The Debate

by Justin Courter

I'd like to begin by assuring the American persons that as a strong leader in the judiciary I am familiar with the bench on which I've sat as well as the bar at which I drink and I can press well over 200 pounds. My opponent’s record in the house, if you're ever aroused to examine it, you’ll see is vinyl and plays like a Lionel Richie/terrorist collaboration. He's openly admitted that he doesn't even read house music. I often ask myself, where in my chambers can I find a piece of mind that has not been judged lest, oh ye of little waist, come sit on my lap. Ninety-five percent of all surveys we’ve taken are under highly secure statistical scrutiny. The cellophane dollar bills we mint will help enforce corporate accounting games. And I just love education. The economy will take care of itself as well as good, honest American folk-duds salted on couches and street corners everywhere. I'm reminded here of a hearty quarrel I once founded with a colleague over the distribution of animal crackers in our crack house. It was my belief then, and is one upon which I still hang my nightie, that disagreements are renewable sources of energy. I know about sacrifice and when I see soldiers dying I don't let on. My mother, god rest her apple pie, used to always say the star-spangled truth of the matter is you can't fool the oil cartels into health care for everyone. My opponent would have you believe distortions of misinformation. I would simply have you.

Previously published in The Death of the Poem and Other Paragraphs (Main Street Rag, 2008).

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