Notes from the ether.

I would have voted for him, but you see one day, he come over to the house, wearing short pants and (I hope, for the love of Jesus) boxer shorts underneath. And in the midst of talking to me about the changes of the weather, he coughed, and a little piece of dung, about the size of a shooting marble, fell out of his short pants. He looked down at it, without missing a beat in talking about last week's thunderstorms, and just as nonchalantly as if he'd dropped a coin, or perhaps his keys, he bent down and picked it up and put that turd in his right front pocket.

He went to shake me hand after he said that he'd appreciate my vote.

I refused.

I honestly believe that is why Erwin Grummeld III did not win Loosten County Property Assessor in the year 1973

(Tip of the Hat to Steven West, who helped me write the free-form piece-of-shit story tonight after bowling.)