I didn't think this could happen in America. But it can: voter fraud. Voter fraud on a massive scale.
I vote at Edgcumbe Recreation Center, in Saint Paul - a hotbed of radical liberalism. But still, I didn't believe fraud on this scale was possible. Not here. In my quiet neighborhood. In the heartland of America.
I was wrong.
My first clue: I was the seven-millionth voter to enter the polling place since the polls opened at 7:00 am. And it was only 7:10! I immediately became suspicious.
The second clue: behind the table were several elderly men and women, smiling welcomingly. I was fooled momentarily. But then I saw the clues.
Dreadlocks peeping out from under their wigs. A copy of The Audacity of Hope barely visible in the handbag of an elderly woman. And on the ground in front of the table - a leaf. From an oak tree. Carefully placed to make it appear that it had been carelessly carried in on a voter's shoe.
But I knew better. Oak leaf. Oak tree. It could mean only one thing. ACORN!!! Operating right under our noses in quiet Saint Paul! Still working to undermine our democracy!
Fiendishly clever.
The "elderly people" behind the table continued to smile innocently at me.
The third clue: My name was entered in the voting register sixteen times!
"There aren't sixteen Adam Wernicks in this precinct," I said suspiciously. "There's only ever been one."
"Not today," said the kindly-looking "elderly woman" on the other side of the table.
"You mean I can vote sixteen times if I want to?" I asked incredulously.
"Sure," she responded. "Would you like a couple more? It's no problem."
I reeled. This couldn't be happening.
"No," I stammered. "That's okay."
The woman handed me my sixteen ballots and I entered the polling booth. I stared at the ballots. Something didn't look right, but I couldn't quite tell what it was. Then it hit me.
There were no Republican names on any of the ballots. I flipped through them quickly, my heart beating wildly. Oh, my God!! In every column, nothing but Democratic candidates! Oh! My! God!
I must have made some sort of sound because suddenly a voice from outside the curtain quietly asked, "Is everything okay, sir?"
I turned to look. The curtain in these booths only comes part way down, so I could see the person's feet outside the booth. I almost fainted. Because this person was not wearing ordinary shoes. No. Something far more frightening. The thing Glenn Beck has been warning us about for years.
Jackboots.
My eyes traveled upward past the boots, the nylons and the light wool dress over the knee. Just beneath the curtain, I could see it - what I had been dreading, but hoping against hope I would never see. Not here. Please, God, never here! Dear Lord! It was the muzzle of a gun. From the look of it, an automatic weapon.
One false move and I knew my life was over.
"Yes! Fine. Everything's fine," I croaked, my voice betraying my fear. "I'll just be another minute."
I quickly filled in my sixteen ballots, swung back the curtain and exited the booth. The "elderly people" at the table smiled at me in a kindly way. I thought I was going to be sick.
With shaking hands, I slipped my ballots through the reader, my heart heavy with the knowledge that I was complicit in this traitorous act.
I ran from the polling place and staggered out into the streets. All was quiet. The sun shone placidly on the few autumn leaves still remaining on the trees. The sky was a perfect blue. People strolled by. Some of them entered the rec center.
"Oh, you poor people," I thought, tears streaming down my face. "You poor, innocent, trusting people. You don't know. YOU DON'T KNOW!!
But they will. Soon everyone will.
An acorn fell from a tree with a quiet "click." I jumped. For now that sound means something else to me. Something far more sinister.
Now it means the "click" of a gun. The click of a coffin being closed on this once great nation.