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In a staggering twist of fate worthy of a surrealist nightmare, the Postal Service is now the reluctant sheriff of the election frontier, constantly updating election officials on which roads are blocked off like the gates of a high-security prison. Because nothing says “democracy” like a mail carrier armed with a weather report instead of a ballot. Gannon, the election overseer, is playing a game of electoral hide-and-seek, trying to track down voters whose absentee ballots are ghosting them like a bad Tinder date.
“We’re doing everything we possibly can,” Gannon assures. Apparently, “everything” includes a running tally of blocked streets while voters are left wondering if their ballots have fallen into a black hole.
Just in time for the election circus, the state has decided to bring in 15 tents—yes, tents—because who doesn’t want to vote under a precarious canopy that could become the next scene from ‘Survivor’? These hard-knock habitats will be equipped with bathrooms and security systems. Hawking the illusion of safety, but where’s the fun in a well-guarded vote? Aventine squares are expected to pop up in Avery County, where officials are doing the electoral equivalent of finding a needle in a haystack—only the needle is a vote and the haystack is a pile of political chaos.
John Anglin, the GOP chair in Yancey County, claims, “This is not a partisan issue. This is an American issue,” which is code for, “We’re all in this sinking ship together, regardless of who brought the popcorn.”
For the record, rural counties used to operate with just a single early voting site, but this is the year of 2024’s sequel “When Natural Disasters Encounter Politics,” where Helene has turned polling places into ghost towns—14 out of 19 precincts are now just figments of voters’ memories. Avery County, where 76% of voters magically turned out in 2020, has ramped up their efforts so the chaos doesn’t repeat itself. Because what’s better than fighting fire with fire when it comes to electoral turnout?
Trivette, the county’s deputy director of the electoral circus, aptly likens this whole fiasco to “round two of different occurrences for a presidential election.” Because if the first rumble didn’t keep you on the edge of your seat, strap in for the sequel!
Meanwhile, during this political pantomime, it’s uncertain how the results will play out in Asheville—home to progressive ideals and probably the only place in North Carolina where “unicorn votes” are being counted. The neighboring rural counties are prepping for a hearty round of “Let’s Make America Grate Again” with their Trump-shaped piñatas.
As the early voting shindig kicks off, election officials get ready for their high-stakes game of electoral roulette. In Newland, they’re unveiling a new polling spot at Riverside Elementary—perfect for voting or hosting a carnival. Apparently, they’re gonna use the Starlink satellite to tabulate votes from precincts jammed together like sardines in a tin, because what could possibly go wrong when you throw satellites into the mix?
And in case you were wondering, Joseph Trivette recalls a nugget of wisdom from Grandma: “Voting is important!” So here he stands, a modern-day knight in a bulletproof vest made of sheer bureaucracy, ensuring that in this bizarre carnival of democracy, your right to vote shines through the chaos, even if the battleground looks more like a circus tent than a polling place.
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