"We have been told we cannot do this by a chorus of cynics. And they will only grow louder and more dissonant in the weeks and months to come. We've been asked to pause for a reality check. We've been warned against offering the people of this nation false hope. But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope.
"For when we have faced down impossible odds, when we've been told we're not ready or that we shouldn't try or that we can't, generations of Americans have responded with a simple creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can. Yes, we can. Yes, we can.
"It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the destiny of a nation: Yes, we can. It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists as they blazed a trail towards freedom through the darkest of nights: Yes, we can. It was sung by immigrants as they struck out from distant shores and pioneers who pushed westward against an unforgiving wilderness: Yes, we can. It was the call of workers who organized, women who reached for the ballot, a president who chose the moon as our new frontier, and a king who took us to the mountaintop and pointed the way to the promised land: Yes, we can, to justice and equality.
"Yes, we can, to opportunity and prosperity. Yes, we can heal this nation. Yes, we can repair this world. Yes, we can."
--Barack Obama, January 8, 2008
"I woke up three hours before I went to bed, startled out of slumber by the staccato chant of gunfire and the whine of thousands of engines revving as cars sought blood in the streets.
I knew it would be bad, but not like this. My cat ripped off half of my thumb, and I had to staunch the flow of blood with a strip torn from my favorite Rush t-shirt (from the Roll the Bones tour). I left the house with a crowbar and a Snickers bar, since I knew that I would need food at some point. My roommate only made it a few dozen feet before a burrowing owl tore into his torso and nested in his liver. I quickly grabbed a gallon of gas and poured it over his twitching corpse, singing myself as the omnipresent lightning ignited his remains. I didn't want the owls to spread.
Now my vote was more important than ever. He would want me to go on.
For some reason, the zombies were faster than I expected, perhaps because of the strange chemicals that assaulted my sinuses. The world obviously found that humanity was forfeit, but why on election day? Well, why not on election day? The madness would compound itself, and make it all the more sweet for the survivors to know that they had made it through.
I don't remember much of the journey to the polling station. I'm not afraid to admit that I may have brained a few unchanged humans among all the zombies, killer chipmunks, and radioactive toads. It's the price we pay for democracy-- sometimes the occasional innocent must face the swing of a mighty crowbar so that the able may vote. I like to think that I killed an equal amount of people from all parties, so that their deaths would not seriously affect the polling.
The line was over a thousand strong, but between the random zombifications, the near-constant rain of bullets, and the writhing obscenities that would reach their hungry tentacles from out of the shadows to clutch and tear at the electorate, I only had to stand in the rain for five hours.
I was handed by ballot by a grimacing visage of death, but it was alright. Death and I have an understanding today. We will vote, we will see, and then we will resume our eternal battle. I was careful not to get any of the ichor and blood that covered me from head to toe onto the ballot, as I know it would affect the scanning machine.
I prepared to vote. . . and my pen broke.
Pitched battles for pen ownership raged all around me, and I wanted nothing to do with them. I was weary, and tired.
I saw that a man next to me had not taken his McCain pin off, according to the rules. So I plunged my fist through his chest and grabbed his black heart. I ripped it out, and used the obsidian blood to mark my choices.
The scanning machine shorted out after I filled out my ballot, but I quickly traced the problem, and ripped out two of my own fillings, chewing the amalgam into the shape of the circuit that had malfunctioned. The machine was saved, and as I left the ragged survivors cheered me.
I got home, took a shower, and watched some Reading Rainbow on PBS because I like LeVar Burton."
-I woke up three hours before I went to bed, startled out of slumber by the staccato chant of gunfire and the whine of thousands of engines revving as cars sought blood in the streets.
I knew it would be bad, but not like this. My cat ripped off half of my thumb, and I had to staunch the flow of blood with a strip torn from my favorite Rush t-shirt (from the Roll the Bones tour). I left the house with a crowbar and a Snickers bar, since I knew that I would need food at some point. My roommate only made it a few dozen feet before a burrowing owl tore into his torso and nested in his liver. I quickly grabbed a gallon of gas and poured it over his twitching corpse, singing myself as the omnipresent lightning ignited his remains. I didn't want the owls to spread.
