The sticker on my shirt pocket says it all — I voted yesterday in Clark County, Nevada.  It was great — I went late in the afternoon, as advised, to a senior center in a park near my home.  There were a fair number of voters on hand but no lines — I was in and out in less than fifteen minutes.

Honoring the convention of the secret ballot, I won't reveal who I voted for, though I will go through the thinking that led me to the choice I made.  My criteria for a candidate this year were quite rigorous.

First, I wanted a candidate who was a celebrity.  We've had so many Presidents in our history who could never have made even the semi-finals on American Idol that it's getting embarrassing.  We need a rock star in the White House.

Second, I wanted a candidate who has such a dim view of America that he's willing to pal around with terrorists.  That, to me, shows a refreshing sense of open-mindedness.

Finally, I wanted a candidate who's a socialist — someone who wouldn't blink if called upon to nationalize the American banking system should that ever, God forbid, become necessary.  (Oh, wait . . . we've already started nationalizing the banking system — but we could never have done it if the current Republican administration hadn't summoned the courage to live up to its core socialist convictions.)

I think I found my guy, and I hope I'm not giving too much away when I tell you how good it felt to look at that odd name at the top of my provisional ballot print-out and then touch the square on the screen that read “Cast Ballot”.

The surge of American spirit that coursed through my body reminded me that I needed a smoke.  I stepped outside into the bright sunshine of a Fall day in the Mojave Desert, lit up a cigarette and thought to myself, “Mission accomplished.”  You've got a mission, too, my friends — get it done.