I have made a decision.
The Undecideds is just a polite way of saying:
Who am I voting for?
Go soak a sock, that's who I'm voting for.
You'll find out when I feel like telling you, if I feel like telling you, and fucking A.
Who died and made you God of voting?
You just want me to tell you, so you and your friends and enemies
can speculate on who my friends and enemies are.
Who are you voting for?
That's the more important question.
Who are you voting for?
Because I want to know.
We're not allowed to say.
Oh, La De Da.
Isn't that convenient.
Well I'm not allowed to say either.
Now I have to go, I'm late for a thing.
The media just hates it when people effectively tell them to fuck off, so they speculate anyway. Because people hate it.
And all of that is why the Undecideds exists.
It's tit for tat. The cost of holding elections in a democracy.
You know something we don't know, and we hate you for it. So you can shove that fuck off right up your ass.
But, the purse string holders just love The Undecideds, they love them more than anyone in the whole wide world. They love them better than Bobby Sherman who they realize now was just puppy love. I love you Undecideds. I want to marry you, and have your babies.
...'cause I want (yeah-yeah yeah)
A girl (yeah-yeah yeah)
To call (yeah-yeah yeah)
My own (yeah-yeah)
I want a dream lover so I don't have to dream alone.
The Undecideds, make it a race. And the genius of it is they exist. We don't have to make them up. It's a fixed race that nobody's fixed.
The more of a race it makes, the more people tune in to watch me, or us, the more people tune in to watch me, or us, the more money is to be had, by me, or us, as well as the people that sell their shit on our air waves, or newspapers, or on the interthings.
And the better a job we do in annoying people, the more Undecideds it makes. We can't lose.
But really the ultimate beauty of the whole thing is we really don't give a shit who wins.
We win,
That's who wins.
Yeah, I think I read a monograph on that.
The Undecideds I believe fall into one of three categories:
A. It's none of your business.
B. It's the one thing they can do to make it an honest race.
They can't be got to, they are incorruptible.
C. Ply me. Take me out on a date.
...Don't sit there mumblin', talkin' trash,
If you wanna have a ball
you gotta go out and spend some cash,
Let the good times roll...
And the beat goes on...
As The Decideds pick up the tab.
So we'll go along with you. We will not call you the pesky, obstinate, sophomoric, I know you are but what am I, taunting, road blocks that you are.
But rather the more diplomatic The Undecideds.
Because even though you maintain what you want, your precious anonymity, we get the notoriety, and the cash.
You get everyone to make a fuss over you, like, Keith Richards, Keef! Keef! Keef!
And we get even more notoriety, and medals, and awards, and tons more cash.
We are the cash people,
We're cash 'n carry
Cash is our middle name,
Hello my name is Johnny Cash,
Yeah, is it true to be special forces,
you gotta cut off an enemy's ear?
My name is Sue,
how do you do,
now you're gonna die.
They make us all have to work harder to insist the candidates clarify their positions.
That's what The Undecideds means.
They are the school master in The Wall.
They're ruthless people.
I hate the way they, lick stamps.
Don't you understand we all have real jobs, when we come home late at night we're tired. We don't have the time or the strength for you.
We weren't put on this earth to constantly potty train a puppy.
I bet you always insist on being on the bottom, making the other person do all the work?
Do you work at the DMV?
Do you have six fingers on your right hand?
Apologize.
What?
Apologize.
Are you totally de-ranged?
You, pompous, stuck up, snot nosed, English, giant, twerp, dickhead, fuck face, asshole.
The Undecideds are the final reveal in What Not to Wear, the last page of an Agatha Christie novel, the iron maiden in The Pit and the Pendulum, aahh, the blessed meat gravy in Goodfellas.
And when our side wins it's us singing Stairway To Heaven to the other side.
Undecideds and all.
Oh so close
"You're a helpless romantic, aren't you."
"Yep."
"A glass is half full kind of gal, and strangely stuck in the 70's?"
"I'm an optimist. And Mozart was born a very long time ago yet people still listen to his music...constantly. There's some others too."
"A point to the romantic."
"But at least we can both agree the glass isn't full yet?"
"Well, maybe for you it's not, but I'm a cheap date, and, my stop is coming up."
A pause.
"So...Undecided, you know, you need a nickname."
"Some people call us Swing Voters."
"Well Mr. Swing Voter what's it going to be?"
"I don't have to tell you, you aren't my dad."
"Tom you're a dick."
And in the end...
.
.
.
.