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Fall wind conjures the erectorate. Dead leaves swirl away to sewer grates, sucked against the street as the whole world takes a breath in, quivering in anticipation. Checks and exes worm their ways from papers and touchscreens to waiting, gaping, hungry hubs. A college froth begins to form, from congressional friction and the repeated raising of hands. Then, through the tubers and cyber-lubricated T1s, come the glowing, wriggling hopefuls. Racing, amassing, instinctively tunneling, for the chance to penetrate and win the great Oval, the room with no doors.
RT if you had physical sex with your ballot.
[Buy]Posted by Dan at November 6, 2012 4:15 PM