On the eve of the election several thoughts cross my mind. One the fact that I’m the only one I know voting for McCain. At work, at play, at home, even at the church believe it or not. Churchgoers for Obama; as the man says, we live in interesting times. Everywhere I turn it’s Vote no on Prop. 8 unfair, wrong. Marriage has no definition, man and man, woman and woman- anything goes. And the man who won’t support laws to ban redefining marriage- Barack, his head pasted on superman bodies. His propoganda posters plastered across department store windows, bakeries, book stores, and gas stations.

Regardless of who is elected I pledge my allegiance to him, because that’s America. You don’t turn your back on your country because they made the wrong choice. The one elected is my president. The libs wouldn’t grant Bush that courtesy. So it’s one man’s vote for McCain in Soviet Los Angeles, me and the orthodox Jews, and evangelicals, rednecks, honkys and joe six packs.

If the polls are any indicator of the outcome, I will be sitting in a squeaky rocking chair in front of a fire many years from now with my grandson on my knee. “Grampa, did you vote for our nation’s first black president?” “No, sonny.” “Why not?! You could have made history! Were you a racist?”

“I was an American and I believed America deserved better than Barack. Someone with actual experience in the Senate and on the battlefield.” The little boy indoctrinated by leftwing hogwash would dismiss me as a bygone product of the defunct vast rightwing conspiracy and carry on with his lipstick and my little pony dolls.