As I watched the last presidential debate, I couldn't help but want to change the channel to see what else was on. But I told myself that watching it could lead to something funny, or at least something thought-provoking. For an hour and a half I listened how one plan for the economy is better than the other. How Joe the Plumber will do better under this policy than that policy. By the end of the debate I was comatose. As the drool fell from my chin, on the verge of a stroke, I saw the light.

First, neither of these candidates cares about you and me. They really don't. It's just a big pissing match. The match isn't conservative verses liberal; it isn't even John McCain versus Barack Obama. It's Republicans verses Democrats—McCain and Obama are just the PR firm picked to sell you the wares. They are a face and a name to be associated with the big political machine that is the United States of America. I like to picture a big Republican wearing a red suit, with two legs, two arms, and an oddly-shaped penis that looks like John McCain. On the other side, there is a Democrat wearing a blue suit, again two arms, two legs, and a penis that looks like Barack Obama (you'll see where I'm going with this in a minute).

So where does the American public come in?

Well, here's the deal: we, the people, are the drunk chick at the bar. We are expected to do very little. Our responsibilities are to:

  1. Obey all the rules posted above the door to the bathroom (The Constitution).
  2. Pay for the food and drinks we consume (taxes).
  3. Leave the bar when it's closing time (die).

Election years, debates especially, are the Republicans and Democrats' opportunity to pick up the drunk chick. They buy us drinks (give us stimulus packages). They whisper sweet nothings in our ears about how much bigger and better each other's penises are (refer back to the John McCain/Barack Obama reference in paragraph 2). They promise us the night of our life (or the four best years we've ever seen). They promise to wear a rubber and not give us the clap. They promise a future with you, and that with them at the helm our ship, the Love Boat, we will float forever!

But it breaks down like this: we are going to get screwed by someone tonight (November 4) whether we are in the mood to or not. Here are your two choices: old wrinkly man who can fulfill the father figure in your life you've so desperately yearned for, or young black man who can fulfill every slutty experiment you crave and is the main reason your dad disowned you in the first place. Point being, one of these two parties is going home with Ms. Blackout, and is going to have their way with her. If she's lucky, she'll have a clumsy night of sexual mishaps interrupted by almost-orgasms. And in the morning, on the nightstand will be an unopened condom wrapper, a prescription for penicillin, and a note that reads, "You were great, call me again in four years."

So regardless whether your sexual preference is business as usual, or whether you experimented with change in college…GET OUT AND VOTE! It's the only way you're gonna get fucked later.