June 30, 2004
Los Angeles Daily News
By Bridget Johnson
With 15 to 20 "battleground states" expected to decide this fall's presidential election, strategists have broken the race down into quests to snag certain population segments.
Some are easier to define, like the Jewish vote: Will voters traditionally go Democrat, or back an administration that's steadfastly supported Israel?
Then there's the "Soccer Mom" vote: Less to do with the World Cup and more to do with education concerns, so I understand. This year's "NASCAR Dad" vote: So I don't understand. Into car racing and BBQ with Bobby Flay?
Why not concentrate on the specific states up for grabs, and the special klatches of voters within? Some examples:
Pennsylvania: The Amish vote. Vote for me, and we'll ban all tourists from making fun of your buggies or snapping intrusive pictures. Amish country, from now on, will be protected by the Anti-Tourism wing of the Homeland Security Department.
Ohio: The Jerry Springer vote. Former Cincinnati mayor taught us the joy of backwoods family food fights, and the exquisite delicacy of dealing with your sister who's sleeping with your husband who's sleeping with the bottled water man. Entertainment for White House state dinners, perhaps? Vote for me, and we'll share your unique slice of Americana with the world.
Missouri: The Dick Gephardt vote. Are you tired of the same candidate year after year -- and we mean year after year after year? Thought so. Vote for me.
Wisconsin: The Cheesehead vote. John Kerry already pursued this vote during a campaign stop here last month, intoning, "You're looking at the biggest Cheesehead in America!" One-upmanship requires donning a giant cranial cheddar wedge.
Oregon: The Bigfoot vote. Sick of sasquatch hunters poking through your rural back yards making plaster molds of tracks, or campers running screaming through the woods? Vote for me, and the Department of the Interior will undertake the Bigfoot Relocation Program.
Nevada: The Winnemucca vote. We know that this city does exist in the broad expanse of middle Nevada, but who else does? Vote for me, and we'll bring the next G8 summit to your town to stimulate the economy. By the time anti-globalization protesters find the town, the summit will be over.
Arizona: The armed border rancher vote. Put the shotgun down, vote for me and we'll erect large signs directing illegal immigrants toward Texas. Feel better?
Iowa: The "Love Boat" vote. We know you love Fred Grandy -- aka "Gopher," your former congressional yeoman purser. We promise to continue the TV-stars-turned-good trend with administration appointments for Capt. Stubing (Defense Department), the ship's Doc (Health and Human Services) and Isaac the bartender (Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives).
Louisiana: The Mardi Gras vote. Vote for me, and our administration will subsidize all beads to be thrown from and at half-naked people in future celebrations. Our administration knows how to party, baby.
Tennessee: The country music vote. Vote for me, and I'll appoint Toby Keith as U.S. ambassador to Texas.
Michigan: The Pistons fan vote. Vote for me, and our administration will always root for your team in the finals. Sacrilege, you say? Well, hey, California ain't a battleground state.
West Virginia: The Appalachia vote. Vote for me, and we'll put a moratorium on all jokes -- including ones about 13-year-old brides, kissing cousins and outhouses -- until after Election Day. At least within our own campaign.
Delaware: Have no idea how to get votes here. Forget it. Three electoral votes, whoop-de-doo.
New Hampshire: The first-primary spoiled bunch. Fine, you can vote a week before everyone else in November. As long as you vote for me.
Florida: The dazed and confused vote. We know it was tough for you last time around, butterfly ballots and hanging chads driving some voters to anguished tears. This time, elections officials will conduct counts at appointed voter classrooms: As they call out candidates' names, raise your hand to vote for that person. Otherwise, put you head down on the desk, kindergarten style. Reaching up to scratch your head may count as a vote. Keep those arms folded.
Vote for me, and we'll have this election reform in place quicker than you can say, "heads up, seven up."
COPYRIGHT 2004 LOS ANGELES DAILY NEWS
(For information about reproducing this article in full or in part, contact bridget@bridgetjohnson.org.)
