Tim Kaine and Lance Bass Want Me To Early Vote, Lena Dunham Doesn’t Care

Image by © Epoxydude/fstop/Corbis

Brave soldiers of democracy, the time is nigh. Like Cinderella at midnight, the Ganter at four in the afternoon, and myself when the sun sets, in one-half of a fortnight, on November 8th, the magic spell that has made our academic institution so appealing to celebrities and politicians everywhere will be broken on the hallowed land of Gambier, Ohio, and we will be left in the dust of our politically naked selves, undesirable and, undoubtedly, going into the servery for yet another round of Peirce pizza.

So how may we preserve what charm and appeal we have thus far been able to meekly maintain? How might they remember us when the Grande Soiree of enfranchisement ceases?

Cinderella had her glass slipper.

The Ganter has leftover cans of Keystone and ghosts of poor decisions.

My bed has unfortunate remnants of popcorn kernels tangled in its sheets.

And Slambier, Brohio has early voting.

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