Voting Mishap Results in Decapitation of Democratic Gubernatorial Candidate

hild, like Florida needed another election blunder!

Hot on the heels of Thursday's admission that 100,000 votes in Broward county went uncounted until Wednesday, it was revealed Friday that Democratic gubernatorial candidate Bill McBride was actually killed by a voting booth.

McBride, a lawyer and political novice who ran unsuccessfully against Governor Jeb Bush, was voting in his home county when a reportedly faulty ballot machine handle swung back and beheaded the hopeful Democrat. It was not revealed if the unlucky son of a bitch was voting for himself or his opponent.

"We would have mentioned it sooner," said election official Marjoe Ramsey, "but we figured everyone had bad enough news to deal with, what with the Republicans winning everything."

"And…?" said an older woman standing nearby, possibly Ramsey's mother.

Ramsey continued, "And we thought we'd get hollered at."

The dead Democrat fuck-up comes at a particularly bad time for Florida, still the butt of everyone's jokes after being the focus of the 2000 catastrophe that left George W. Bush the "winner" of that election. Florida's problems with computer-based ballots early this year proved voting errors were still possible, and the loss of 100,000 uncounted votes in Broward county was yet another screw-up that resulted in somebody's ass getting fired and leaving Florida unreliable to do in the future what 49 other states (and the District of Columbia) seem to have no problem with.

"Bill McBride was a good Democrat, and probably a good person," said McBride's primary opponent and possible drag queen Janet Reno. "It's a shame this had to happen to him. But if you're not tough enough for the voting booth, maybe you're not tough enough for Florida. I can't believe he ran against me! I could've beaten Jeb Bush. 'Jeb Bush.' Pussy silver spoon-chewing vote-hiding queerbait."

Jeb Bush, Florida governor and presidential brother, was told of the voting irregularities Friday and acted dismayed.

"Damn! Sorry to hear about that. I would have won anyway, you know." Bush shook his head and made a huffing noise. "I suppose now I know why I never got a concession phone call or nothing. Darn shame, folks. My condolences go out to his family, and to anyone else possibly killed voting, not to mention all the Jews and old folks whose votes and stuff got lost or misplaced. I guarantee all of these voting problems in Florida will be taken care of before I become president."

Plans for funeral arrangements for McBride are yet to be made, but expected to be carried out by next weekend. Currently Florida election officials are still searching polling places for the head. If found, please mail it to the Florida Electoral College or take it directly to Governor Jeb Bush.

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Hey, Shorty, you got you another one o' them Moon Pies? No? Well, how 'bout you break me off a piece o' that one, then, huh? That looks like a good 'un... you can tell 'cause the chocolate's kinda turned color, like it's been in the wrapper for a couple months. That's when Moon Pies is best. Just like them marshmallow chicks and bunnies you get for Easter. I like to eat them about July or August or so. That's when they's best.

You know what they oughta make, Shorty? Marshmallow frogs and crawdads, is what. I betcha them'd sell real good. You could buy 'em to eat, or you could use 'em for bait. Yessir, I bet them'd be real popular.

You know, speakin' o' bait, d'I ever tell you about that time Jimmy Wayne and Everett was out fishin', and Jimmy Wayne won the Catfish Contest? That was the damnedest thing I ever did hear, and I heard some pretty weird stuff in my time, Shorty, you know I'm tellin' the truth about that. Ask anybody. Like how just the other night, Jimmy Wayne and Everett was out giggin' frogs, and Everett mistook ol' Jimmy Wayne's bare foot in the water for a frog, and he stabbed his gigger clean through it? You hear about that? Everett says it was a pure-dee accident, and that he ain't to blame anyway, on account o' him only havin' one eye and all. 'Course that don't mean much to ol' Jimmy Wayne at the time, 'cause there he is standin' in three feet o' water with a frog gigger stuck through his foot and blood gushin' out of it and all. Jiminy Christmas, he was mad. He was so mad he was vivid. I guess once they got that gigger out o' his foot, he was hoppin' mad.

But it ain't like he can say much to ol' Everett, after what happened in the Catfish Contest a few years back. You never heard about that, huh? Oh yeah. That's why ol' Everett wears that eyepatch, the one that makes him look like Blackboard the pirate.

