The Angry Young Man

Election night, oh what a night, what a night! OK, maybe not much of a night. Van der Fah Fah and I decided to inspect the election night hootenanny's around town to gauge the mood of your average annoying, self absorbed San Franciscan and we sure weren't disappointed. At Gruesome's hoedown at the Ferry Building, it was clear from our post-hipster looking threads that we didn't belong and all the gays who jumped over broomsticks turned their noses up at us once they realized we weren't wearing any labels. That, and they saw my bike helmet and knew straight away - enemy! That's OK, we had a grand old time throwing cocktail weenies at each other and then peeing off the second story veranda into several bowls filled with arugula down in the the marketplace below. Dede scowled at us at disdain and told us both to talk to the hand and Gavin's ugly, stupid girlfriend, Skeletor Siebel, broke down into tears and ran from the room. Such a delicate flower, that one. Cauliflower.

"What are you?" Dede demanded in disgust, as we were escorted from the Ferry Building, "Poor?!" On the way out, we nearly tripped over Ruppe Rippey Tuper, who was all drunk and passed out at the Ferry Building door. Good times.

I especially liked Gruesome's victory speech, which he gave after he opened and counted one absentee ballot. Didn't matter that Harold Hoogasian was choice #1 on that ballot and Gavin was like #3 after Wilma Pang, it was a clear sign of victory. Ah, American democracy! Why even bother?

After that, we split for 12 Galaxies to check out Chicken John's hootenanny. Suffice to say, it looked like one of those anarcho-capitalist marketplaces in an episode of "Jeremiah." That, and no one would talk to us because neither one of us welds, dances with fire, or works at Google, and therefore weren't part of "the scene." Ah well, back at Gruesome's party, he sneered at Chicken John's pathetic tally, noting that Chicken was in like 23rd place, far from his coveted #2 position.

Later we checked out Ahimsa Porter Sumchai's party, but we didn't stay long. It was just her in a dark room under a spotlight, ranting about PG&E. There weren't even any canned apes! Plus, black people!!! When was the last time you saw one of them in San Francisco?

We tried to find Grasshopper Alec Kaplan's party, but Van der Fah Fah lost the directions and couldn't remember which bush in the park it was next to.

We avoided Quintin Mecke's shindig down in the Lower Haight. I offered to volunteer for his campaign twice and thanks to my schedule, my Portland Inspection Tour, and getting a bad cold, couldn't do much more than hang his campaign poster in my window. Plus, Van der Fah Fah's loud friend, Kevin, totally humiliated me by screaming, "Isn't that the mayoral candidate whose 10,000 babies you want to have" down at Dolores Park when he was standing a mere 3 feet away. Nice. When he did that, I walked far, far away.

Anyway, the Department of Elections claims it'll be Thanksgiving before they've managed to secretly destroy all the ballots with votes for anyone but Gavin, so we won't know the real election results for a while. That's OK, so long as Measure H wins and they sell the Mission District to Don Fischer so he can turn it into his own personal parking lot, I'll be happy. I mean, as a big mo, I had the imaginary right to get married for about two days back in like 2002. What more could I possible want?