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Signs of campaign withdrawal/
Sent in By Bill Shein
NOW THAT the longest, nastiest, and most expensive political campaign in interplanetary history is over -- pending any recounts, re-recounts, and unprecedented re-recount-countings -- some Americans may begin to suffer a variety of post-election withdrawal symptoms.
Are you at risk? Here are some signs that it's time to turn off the "Meet the Press," stop calling your kids "Red" and "Blue," and get some help:
When you woke up this morning, your first thought was, "Only 1,462 more days until Election Day, Tuesday, Nov. 4, 2008!"
When preparing to order dinner at a restaurant, you ask, "Has Gallup polled 'likely eaters' on the salmon versus the stuffed shells?"
When recalling a debate you watched last week on C-SPAN -- between two obscure candidates for a House seat from rural Kentucky -- you get weepy.
You have suggestive dreams involving CNN pundit Tucker Carlson in which he is not wearing his bow-tie.
When explaining to your boss why you haven't finished an important project, you cleverly stand in front of a giant Orwellian backdrop that says, in several places, "Making Progress on That Project Every Day."
When your kids talk back, you punish them for "not staying on message."
You are considering a move to a battleground state like Florida, Ohio, or Pennsylvania in time for the next presidential election.
You sometimes let the meter run for hours while you talk politics with your cab driver, Dick Gephardt.
When the IRS calls with questions about your dubious tax deductions, you calmly refer them to your nonexistent "campaign spokesperson" before making for the border.
When asked where you're taking your family on vacation next summer, you say, "We're starting in Iowa, and then we're going to California and Texas and New York! We're going to South Dakota, and Oregon, and Washington, and Michigan! And then we're going to Washington, D.C., to take back the White House! Yeeaahhhhh!"
You ask people if they need a ride to the polls, even though voting ended weeks ago.
When your boss asks -- again -- why you still haven't finished that important project, you stubbornly blame the 2001 recession, corporate scandals and terrorism.
When your baby is born nine months from now, you plan to name him "October Surprise."
When getting your hair cut and styled, you say, "Make me look like Al Sharpton."
When someone asks you a question, you strictly limit your answer to just 90 seconds.
If you're single, you only date potential "running mates" who live in states with at least 20 electoral votes.
If you lose your ticket on the way to pick up your dry cleaning, you tell the clerk, "You don't understand: I had the ticket before I didn't have the ticket."
After sharing your opinion with someone, you immediately say your name aloud and then add, "And I approved this message."
Despite an infinite number of nonpolitical topics to write a column about, you choose, "Signs of Campaign Withdrawal."
Sent in By Bill Shein
NOW THAT the longest, nastiest, and most expensive political campaign in interplanetary history is over -- pending any recounts, re-recounts, and unprecedented re-recount-countings -- some Americans may begin to suffer a variety of post-election withdrawal symptoms.
Are you at risk? Here are some signs that it's time to turn off the "Meet the Press," stop calling your kids "Red" and "Blue," and get some help:
When you woke up this morning, your first thought was, "Only 1,462 more days until Election Day, Tuesday, Nov. 4, 2008!"
When preparing to order dinner at a restaurant, you ask, "Has Gallup polled 'likely eaters' on the salmon versus the stuffed shells?"
When recalling a debate you watched last week on C-SPAN -- between two obscure candidates for a House seat from rural Kentucky -- you get weepy.
You have suggestive dreams involving CNN pundit Tucker Carlson in which he is not wearing his bow-tie.
When explaining to your boss why you haven't finished an important project, you cleverly stand in front of a giant Orwellian backdrop that says, in several places, "Making Progress on That Project Every Day."
When your kids talk back, you punish them for "not staying on message."
You are considering a move to a battleground state like Florida, Ohio, or Pennsylvania in time for the next presidential election.
You sometimes let the meter run for hours while you talk politics with your cab driver, Dick Gephardt.
When the IRS calls with questions about your dubious tax deductions, you calmly refer them to your nonexistent "campaign spokesperson" before making for the border.
When asked where you're taking your family on vacation next summer, you say, "We're starting in Iowa, and then we're going to California and Texas and New York! We're going to South Dakota, and Oregon, and Washington, and Michigan! And then we're going to Washington, D.C., to take back the White House! Yeeaahhhhh!"
You ask people if they need a ride to the polls, even though voting ended weeks ago.
When your boss asks -- again -- why you still haven't finished that important project, you stubbornly blame the 2001 recession, corporate scandals and terrorism.
When your baby is born nine months from now, you plan to name him "October Surprise."
When getting your hair cut and styled, you say, "Make me look like Al Sharpton."
When someone asks you a question, you strictly limit your answer to just 90 seconds.
If you're single, you only date potential "running mates" who live in states with at least 20 electoral votes.
If you lose your ticket on the way to pick up your dry cleaning, you tell the clerk, "You don't understand: I had the ticket before I didn't have the ticket."
After sharing your opinion with someone, you immediately say your name aloud and then add, "And I approved this message."
Despite an infinite number of nonpolitical topics to write a column about, you choose, "Signs of Campaign Withdrawal."