Secretary Ol' Man

Since two aspirin aren't necessarily helping our Election Day hangover (figuratively speaking, kids, figuratively speaking), here's a li'l story to sober up a bit:

Scene: a small Quaker private school in the serene suburbs of Philadelphia. An 8th-grade class is embarking on the monumental task of electing its class officers.

Li'l fat spikey-haired Ol' Man Snap is nominated for President with three other kids. He loses. Badly, fat kid that he is. OMS is nominated for Veep. He gets nothing and likes it. Ahhh, but wait. OMS is nominated for Treasurer. He likes him some money, so it's all good, right?

No. Still, no.

So when Mr. Klastow asks the classes for nominations for Class Secretary, otherwise known as "Amanda's Bitch," we get this li'l exchange:

Smart-ass: I nominate Old Man Snap.

OMS: *rolls eyes*

Mr. K: Now waitaminute. Snap, if you're not going to take this seriously, then you should decline the nomination.

OMS: (F*ck you, Klastow. Look. OMS knows he can't beat the more popular candidate. The one with more money and better clothes. OMS knows he doesn't bend over backwards to please his friend every day like the other candidates do. Yes, OMS meant singular in the last sentence. So, Mr. K, I take this nomination, not because I think I'll win, but more because I know I'll lose. This is all about -- it's always been about -- who can convince the minions to vote a certain way, and keeping the power once you seize the power. It doesn't matter if you really care and make a difference. It matters if you have enough money to either stave off the 'bosses' or have no spine and sleep with them.

To you, Mr. Klastow, I say f*ck it. To the class: vote for me if you want. Don't vote for me if you want. All I know is I sleep better knowing I won't win. I sleep better because I'm not in bed with anyone else.

Politics has become a battle of junkies. The ones who care and so anything to keep the power versus the ones who care on the other side and want the power. Everyone else is fed up and can't stand the commercials on the TV and on the radio that say everything but really say nothing.

You have people posting signs and stealing signs and slashing tires and voting on behalf of the dead. It's insane. And it's only going to get worse).

OMS, in reality: Um, yes sir. This is serious. I'll take it seriously, sir. Um, yes. I write good. Secretary will do me just fine, sir.

So that's how OMS became Amanda's Bitch in 1988. Here endeth the lesson. Boy do we feel better now.