See, they was fishin' in Jimmy Wayne's secret spot, but they wasn't havin' much luck. It was the last day o' the contest, and neither one o' them had anything worth throwin' on a scale. They was tryin' every kind o' bait they was; stink bait, chicken livers that sat in the sun too long, mackerel, nightcrawlers, doughballs and corn, everything, and they wasn't havin' much success. Ol' Jimmy Wayne was gettin' pretty frustrated, it bein' his lucky secret spot and all, and he was just about to give it all up and throw his whole rig in the water and go home. He figured he'd give it one more shot, though, and he loaded up his hook with a big ol' chicken liver. Only thing was, that chicken liver had sat too long, and had got kinda runny, so when he flipped his line back, it just went sailin' off his hook. He didn't even notice that, he just whipped his line around and cast it out as far as he could. Well, ol' Everett was sittin' right there, and that hook caught him square in the eyeball. Just ripped his whole eyeball right outta his head, clean as you could pull it out with a pair o' pliers.

Jimmy Wayne still didn't notice what had happened, so he just let that line fly, with ol' Everett's eyeball hangin' off his hook and everything. The line hit the water, and just as fast as a ol' jackrabbit humps his second cousin, the biggest catfish in the river swallows up ol' Everett's eyeball and is hooked but good. Everett stars screamin', on account o' all of a sudden he ain't got but one eye, and there's blood all over his face, and Jimmy Wayne starts screamin' 'cause he's just hooked into the biggest catfish this side o' the one that swallowed Jonah, and so there they was, both standin' there screamin' their fool heads off, with Jimmy Wayne thinkin' that Everett's screamin' about the fish and Everett thinkin' Jimmy Wayne's screamin' about his lost eyeball.

Well, it was a mess, but Jimmy Wayne was able to bring that fish in, and that's how he won the Catfish Contest. He used some o' the money he won to buy Everett that eyepatch, and he threw in a case o' Dixie beer on top of it, just 'cause he felt so bad. They was able to get ol' Everett's eyeball outta the catfish once Jimmy Wayne brought it down to the bait shop and weighed it, but by then it wasn't much good to Everett. Hell, it wasn't much good to the catfish by then, neither. Ol' Jimmy Wayne wanted to take it and use it for bait again, but Everett didn't much appreciate that idea.

That's why we always tell ol' Everett to keep a eye out for a nice catfish. You heard me say that to him before, right Shorty?

You know what they oughta make, Shorty? Marshmallow eyeballs. I bet them'd sell real good down at the bait shop. I betcha Jimmy Wayne'd buy 'em by the dozen.

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Exhibit A:
Don Henley's 1984 hit "All She Wants to Do Is Dance"

Alternate-Universe Song Titles:
"The Way," "She's Oblivious to Her Surroundings," or "Bitch Snorted All My Traveler's Cheques Up Her Nose"

Separated at Birth:
Gary US Bonds, "She Just Wants to Dance"

Verdict:
All Don Henley wants to do is teach.

Lyric Sample:
And all she wants to do is dance
and make romance
She can't feel the heat comin' off the street
She wants to party (oooo)
She wants to get down (oooo)
And all she wants to do is-
And all she wants to do is dance


Analysis:
To the listener of average intelligence, and by average I mean low, and by low I mean lower than a hummingbird zipping under a snake's anus, this song's lyrics make not one iota of rational sense. Where does this narrator go for a vacation, Beirut? And who'd he bring with him, Jennifer Beals? Though the close proximity of this album's debut and the release of the Beals epic Flashdance makes this one of a handful of intriguing possibilities, one oughtn't mistake serendipity for kismet in this instance. So then, what? Is dancing just a metaphor for something else in this song's supposititious world? Sex? Drugs? Who is this woman, a hooker? A dope addict? A hooking dope addict? A doping hook ad- you get my point. "Dance" could mean anything in this context, except of course for actual dancing. Because if that were case, then the song would just be stupid. Beefheaded. Duncical. And this is coming from the man who wrote "Take it Easy," so I'm disinclined to take that exegetical leap of faith.

But then, the question lingers. Why the gun-running theme? Did Don Henley get a little too wrapped up in the fact that the only job available to former members of the Eagles in the 80's was writing songs for Eddie Murphy movies? Sad this, if true.