Now my vote was more important than ever. He would want me to go on.
For some reason, the zombies were faster than I expected, perhaps because of the strange chemicals that assaulted my sinuses. The world obviously found that humanity was forfeit, but why on election day? Well, why not on election day? The madness would compound itself, and make it all the more sweet for the survivors to know that they had made it through.
I don't remember much of the journey to the polling station. I'm not afraid to admit that I may have brained a few unchanged humans among all the zombies, killer chipmunks, and radioactive toads. It's the price we pay for democracy-- sometimes the occasional innocent must face the swing of a mighty crowbar so that the able may vote. I like to think that I killed an equal amount of people from all parties, so that their deaths would not seriously affect the polling.
The line was over a thousand strong, but between the random zombifications, the near-constant rain of bullets, and the writhing obscenities that would reach their hungry tentacles from out of the shadows to clutch and tear at the electorate, I only had to stand in the rain for five hours.
I was handed by ballot by a grimacing visage of death, but it was alright. Death and I have an understanding today. We will vote, we will see, and then we will resume our eternal battle. I was careful not to get any of the ichor and blood that covered me from head to toe onto the ballot, as I know it would affect the scanning machine.
I prepared to vote. . . and my pen broke.
Pitched battles for pen ownership raged all around me, and I wanted nothing to do with them. I was weary, and tired.
I saw that a man next to me had not taken his McCain pin off, according to the rules. So I plunged my fist through his chest and grabbed his black heart. I ripped it out, and used the obsidian blood to mark my choices.
The scanning machine shorted out after I filled out my ballot, but I quickly traced the problem, and ripped out two of my own fillings, chewing the amalgam into the shape of the circuit that had malfunctioned. The machine was saved, and as I left the ragged survivors cheered me.
I got home, took a shower, and watched some Reading Rainbow on PBS because I like LeVar Burton.
-Ganked from a comment thread on Fark.
"For when we have faced down impossible odds, when we've been told we're not ready or that we shouldn't try or that we can't, generations of Americans have responded with a simple creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can. Yes, we can. Yes, we can.
"It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the destiny of a nation: Yes, we can. It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists as they blazed a trail towards freedom through the darkest of nights: Yes, we can. It was sung by immigrants as they struck out from distant shores and pioneers who pushed westward against an unforgiving wilderness: Yes, we can. It was the call of workers who organized, women who reached for the ballot, a president who chose the moon as our new frontier, and a king who took us to the mountaintop and pointed the way to the promised land: Yes, we can, to justice and equality.
"Yes, we can, to opportunity and prosperity. Yes, we can heal this nation. Yes, we can repair this world. Yes, we can."
--Barack Obama, January 8, 2008
"I woke up three hours before I went to bed, startled out of slumber by the staccato chant of gunfire and the whine of thousands of engines revving as cars sought blood in the streets.
I knew it would be bad, but not like this. My cat ripped off half of my thumb, and I had to staunch the flow of blood with a strip torn from my favorite Rush t-shirt (from the Roll the Bones tour). I left the house with a crowbar and a Snickers bar, since I knew that I would need food at some point. My roommate only made it a few dozen feet before a burrowing owl tore into his torso and nested in his liver. I quickly grabbed a gallon of gas and poured it over his twitching corpse, singing myself as the omnipresent lightning ignited his remains. I didn't want the owls to spread.
Now my vote was more important than ever. He would want me to go on.
For some reason, the zombies were faster than I expected, perhaps because of the strange chemicals that assaulted my sinuses. The world obviously found that humanity was forfeit, but why on election day? Well, why not on election day? The madness would compound itself, and make it all the more sweet for the survivors to know that they had made it through.
