Poll: America Fucking with Pollsters

olls conducted by mortal agencies across America are beginning to unravel startling information about polls: They are not always correct, and information is not always given with the most honorable intentions.

This information comes as a shock to pollsters and politicians alike, as some questions have returned information demonstrating the lack of sincerity in responses. A recent Gallup poll on the presidential election found that over 70 percent of respondents described themselves as the head of a their household and reported an annual income of over ten gabillion. According to the latest census information and annual salary figures reported by corporations, determined to be more accurate, less than one percent of the nation actually earns over ten gabillion dollars annually, causing analysts to speculate incorrect information was reported. Backing up this hypothesis is the response to inquiries about the speaker's sex, to which over 97 percent responded "Yes."

Inaccurate polling information leaves some with the feeling that none of the conclusions drawn by polls can be trusted, a disturbing notion for politicians relying on polling information, and an even more troublesome proposition for companies making their money from polling. However, it would explain how polls conducted by different companies can draw different conclusions, such as recent presidential election polls that show the race led by President George W. Bush, candidate John Kerry, or show both tied neck and neck.

"Clearly, someone is fucking with us," said Gallup poll analyst Stephen Herschel. "I guess they think it's funny."

The quandary brings up questions about the similar circumstances of the 2000 election, when Al Gore won a much larger number of votes than predicted in some earlier polls, and less than accorded him by others. Exit polls in Florida also played a significant role in decisions by major news networks to predict Gore the winner of the state, key in the 2000 presidential election, even though the frail polls failed to predict the battle for the state ahead. Herschel, a longtime developer of polling questions for political campaigns, paints a bleak picture of an election with untrustworthy polls.

"A lot of Americans like to vote for the guy who is going to win," Herschel informs. "If they don't have polls to tell them who is going to win, then there is no way for them to make an informed decision about who to vote for. Then there's the nightmare of actually being a candidate running for office and having no polls to rely on. How do you know what to stand for then? How can you reach the voters if you don't have any idea what they want you to say? All you have to fall back on in such a case is personal experience, knowledge of the issues themselves, and leadership qualities. Without polls, you can't preach to the converted."

The concerns about polls beg the question, why in the world would someone not report accurate information to a faceless corporation? Winston-Salem University of North Dakota's Professor Big Jim Dean, of the Department of Psychology, postulates a theory:

"As strange as it seems, we theorize that some people don't realize the value of an accurate poll, or even stranger, could care less about the questions themselves. These people may give inaccurate information on a lark, or to make themselves feel more important than they might by reporting accurately. Others may have their own political agenda, and try to shape the outcome of the poll by giving information that they think will further their own cause, whatever it may be. Alas, these may be the dangers of asking random people their thoughts and feelings on issues. At least, this is the research I've accumulated by talking to my students. And I don't see any reason why they'd make up something like that."

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"Signs, signs, everywhere a sign—and some big guy with a wooden stick to enforce 'em."

I'm eating at this fancy-pants restaurant the other day when the waiter says, "Hey! You can't bring food in here." I thought it was some kind of conundrum or something, like if you can't bring food in then how do all the people get food at their tables. But he was just being a prick because I didn't want to pay their rip-off prices.

I was trying to be all cool about it, so I tell him I'll take a table and eat their food then, but he tells me you need a jacket and tie to eat there. I tell him I got one of each, but he wanted to see them. Which is how they keep people out, I guess. Who's going to know they want to see that stuff before they go out? I wouldn't have thought to take that with me wherever I go.

The more I thought about it, the more I noticed there's all kind of dumb shit like that meant to keep us out of places. Like when places tell you you can't get served without shirt or shoes, then you have one but they always point out you don't have the other. My girlfriend and I went to a place once, I won't name the restaurant, but we went there to eat and I ordered a Big Mac, and one of us had shoes, the other a shirt, but these guys were just assholes about it. Saying the smell of my feet made everyone nauseous and they wouldn't give us any food until she put a shirt on. Eventually we talked them down to a small fries and we didn't even have to pay for it, but it just bugged me that all these rules gotta cramp your style.

