TLPHOLG: 'Lection Day

And I ain'ts talkin' 'bout that so-called 'hit' single from that Duranie side project, Arcadia, neither. I'm speechifyin' 'bout the actual 'Lection Day what's happenin' throughout the country today, space chum. Sure, I'm off splorin' the cosmos in me Intergalactic steed these days and ain't partakin' in this 'ticular 'Lection Day...but I've got some memories of 'Lection Days past that surfaced from the depths of my brackish memory that I thought I'd share wit' y'all; so hitch 'em up and point those earholes in my 'rection for a spell. See, back in the day there weren't no damn ballots or pollin' places...none of this fancy shit. On 'Lection Day you'd vote for your candidate by drapin' an ol' boot 'round the neck of the town drunk. The boot itself had to be stained in certain way to 'note the feller you were votin' for; like in '46 when I put my support behind Alphonse 'Red Giant' Noodler I had to be damn sure the boot I strung 'round Drinkie's neck was stained with the sack blood of 15 castrati, see? If I had erred in my stain with, say, dirt infused wit' 'baccy spit then, dagnabbit, my vote woulda ended up in Harrison Poot's camp...and there weren't no effin' way I was gonna let that happen; Butterface (as Poot was known due to an incident with a churner and his left eye-socket) was a prig o' the highest order and the only 'lected seat he deserved to be voted inta was Commissioner of the Literal Cowpokers (if you catch my drift). In other words, you ain't got no effin' idea how easy ya gots it now...so get out there and vote, dammit.