I had intended to post this following the third presidential debate, but, you know, stuff happened. Let's sing it now instead, shall we? Any tune you like . . .
The Candidates step up to preach from podiums faux bois.
I watch, entranced, their fancy dance, just shy of feeling awe.
Mere men they seem, yet sweet they sing of oil, taxes, wars;
They stammer grand, “Defend our Land ‘gainst free trade, guns, the poor!”
What treacly, august sounds they make! Each grunt a poignant promise!
Each man adept, each fully prepped to show that he’s aplombest!
The words they drop (Oh! Hear them plop!) fill up my head with blather;
Those well dressed swine, their visions fine, make current life seem grander!
The cloying song of politics, I wallow in its measures!
I strain my ears ‘round children’s tears to catch each aural treasure!
Yet in the end, I say my friends, there’s but one thing to do;
Since there’s no hope, just throw your vote to Old Cthulhu.*
*The Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition do not, in reality, endorse for president twisted, betentacled characters from the Science Fiction genre. Nor were any children neglected during the debates, though many bars of chocolate were desperately consumed. This is a joke. This is only a joke.