Some believe the song to be written in protest of the U.S. government's involvement with the Contras in Nicaragua, and the dolorous popular American apathy to the government's actions and the plight of those wretched souls sucking up oxygen in the less-fortunate corners of our rondure. Could this hold the song's true meaning? Sure, if you only want to listen to the song on its most obvious, cursory level. If that be your wont, I'm not one to stop you. Assuming I could. You go ahead and have fun with your bubble gum and NASCAR, little soul. For discerning listeners, however, the song has a deeper hidden message.

They're pickin' up the prisoners and puttin' 'em in the pen
And all she wants to do is dance, dance
Rebels been rebels since I don't know when
And all she wants to do is dance


It has always seemed to me that this single verse of Henley's effectively serves to sweep away much of the nonsense that passes for "Western Thought," a thought that one is sometimes tempted to feel has always been in fundamental error about almost everything.

Molotov cocktail-the local drink
And all she wants to do is dance, dance, dance
They mix 'em up right in the kitchen sink
And all she wants to do is dance


Leave it to Henley to show us the simple, unvarnished truth about modern life. There are two kinds of people: those able to face the truth and those who prefer comforting illusions. The second group, which is by far the largest, will surely not like this verse at all, for it brings the very unwelcome news that man is merely an accidental product of evolution and that the only thing special about him is an explosive tenor for violence, for he is the Molotov cocktail of the evolutionary broth, hardwired with a destructiveness which will soon lead to his extinction.

Crazy people walkin' round with blood in their eyes
And all she wants to do is dance, dance
Wild-eyed pistol wavers who ain't afraid to die
And all she wants to do is dance


More of the same from the West's answer to Confusious and Mai Bop. Truly a verse to which to listen, ponder, rewind, and relisten. A suppressed masterpiece.

Well, the government bugged the men's room
in the local disco lounge
And all she wants to do is dance, dance
To keep the boys from sellin' all the weapons they could scrounge
And all she wants to do is dance


Readers should be aware that there have been several editions of this verse. In its original form, documented in several early bootleg recordings and Henley's own personal notes, the word "selling" was spelled out in its entirety, with the subtle truncation that would follow in the studio version shifting the crux of this song on its very axis, presumably the result of Henley bowing to lamentable commercial pressures. I've always preferred the purity of the song's original construction and meaning, as I'm sure have others.

But that don't keep the boys from makin' a buck or two
And all she wants to do is dance, dance
They still can sell the army all the drugs that they can do
And all she wants to do is dance


Here Henley pulls off the deft trick of turning around the looking glass, flipping the perspective and making the listener aware that they are, in fact, peering into the unfathomable depths of their own soul. After all, who has never compromised the very pillars of his humanity for a buck or two? We are, in other words, given not only text but context, that living context without some knowledge of which we will never be able to fully appreciate the brilliancies of these lyrics. One is left wondering just who is keeping this masterpiece off the airwaves. And why...?

Well, we barely made the airport for the last plane out
As we taxied down the runway I could hear the people shout
They said, "Don't come back here Yankee!"
But if I ever do- I'll bring more money
'Cause all she wants to do is dance


So puffed up are we with arrogance, so obsessed with the illusion that we are at the tip of a mythical 'evolutionary tree', so proud of our technical achievements (airplanes) and contemptuous of life forms which seem to get along without the aid of technology (non-Americans), it has become almost impossible for the average person to accept the fact that foreigners, far from being wholly other than us, are our fellows. What is required, then, is not knowledge but something far more difficult for us moderns - what is required is a shift of attitude, and a great deal of patience.

Ah, and finally the chorus! That beautiful thing, I can hardly bring myself to discuss the chorus as I've only heard it all too recently and haven't had time to recover my measured poise. Unfortunately I've also just been informed by the commune that I'll be unable to make this column any longer, as it has reportedly clogged their servers and has already run at greater length than some entire previous issues. Ingrateful wombats.

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Dr. Joyce Pickles, M.D.P.S.T., received her degree in psychology from U.S. Zoological College in Burnt Harbor, Maine. She contributes to the commune from time to time for the perverse, kinky thrill of slumming.

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