Our modern word candidate comes from the Latin word candidatus, which means white-robed.
Back in Roman times, office-seekers covered their robes in white chalk to stand out in a crowd.
It’s certainly easier than filling out hundreds of forms and gathering up thousands and thousands of signatures on petitions.
We should return to the old style of politics. Instead of suits and dresses, put every one of these fuckers in robes and cover them with chalk.
About thirty or forty tons of it.
Then, pave it over, and let the good people of this country get on with their lives.
Tag: crime
Car alarm
I didn’t get much sleep.
A car alarm was going off in the parking garage.
I hate it when people let their alarms go.
Maybe someone’s out messing with people’s wheels again?
The alarm didn’t stop for ten minutes.
I’d better go see. Someone might be messing with my truck.
So, I put on some shorts and a shirt, and I picked up my shotgun.
Out in the parking garage,I looked for the source of the noise.
Yep. That truck over there. Blinking tail lights, too.
Wait. It’s my truck.
I clicked the remote and the alarm shut off.
Cook the books
We had a good deal going between me, Bill, Steve, and Ted.
Bill runs the front company.
Steve runs the back end.
Ted’s the numbers guy.
He cooks the books. The books.
Sometimes, he cooks them in a wok.
Other times, he cooks them in a crockpot.
Once, he cooked them in a pressure cooker.
Man, those books cooked up good.
What’s the front company?
A restaurant. A great restaurant.
Yep. The special is book.
(We tell them it’s veal.)
People eat the evidence. The fucking evidence. And they love it.
Two thumbs up, and Michelin stars on the way.
Home Invasion
The woman upstairs is doing her Jane Fonda tape again.
She stomps around, goes for water.
Then one two one two one two.
Half an hour of that, then moving furniture back.
Four in the fucking morning.
But you get used to it, right?
I baked her a cake.
Yeah, she needs to lose weight, her doctor says, but a little won’t hurt.
She’ll burn it off.
She starts her routine again.
One two one two one.
Thud.
Try burning off the poison, bitch.
The TV stays on.
Shit. Didn’t think of that.
Maybe I’ll stay in a hotel tonight.
Riding
I know a guy named Yankee Doodle, but instead of riding into town on a pony, he liked to put on a gag costume that made him look like he was riding on the back of an old Russian woman.
At least I thought it was a costume. Only when I got a closer look did I realize that it was a real old Russian woman that he was riding.
“Seriously?” I asked him.
He nodded.
I sighed. “No more driving drunk?”
He nodded again.
“Okay,” I said. “You can have your license and keys back.”
“Spaseba.” said the woman.
Replacement me
My bank told me that my credit card number was compromised, so they suspended the card and told me that they were sending another.
In the meantime, I used one of my other cards for automatic billing on my phone and other services. Then, I switched back when the replacement card finally arrived.
This isn’t the first time I’ve had a credit card number stolen. But the bank has taken care of me every time.
Then, one night, I heard a voice… it was the bank, calling my credit cards.
I’ve been compromised, and they were sending a replacement me.
Ceremony of the broken
Funerary ceremonies. There are so many.
I’ve seen my share of them.
When a magician dies, a broken wand ceremony is performed to represent that the magic is gone.
When an engineer dies, a broken slide rule ceremony is performed to represent that the math is gone.
When a chef dies, a broken spatula ceremony is performed to represent that the cooking is gone.
When a painter dies, a broken palette ceremony is performed to represent that the art is gone.
But when a politician dies, what is left to break? Promises? Commitments? The System? Those are already hopelessly broken.
Snake Handlers
I saw a snake in our yard. It was long and black.
I took a picture of it and sent it to Facebook.
“That’s a water moccasin,” a friend said. “It’s poisonous.”
We called 911, who told us to call 311. They sent us to Animal Control, but they said they don’t do snakes. “Call a snake wrangler.”
They didn’t have the number handy. And Siri kept offering to download “Snakes On A Plane” for 99 cents.
We eventually got it trapped in a heavy burlap sack.
Finally, we looked up Animal Control’s address and slipped it into their mailbox.
Census
Alvin The Census Taker goes door to door, asking questions and collecting data on his tablet.
He takes notes on the places with decent stuff to steal and without burglar alarms.
His cousin looks over the maps. He tries to mix up his collection route so the cops don’t see a pattern.
“They don’t give a fuck,” says Alvin. “My place got robbed five times, and I never got anything back.”
His cousin coughs, keeps looking over the maps.
He only robbed Alvin once.
Mistook a map to his place for a collection map.
He’s a lot more careful now.
A little something extra
Every year, Mommy tells me to be good so Santa will come and leave me presents.
“And so I can make that son of a bitch take a paternity test,” she mutters.
Yep. Santa left a little something one year.
In Mommy:
Me.
The process servers say the North Pole is out of their jurisdiction.
So, Mommy left out a plate of cookies and a glass of milk.
Santa wears mittens, so you can’t get fingerprints, but you can get trace DNA from the glass.
“It’s a match,” says the analyst.
This year, forget the bike.
I’m getting Child Support.