Whatever

Alternate title: Strategic "Boating" Would Be Easier. Like a Game of Battleship.

Alternate, alternate title: After This Election, I think You Should Stop Blogging for a While. Maybe See Somebody. You Know, Just to Talk.

Okay. This is most likely my last post before The Big Day. To sum up my what I've shared so far:

1. I'm not voting conservative.
2. I'd rather not vote Liberal.
   
3. I have some options.

But, in case it's not been abundantly clear, there's one overarching sentiment that I'm feeling with every fibre of my being...

Thought 4: I'm seriously considering gouging my eyes out with a grapefruit spoon.

Really. It's that bad. And nobody is making this any easier.

Take Jack Layton's oft-repeated warning in these final days of the campaign: "You can't trust the smoking hulk of a defeated Liberal Party to keep the Conservatives in check." Excuse me -- smoking hulk? What does that even mean? Do cigarettes and Marvel characters suddenly have something to do with this election? What's next -- Duceppe's a boozing Spiderman? Harper a gambling Captain America? (Oh, wait a minute... that last one sorta works.)

Then there's Paul Martin's call to all progressive voters to band together to defeat the Conservative agenda. All fine and strategic, except that his definition of "progressives" is a bit of a stretch in that it includes Liberals, NDPers, Greens -- and the undecided. Mind you, I guess we don't know the undecided aren't against Stephen Harper. (They might be. They just won't say.) Hey, why not throw in some other folks who have also been tight-lipped on their voting intentions in this election: babies, the unborn, citizens of Estonia? The deceased? Wow, if we unite this left, Pauly's gonna win a landslide!

And don't get me started on Buzz Hargrove. Let me see if I have this right: On account of the fact that the separatists would be buoyed by the decentralist tendencies of a Conservative government, Quebeckers should defeat the separatists... by voting for separatists. Way to show those secessionist bastards, eh? Every vote for them will be a nail in their own coffin.

That's kinda out there. Really, I might as well get voting advice from Buzz Lightyear. Or maybe Buzz Aldrin. You remember him: second man on the moon, has a haircut named after him. (Actually, turns out his advice might involve punching out anyone who disagrees with me. We can only hope this isn't a lesson he teaches in his new children's book.)

Mind you, it might feel good to punch somebody. I'm not making any threats here, but let's just say that Harper, Martin, Duceppe and Layton are all lucky that I've started taking yoga again. But don't get in my aura.

And on that not completely negative note, I should leave it. I think I have an idea of what I have to do.

And, no, it doesn't involve eating my ballot. Thought crossed my mind, but apparently "the law" says I can't do that. And, anyway, there's the carbs thing again. (I'm not obsessed or anything, but as it is, the Dream of 6-Pack Abs gets further away the more I sit at this computer. At present, I'm about a 2-pack, assuming that a roll of fat counts as a "pack").

Nor will there be any gouging of eyes with a spoon, grapefruit or otherwise. That, of course, was just an expression. I'd never actually do it. (And if I did, I'd use a melon baller. Er, not that I've really thought about it.)

No, I'll work it out and just...vote. And what will be will be. And the sun will come up the next day. Well, probably not here, but somewhere.

And I'll have some Honeycombs, and it will all be...okay. Okay?

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