Vote for who you trust… No, not those lunkheads

Do both major political parties’ presidential candidates make your skin crawl? Does the idea of voting for either of them give you a rash?

I have an idea, and no it’s not something as wasteful as a third party candidate. This is wasteful and fun.

I learned long ago my vote didn’t count. Until last year, I had lived all my life in California — the Inland Empire, which is nowhere near as regal as it sounds; San Diego; Hollywood; the Bay Area and a miserable year in Redding. I know that state as well as a Sacramento resident knows how far their index finger has to plunge to reach the maxillary sinuses.

California, in terms of its politics, is a hopeless state. Not that being liberal is inherently hopeless. The Democratic Party is so dominant out there it could nominate members of the Stanford swim team for the governorship and it would be a slam dunk.

The state is not simply blue. It is midnight blue. It is so blue that voting there no longer matters. Getting that little “I voted” sticker isn’t an act of thoughtful patriotism as much as it is an “I’m toeing the line” accoutrement. No Republican has held a major office in that state since Arnold Schwarzenegger left to peddle smartphone apps. But it’s not just a red/blue issue. Smart, capable and ethical people within the Democratic Party can’t challenge who the DNC wants in office because that machine will squish you.

Consider that the current governor doused us all in toxic pesticides in the late 1070s when he ran the state back then. Since his return, he took away all local control to combat blight and cut their allowances of water so much residents have to bathe with an eye dropper and their own spittle.

And that’s the best either party had to offer?

So yeah, your vote doesn’t count if you live in the Golden State.

Even worse, if you don’t live in the Golden State, why would you want to vote for either of the two major parties nominees? I could list their profound faults, but you already know. You know how whack both of them are. It would be an insult to your intelligence to tell you, as if you didn’t already know.

So what to do?

There has been a half-assed push to write in “none of the above,” but to hell with that. As jokes go, it’s pretty lame.

Do something that respects your own intelligence.

Vote for yourself. Write your own name on the ballot.

I have already voted for myself. I did so when George W. Bush ran for re-election in 2004. He wasn’t going to win California’s electoral college votes from John Kerry. So I thought it over at that little fiberglass closet, scratched my ass and wrote in my name.

At the time, I thought it was hilarious. Somewhere, after counting the millions of votes for Bush and Kerry, somebody got paid by the Feds to write “James Curran — 1 vote, 0.0000000001 percent.”

Which technically means, my vote counted.

Afterward, I held a one-man victory party with some ice cream sandwiches, a six-pack of Coors Light and watched “Pinky and the Brain” DVDs.

You may not have all the answers, but you know enough not to start a nuclear war. You may not get all you want, but you probably don’t have the energy to battle Congress over their objections to “National Nude Hooters Girl Day” so it’s not like you’ll be ramming horrifying legislation we don’t want down our throats like the last dozen or so presidents.

Voting for the current candidates in California is a ballot that does not count.

Make your vote matter. Vote for the one candidate you do trust.

Write in your own name.

Quick howdy to my political buddies

Those who know me, feel free to advise those who don’t on my behalf: I’m not about to tell you who to vote for. You think I’m going to tell Democrats that they’re about to nominate a son of a bitch? Or the daughter of one? Who am I to talk? I’m fully aware my party already did nominate a son of a bitch.

You ain’t seeing me getting all defensive about your posts about you-know-who.

But I would like you to think twice about your memes, your links to a hot “news” item on or You know the posts. The ones that claim, for example, that Hillary Clinton is off to jail or the hand of God graced Bernie Sanders, and his supporters glowed the holiest of glows despite the fact that they were avowed atheists.

Because every election year — and this is a defined portion of the political calendar, I might add — pundits, pollsters and the permanently aggrieved shriek the shrillest of shrillness to keep you engaged in the electoral process. Put another way, to keep the fat cats’ checks coming and to keep you posting outright falsehoods that your candidate’s opponent is a cockroach in a tie or a pantsuit.

The political “silly season” is defined as such (italics from me): In US politics and lifestyle, the silly season is a period from early summer until the first week of October of election years. Primary elections are over at this time, but formal debates have not started and the general election is still many weeks away. Issues raised during this period are likely to be forgotten by the election, so candidates may rely on frivolous political posturing and hyperbole to get media attention and raise money.

In other words, your patriotism is being cynically used by politicians during a gorgeous time of year.

So why raise your blood pressure or mine? You can’t tell me something about any of the candidates right now that I don’t already know.

If OccupyDemocrats or Right Wing News sends you an alert that — for the good of the country — is an absolute must for your Facebook feed, know this: It isn’t. It’s childish name calling.

You know what would be more mature? To be a child again. Go outside and play. It’s summer, for Pete’s sake.