Dear Wig,

Greetings from Ohio, #1 battleground state. August 20th: holed up in my cellar. The Republicans took over the airwaves two days ago. All TV stations are running Red. The mailman's a Tea Partier and he's censoring, only letting select campaign junkmail through so I'll try to sneak this postcard out to you underneath a poll questionaire. The Dems control the local paper and the water valve in the street. They're holding up a sign. It says they'll turn my water back on if I pledge a hundred to Re-Elect Obama, right this minute, but oh shit, Romney's Bain Boyz are here, swinging putters and drivers. And now the sign's on fire. Wig, if you get this, please send help! I've got some bottled water, and maybe twelve cans of kidney beans, and when that runs out, some Mighty Dog.

I never asked to live in a battleground state. Remember all those Civil War battleground states, like Tennessee and Mississippi? What do they have to show for it, besides graveyards? Pray I can hold out until November, bro.


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Read JK's "Photograph—Abu Ghraib Spring Dance, 2004."

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