Dear Everyone, Don't Caucus

I caucused tonight. I won't caucus again.

First, let us discuss the history of the Iowa caucus. The Iowa caucus first came about in 1643 when only six people lived in Iowa on farms and grew corn. When the third presidential candidates Indian Frank and Wiley British Tabernackle campaigned feverishly around the country to gain magic beans (which later transitioned to normal beans and then finally to votes) they visited all 46 states. Most states agreed to have an individual simply hand his (women weren't allowed to own property back in the good old days) magic beans to the candidate of his choice. This system made sense. You would walk into a polling location, hand your beans to a candidate, and leave. You could then use the time saved to run errands, watch a movie, screw, pretty much anything. Iowans, spearheaded by stubborn, Bible-beatin' farmers, did not like this method. They wanted to talk about the candidates. They wanted to debate the issues.

Thus, all six farmers agreed to meet in a dusty high school cafeteria (Go Tigers!) and decide "democratically" which candidate they should throw their weight behind. They yelled at their fellow farmers they disagreed with. "We should give Frank our beans!" "Go to hell Pete!" "But Carlson, I have free sandwiches." "I'm now voting for Frank too, Pete." "Hallelujah." Because there only existed six Iowans at the time, this meeting, internally called a Cock Ass because it made about as much sense as ass rape, happened first in the country. Larry King, at the time a young bright-eyed reporter, would declare the winner of the Cock Ass the front-runner for the presidential nomination.

Let's transition to today, somewhere in the QC. I sat at my cubicle and debated which parties' caucus (the words slowly blended together over the years) I wanted to attend. I could attend the Republican caucus to actively not vote for Mit. Or I could go get free brownies and rock music at Woodstock and see which of the big three-Obama, Bill's wife, or Edwards, would gain the shot in the arm Iowa gives them. Partly because I wanted to feel good about myself in the morning and partly because I can't justify anyone still belonging to the Republican party and partly because Democrats make for excellent people watching, I bit the bullet, registered Democratic, and participated in the Democratic caucus.

Let me repeat the first line of this blog: I caucused tonight. I won't caucus again.

I read in the papers that those attending a Democratic caucus should know the process generally lasts in hour longer than the Republican caucus. They didn't say why. Let me tell you why: It's an absolute abomination. If it were a professional wrestling match it would be called a clusterfuck. If it were college football it would be the Big Ten. My guess is the Republicans sat around drinking tea, speaking loudly and on microphones so everyone could hear the directions, voted, and left. What did my newly brethrenized Democrats do? Let me explain...

Evidently you don't have to show any sort of ID to participate in a primary. You simply fill out a piece of paper with your address on it. After all these pieces of paper are turned in, the group elects a Temporary Chair. We do this by voting. Novel concept I know. How did this happen tonight? A large man pointed at his skinny friend and said, "I think Ralph should do it." All in favor? "Aye!" Thus Ralph became the Temporary Chair. This amounted to reading a long letter from the Governor of Iowa, whose name is Thankgoditsnot TomVilsack, thanking us for coming to the event. Mid letter, someone from far across the room comes and says they can't hear the reader. The reader, at the time located in the center of the room, does not at first want to move. Then three people from the far end of the room complain they can't hear, so the speaker moves closer to them. I thought this attempt to please everyone when obviously setting yourself up to tick off another in the room was a stellar example of the Democratic party.

The Temporary Chair then had the fun duty of taking all the registration forms and looking at all the addresses. He verified everyone was in the correct district but five people. Those five people had to come up and straighten out who the hell they were and why the hell they came to our voting location. This took one half hour. One half hour I could have been doing anything else with my life.

After that ordeal was out of the way (with all five people actually being in the correct location after all), we knew everyone in the room was correct and supposed to be there. We could FINALLY do what we came there to do--elect a Permanent Chair (evidently electing a Temp Chair to start safeguarded us in case he/she was in the wrong district) and a Permanent Secretary. This was done by raising our hands. Then an old, half blind woman would count all the hands in the air. My Irish friend sitting next to me asked, "Couldn't we raise our hands for both candidates and she'd never know?" This proves there is no honor amongst the Irish.