I don't remember much of the journey to the polling station. I'm not afraid to admit that I may have brained a few unchanged humans among all the zombies, killer chipmunks, and radioactive toads. It's the price we pay for democracy-- sometimes the occasional innocent must face the swing of a mighty crowbar so that the able may vote. I like to think that I killed an equal amount of people from all parties, so that their deaths would not seriously affect the polling.
The line was over a thousand strong, but between the random zombifications, the near-constant rain of bullets, and the writhing obscenities that would reach their hungry tentacles from out of the shadows to clutch and tear at the electorate, I only had to stand in the rain for five hours.
I was handed by ballot by a grimacing visage of death, but it was alright. Death and I have an understanding today. We will vote, we will see, and then we will resume our eternal battle. I was careful not to get any of the ichor and blood that covered me from head to toe onto the ballot, as I know it would affect the scanning machine.
I prepared to vote. . . and my pen broke.
Pitched battles for pen ownership raged all around me, and I wanted nothing to do with them. I was weary, and tired.
I saw that a man next to me had not taken his McCain pin off, according to the rules. So I plunged my fist through his chest and grabbed his black heart. I ripped it out, and used the obsidian blood to mark my choices.
The scanning machine shorted out after I filled out my ballot, but I quickly traced the problem, and ripped out two of my own fillings, chewing the amalgam into the shape of the circuit that had malfunctioned. The machine was saved, and as I left the ragged survivors cheered me.
I got home, took a shower, and watched some Reading Rainbow on PBS because I like LeVar Burton."
-I woke up three hours before I went to bed, startled out of slumber by the staccato chant of gunfire and the whine of thousands of engines revving as cars sought blood in the streets.
I knew it would be bad, but not like this. My cat ripped off half of my thumb, and I had to staunch the flow of blood with a strip torn from my favorite Rush t-shirt (from the Roll the Bones tour). I left the house with a crowbar and a Snickers bar, since I knew that I would need food at some point. My roommate only made it a few dozen feet before a burrowing owl tore into his torso and nested in his liver. I quickly grabbed a gallon of gas and poured it over his twitching corpse, singing myself as the omnipresent lightning ignited his remains. I didn't want the owls to spread.
Now my vote was more important than ever. He would want me to go on.
For some reason, the zombies were faster than I expected, perhaps because of the strange chemicals that assaulted my sinuses. The world obviously found that humanity was forfeit, but why on election day? Well, why not on election day? The madness would compound itself, and make it all the more sweet for the survivors to know that they had made it through.
I don't remember much of the journey to the polling station. I'm not afraid to admit that I may have brained a few unchanged humans among all the zombies, killer chipmunks, and radioactive toads. It's the price we pay for democracy-- sometimes the occasional innocent must face the swing of a mighty crowbar so that the able may vote. I like to think that I killed an equal amount of people from all parties, so that their deaths would not seriously affect the polling.
The line was over a thousand strong, but between the random zombifications, the near-constant rain of bullets, and the writhing obscenities that would reach their hungry tentacles from out of the shadows to clutch and tear at the electorate, I only had to stand in the rain for five hours.
I was handed by ballot by a grimacing visage of death, but it was alright. Death and I have an understanding today. We will vote, we will see, and then we will resume our eternal battle. I was careful not to get any of the ichor and blood that covered me from head to toe onto the ballot, as I know it would affect the scanning machine.
I prepared to vote. . . and my pen broke.
Pitched battles for pen ownership raged all around me, and I wanted nothing to do with them. I was weary, and tired.
I saw that a man next to me had not taken his McCain pin off, according to the rules. So I plunged my fist through his chest and grabbed his black heart. I ripped it out, and used the obsidian blood to mark my choices.
The scanning machine shorted out after I filled out my ballot, but I quickly traced the problem, and ripped out two of my own fillings, chewing the amalgam into the shape of the circuit that had malfunctioned. The machine was saved, and as I left the ragged survivors cheered me.
I got home, took a shower, and watched some Reading Rainbow on PBS because I like LeVar Burton.
-Ganked from a comment thread on Fark.
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