finger, champion of all things stodgy and establishment, delivering goofballs for no-goodniks! As I've made implicitly clear, the possible involvement in the Eurasian mafia by my wife Felchyana in no way diminished my love for her, but I cannot stomach doing wrong to the law. Unless I personally profit from it, for that's the American way, but being threatened into dishonesty, that's just plain… well, dishonest.

It's too bad to be forced to do favors for the mob in such a reprehensible way. Their might be some charm in robbing an armored truck or something fanciful like that. There might be a smidgen of honor in doing something like the old fashioned, pre-GoodFellas gangsters would have taken part in. Rolling in barrel after barrel of illegal Canadian booze and firing a tommy gun at thick packs of Irish cops. Who would object to that? If only those damned teetotalers hadn't lost all their power in Congress.

But there's nothing respectable about hard drugs, like marijuana. Pot kills brain cells and makes people act like complete assholes. It has none of the charm of hard liquor. Plus, it's frequently used by hippies—if you need a bigger case than that against it, I don't know where you're coming from. Hippie-lover. So, in addition to threatening to de-finger me and making my new marriage more complicated than it had originally been, these mob thugs have put me on a pro-hippie bandwagon. That I will not tolerate.

With all doors closed to me, some slammed violently on my feet, I have turned back to my reliable old friends Lee and Camembert. Well, I've turned to Camembert—Lee was busy with another tour date for his new book, written under the pen name of Daili Lama. All of Camembert's suggestions were lame, of course, such as contacting the FBI or telling the local police force, but it was good to have someone I could boss around again, even for a little while. I would probably ask him to move in with Felchyana and I, but Yogi might take a liking to him and make him capo or something. That's the last thing I need.

So right now, in this little mob war I'm going through, Camembert is my secret weapon. The secret being what he's capable of doing against the mob, and I wish I was in on that secret. But it's good to have an ace in the hole, and Camembert can be a huge ace-hole when called upon. My plan as for right now is to play along with Yogi and the gang, deliver the packages and betray no disloyalty, while figuratively hiding Camembert up my sleeve. We tried it literally and even without the wheelchair there's no way he'll fit.

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Ever since the beginning of time, man has wondered at a way to know exactly what time it is. "Is it even really the beginning of time?" he wondered. What if it was the end of time, or the middle? No point in plowing the field today if it's going to be the end of time. But you probably shouldn't party too hard if it's just the beginning, since that's a long time to spend hung over. And, come to think of it, what time of the day is it? I could be late for the orgy.

In medieval times, it was believed that one could tell time by throwing rocks at a calf. If the calf was unaffected by being hit with the rocks, it was nighttime. If the calf became agitated, it was noted that the time was daytime. If the calf was hit in the head and died instantly, it was exactly noon, and time for sandwiches.

The ancient Sumerians are thought by many to be the first culture on the planet to take timekeeping seriously, but this is doubted by many who knew them. The Sumerians were famous bullshitters, and they also claimed to have invented the elevator, the toaster oven and rock 'n roll. Conversations with ancient Sumerians are said to have been infuriating affairs, since they constantly interrupted with comments like "Yep, invented that" and "No way, we had that a long time ago. Seriously, like a million years ago. You guys are just getting that now?" The Sumerians were eventually killed off by the Egyptians, who didn't know what time it was but knew how to kick a lot of ass.

When they ran out of ass to kick, the Egyptians grew bored and became obsessed with making sure their breakfast wasn't late. This was no simple task since nobody ever had any idea what time it was, so when they wanted to know they had to ask the king, who made up a number in a confident-sounding voice. Eventually the king got tired of people asking all the time and he ordered the Egyptian scientists to build some kind of magic device to tell the time while he was taking his naps.

As was their solution to everything, the Egyptian scientists built a pyramid. This didn't do them any good at all. But when the pyramid collapsed due to faulty rock stacking, they noticed that the pile of rubble cast a different shadow depending on the time of day. The scientists quickly put this discovery to use, hiding in the shadow and popping out to scare the holy shit out of any villagers who happened to wander by.

After several years of this routine, a scientist named Obel-Ra noticed that every time they scared a certain villager on his way to get water from the river, the scientists always found themselves crouching in the shadow next to the same urine stain in the sand left over from the Great Supa-Scare of 3551 B.C. While pondering the relevance of this information, Obel-Ra missed his cue and the villager went unscared for the first time in several years. Obel-Ra was promptly kicked off the scaring team and ostracized from the Egyptian scientific community.

Ostracism, while bad for your social life and your skin, does tend to afford one plenty of time to ponder scientific insights. And if it weren't for Obel-Ra's banishment, we might still be wondering today when to take our two o'clock break. Luckily for us, Obel-Ra used his time alone to ponder his discovery and develop a timekeeping device he called the Obelisk. Egyptian for "Obel's Man-Handle," the Obelisk was a tall, four-sided tapered monument that Obel-Ra advertised as "actual size, ladies." During the daytime, the Obelisk would cast a shadow over a set of lines on the ground, which would indicate the hour of the day. And at night, what do you care what time it is? You're drunk. Go home and go to bed.

Though the Obelisk made Obel-Ra famous and revolutionized Egyptian life, it was not without its flaws. For example, during the winter, when the sun's arc through the sky kept closer to the horizon, it was always four o'clock. Rather than doubt the almighty Obelisk, most Egyptians just changed their working hours to 7am-3:30pm during the winter, which meant they were always just getting off work and never had to do anything they didn't want to do.

Obel-Ra, however, was keenly aware of the problem, and he spent the next years slaving away in an attempt to develop a better timekeeper. After 20 years he finally perfected the sundial: a small, portable device that used a style pointed at the north celestial pole to cast a shadow which accurately told the time year-round. However, when Obel-Ra was on his way to show his new invention to the King, a scientist hopped out from behind a pile of rubble and startled Obel-Ra so badly that he dropped the sundial, which was destroyed. Obel-Ra was again ostracized after beating the man to death with his own leg, and he kept his inventions to himself after that.

Eventually somebody else figured out how to make a sundial, and people pretended like it worked for hundreds of years until the first wristwatch was fished out of a Chinaman's ass in 1841, changing timekeeping history forever.

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