After we nominated two very qualified people for two very important roles, I thought we'd finally be able to caucus like rockstars. Alas, not quite yet. First we have to debate any issues that we want the bigwigs of the Democratic party to debate. At first no one raised their hands. I thought to myself, "Oh thank thee Jesus Man." Then an old man stood up. He said, "I received this email I'd like to read and submit for discussion." He went on to read a very long, poorly written email forward about how we shouldn't chain or whip immigrants but treat them with respect, even if they are illegal and caught. Unfortunately the writer of the letter clearly thought he was smart, using a lot of legal jargon, but clearly had no idea how to form coherent thoughts. The letter, as terrible as most email forwards, was then debated. One guy said immigrants work hard and their should be reform. This prompted the (hopefully my adjectives won't give away my opinions) dumbest, most ignorant redneck hick of the entire universe to say, "But they're taking all our jobs." Yes, he really said it. He said it even though every fast food, manufacturing, and warehousing facility in the QC area is hiring. Maybe this guy just wants to be a night janitor or something.

I couldn't believe he said that. This prompted a Latino girl to stand up and tell us how her mother fought in the service for 12 years after coming to this country at the age of sixteen. The (again, don't want to bias you) prickheaded old virgin said, "Legal or illegal?" The Latino girl said legal but it shouldn't matter, she fought in the service. The old man said he's okay with legals.

What the hell? Seriously? The issue is illegal or legal? NO. Wrong. The issue is America has more money then it knows what to do with so we waste it on 53 inch televisions and giant movie collections while other countries offer no minimum wage, no health insurance, and, oh yeah, the fear of imminent death. I'm supposed to judge some guy because he sneaks his family into the land of riches and works his ass off to get said riches? No. Look at the data, there are many more criminals in American prisons born here in the United States than there are criminals born elsewhere. (Thirty bonus points to anyone who can point out the completely obvious flaw in that argument) I've digressed, but that man was at the wrong caucus.

After our Official Chair closed the debates (30 minutes too late), we finally got to vote for round one. I originally planned to vote for Edwards because I like his hair and admire him for faking his wife's breast cancer to gain votes. However my Irish friend's girlfriend said I couldn't eat any meatballs at their apartment after the caucus if I voted for anyone but Obama. Thus, I voted for Obama. I agree with any platform revolving around meatballs.

Now in order for a candidate to stay "viable" they must have 15 percent of the vote. This amounted to 29 votes in our room. Edwards initially sat at 28. A woman who saw me stand up and walk towards Edwards' table before I was negotiated back to Obama's started screaming at me to, "get over here. We need one vote!" She was scary. I stayed right where I was at because 1) I hate being yelled at by strangers with bad haircuts and 2) She also offered no delicious meatballs. Luckily for all of us however, someone from somewhere came over to the Edwards side and upped his total to 29. Why does this make us lucky? Because if he didn't get all 29 votes, the 28 who did vote for him would become free agents. They would then have to decide between Obama and Clinton. This would take forever, because Obama and Clinton supporters would try to negotiate, outsmart, and bribe them. Seriously, this is how things are done in Iowa. The most influential guy had long gray hair, tight black jeans, and a cowboy hat.

As it stood, we only had two free agent voters. For some reason two people came with the plan to vote for Billy Richardson. Why? We don't know. In addition, they didn't think to have back up candidates in case Billy didn't pull 15 percent. Twenty minutes later they finally selected their final vote and the final tally was taken. This was done very scientifically--people stood in chairs and counted heads.

The event, highlighted by a fundamental lack of organization and the fact everyone wore sweatpants and/or smelled like weed, was a complete joke. In four years when celebrities are attempting to guilt you into attending the caucus say, "no thank you Tim Robbins." I get that Iowa is a traditional state because we still grow things from the same ground our pa's growed things from, but do you mean to tell me that 190 potheads wearing sweatpants in a school cafeteria should have a major influence on who the next President should be (cause let's face it, barring a decisive change in everything, no Republican is winning next time)?

That my friends, is Go America!