The Doctor Is In

in Poetry

Dr. Wes

The Ballad of the Palm Beach Election Board

If I'd known we could elect the dead, I would have voted for Lincoln.

Some of you may recall my very generous offer to sell my vote to the highest bidder over five dollars. At least one of you took note of that offer. In fact Pooky Glax, probably alien quantum life form, who may or may not have run for U.S. President this year, gave me ten dollars sealed in a box with some guy's cat to vote for him. For Pooky that is, not the cat. I'm betting the cat will die.

So I voted for a quantum life form. Since that was the only bid I received, thank you all very much, I voted for Glax for President. But I hardly expected him/her/it/whut to win. He/she/it/whut didn't exactly campaign.

So imagine my surprise when I woke up November 8 and learned that there was no certain winner of the Presidency! It turns out that Gore and Bush must be two of Pooky's quantum states! Uncertainty Rules!

But enough about what I don't know. What I want to discuss today is something I know a lot about, namely, stupidity. In fact, I consider myself quite the expert on the subject.

Don't get me wrong. I can be as smart as the next guy, when it's my turn and the wind is at my back. But when I want to be stupid I can outstupid most anybody. Cause, let's face it, most people don't even try to be stupid. How can they expect to excel at it? Truth is, most people don't even know the different kinds of stupidity. They get them all mixed up.

Like when George Bush signed that law allowing hand recounts in Texas, then sued against it in Florida. That's stupid, but is it world-class stupidity? I say no. I say I can top that with both hands tied behind my back standing knee-deep in setting cement. I spit on George Bush's stupidity!

The really stupid thing to do, George, that would prove to everyone that you were city council material and that you might have a promising career in politics or at least as a grad student in poly sci, would be to call for a study. Instead of just being a governor in the one state that doesn't really permit them.
The Ballad of the Palm Beach Election Board or,
Opus 2000, If John Henry Could See This, It'd Kill Him Dead

Palm Beach had itself an election board,
They worked from six 'til five,
"Raise up them ballots and put 'em down,
We'll count 'em to the Lord's Day or die."

The board said to the Secret'ry,
"You're nothing but a RepubliCAN,
That butterfly ballot won't beat us down,
Or we'll die with cards in our hands."

The Secret'ry faxed out to the board:
"I hear a pewter a-humming, lads."
The board faxed just this to her: "Oh Lord!"
"That's our volunteers you hear a-counting chad(s)."

The board was a-counting on the left side,
The machine was a-counting on the right.
No I lie, the machine, it was a-finished
Four days before Saturday night.

The board's now a-lying on its death
bed Not any of its recount alive
And these were the last words the board done said:
"Bring me a contest, before I die."

The board had a little capital,
Her name was TallahasSEE
They faxed and briefed her court all day,
Saying, "Tally, let our counting be complete."

Tallahassee, she would not see them,
Their heart was broken through,
And while the Secret'ry's master had filed a suit,
They died with cards in their hands, it's true.

Apologies to W. T. Blankenship, wherever he is. Come to think of it, apologies to everyone.


© Dr. Wes Browning:

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