The brilliant satirist David Sedaris doesn't think much of undecided voters. At least not with the options in this race.
To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. "Can I interest you in the chicken?" she asks. "Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?"
To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked.
Sedaris goes on to recall a story from his childhood, as he so often does, in recalling his first experience as a voter. He was 11, and his mother the apathetic constituent, did not know nor care for whom her vote was cast. So she had her son do it, and he picked Richard Nixon rather than Humphrey because a man named "Nixon" had been a member of the Sedaris church.
Eventually, he gets back to the current state of affairs:
I wonder if, in the end, the undecideds aren’t the biggest pessimists of all. Here they could order the airline chicken, but, then again, hmm. "Isn’t that adding an extra step?" they ask themselves. "If it’s all going to be chewed up and swallowed, why not cut to the chase, and go with the platter of shit?"
Ah, though, that’s where the broken glass comes in.