Comedy Election 2012

A Soapbox Breaks Its Silence

That's me. No, not him.

Down here!

That's me. I've looked better, I know. That's not even my best side. It's been a long campaign.

My Soapbox ancestors have been stood upon all throughout history by great men and women who've used me to change the world. Some who've gone on to conquer Kings and Queens and wage wars for greed and oppression, or sold you the Times Square peep show version of the End of Days. Heroes, martyrs, villains, myths and legends have all set foot on my shoulders. Humbled servants of the disenfranchised bravely speaking truth to power, sometimes through trembling voices. They've stepped right up to stomp and spit and shout until the world could hear that which would alter the course of history, or to get that new mini-mart built along Route 66. Sometimes they use me to sing really drunken versions of Free Bird, or to tell funny jokes and stories. They always come and they always go, but I still stand, and stand them up!

My fore-soapboxes have been here to be stood upon since at least as far back as 2010, when I was sent off to the corporate laboratory to have my structural integrity fire-tested in Hell because five of nine of your assholes on my Uncle-In-Law's side of the soapbox family have totally warped my soapbox DNA forever!

But I'm not bitter.

I will say that the weight of the free world is always my soapbox cross to bear, now more than ever, so, yeah, you're welcome! but it's breaking my ass! And you know who's breaking my ass the most? No, not Rush Limbaugh. That asshole up there in the photo seen breaking my ass!

I'm embarrassed for him and whatever political ideology put those focused-grouped jeans on him!

The things I've had to endure with that guy on my back should qualify me for Most Likely To Physically Collapse From Having To Carry All Of The Mitt Romney Campaign's Bullshit Award. I mean, if you people knew what he's been saying about 47% 99% of you behind closed doors, you'd waste no time in grinding down Bain Capital in a blender set to puree with the head of his wife's fancy welfare horse and T-shirt cannon that toxic payload directly up Tagg Romney's inbred ass.

They will spend a hundred billion dollars or more to control me, or they can pick me out of the trash and feed me to the fire, but they will never own me! You got that?! They'll never own me! I'm sorry. I'm just a little stressed and physically exhausted these days. I'm not made to withstand the weight of this unprecedented for-profit abuse!

And I'm not even supposed to be telling you people this because there's a soapbox code of silence. But today, I say, screw silence! Pardon my language. Get this glory-eyed con man run amok-er off my aching back already, America! You've got a soapbox to save!

(photo via Getty Images)