Technically, she wasn't my girlfriend. I mean, technically, we were handcuffed together so that's got to count for something, but how do you convey that when you say "my female friend" or something gay like that? If it had been something kinky I could say "my lover" or "my sex slave," but we were just in the same squad car together after the bachelor party. Sure, I could tell people all that stuff, include all the details of breaking out of the car and spending two days hanging out together at her cousin's trailer, but that takes a lot more time and "girlfriend" seems to say the same thing.

Speaking of which, what do they mean in all these personal ads when they tell you what they're looking for. "No losers," shit like that. Hey, I may be a loser by way of never having won anything, but you'll always be a tiny print ad. "No fatties," "non-smoker," "honest," "must have job"—why don't you just ask for a blond Greek god who shits silver dollars? If an honest, non-smoking, athletic man with a job did need a girlfriend, why would he sit around all day reading the personal ads? Unless he's making fun of them, like me and my fat smoking friends do.

Oh, that reminds me. There was this hot, blonde lady wearing one of them Gucci bags or something on the subway—this was Tuesday, maybe. Anyhow, I was all making eye contact with you and everything, and you was holding your purse all close and everything. Was it just me, or did we have like a serious thing going on? Write me here at the commune. Send a photo if you can, preferably a bikini shot.

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I've got to admit something: Sometimes, in the past, for the sake of my career, I've done stuff that didn't exactly make me feel like a big-time actress. I told this to my shrink once (whoops, 'nother secret out of the bag) and she said, "You mean like Who's Your Daddy?" So I didn't talk to her for the rest of the hour. Big waste of money, but I showed her she can't talk to me like that. Of course I'm proud of Who's Your Daddy?, and all the shows and movies I've done. Stuff like Ho's! is the highlight of my career.

I'm talking about some of the less classy stuff I've done, both to keep the money flowing and to keep my name out there—sometimes that's more important than the money. There's some of the infomercials. I'll tell you, if anyone ever mentions the Waffle Messiah thing to me again, I'm going to have yet another scandal on my hands. But there's not much dignity in infomercials, you might know. Then there's the Metallichick comic book, dressing up for those covers. Not that I have anything against a metal bikini. But it's not the best way to make your big comeback.

Everything's changed now, though. I've got the best idea I've ever had—even better than the idea to write my own screenplay (But I'm still working on that, Nancy, so quit chapping my ass). Picture this: Child Star Fantasy Camp. That's right, a special place where kids of all ages (no one over 18) can come to pretend to be special, like the real child stars. Watched over by the world's greatest child star expert, me, Clarissa Coleman. And some various partners, whoever I can find to put up the scratch.

That's the only real complication right now. It's an otherwise perfect idea. It's not going to start without money, though, which means I've got to find some major investors right away. I'm making calls all the time to former child stars, trying to get them all signed on to appear at the camp. Guest speakers, maybe make some counselors out of the lesser stars—DeGrassi Junior High actors and stuff, or the kids from Witch Mountain. None of that solves the money problem at all. You know how child stars are with their money—I might as well be asking Orion Pictures for the moolah.

I've got big plans for this thing. My first big idea was that we get all really big people for the camp, so all the guests, adult or children or whatever (big stupid kids are welcome) will feel 4 feet tall. We've also got tutors for everyone, who hang out on the set and just sort of stare at you while you're on the phone to your agent. Did I mention everyone gets an agent? It's all one guy, so that part will be cheap. But you always feel like you're his favorite client, even if you're one of 200 kids at the camp.

No kidding, this camp will have it all down. We have three different trailers for each kid, and as your ratings climb higher, you can demand a bigger and bigger trailer. Plus all the amenities. M&Ms (blue only), small finger sandwiches, vodka (kids 8 & older only), a personal masseuse, physical trainer, your own personal entourage and a gangsta rapper (every kid needs a bad influence). If you're a really big star (if you paid the really big star fee) you can even get on our simulated Conan O'Brien show, with Eric Roberts as everyone's favorite not-Craig Kilborne talk show host.

After that peak, the real fun starts. The ratings start to dip. The liquor turns into hard drugs, which turns into homemade drugs and crack-mixed-with-heroin (crackoin). And then… cancellation. That means you leave camp—you don't have to go into syndication, but you can't stay here.

I suppose we could build on a whole "level 2" fantasy camp thing, but that would start to be spooky. Like my real life. What happens when you get to the part where you open your own fantasy camp? Reality would probably eat itself, that's what.

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