Vote For My Dog in The Race Not Yours

It’s gotten to the point that a regular guy (or gal) doesn’t have a voice in government unless they happen to be a Koch cousin at a family reunion. I imagine such a cousin might implore Misters Koch to ask a President Romeny to tackle his pet project, like paying billionaires simply for the pleasure of their company. Wait, that’s been done. See The Apprentice on NBC to flit your eyes lovingly at that beautiful rich guy with the weird hair. What I am saying, though, is Romney is Koch’s dog in the race, so don’t expect him (or the Senator from Pillsbury, for that matter) to listen to our voices.

So as citizens we are left to choose to shout at the top of our lungs and still be lost in the din that is the collective voices of industrialists, Geraldo Rivera and Meatloaf (he’s a conservative-the Internet says so).

And another thing, I don’t exactly think the Occupy and pee in public movement is the answer, although I admire their tenacity and determination (wait, those are the same thing) to take the government back and to start wearing deodorant (sorry, protesters).

What I would like to see is rich people stop playing the upper middle class and middle class against the working class. Put your hands out of your 5,000 square foot mansion and link with ours to make our voices heard. And, by that I don’t actually mean for you to get up from your home theatre, but simply vote for candidates who will represent us, not billionaires and special interest groups. So just to translate, that means Democrats. If they let us down, they’ll know it when they see the merry people in their (office) space, and I’m not talking “Glee”.

So to recap, unite with us to elect a new congress that listens to what the majority of the people need, and don’t let a dog like Romney become the President and don’t vote for the gray haired (to be generous) guy who said Payton Manning wasn’t a real American (or something to that effect, I forget the details). Oh, and just in case you’re upset about the other dog in the race, well let me tell you he’s peed on my foot too, but you got to scoop with the dog that brung ya, or something like that.