We find a seat.  We look at our number.  Our number is F12.  We do not understand.  We look in vain for some type of sign or display that tells us what number is currently be called.  We find it.  We are at number 58.  What the hell does F12 mean then?  We ask the man next to us.  We groan in dismay because the numbers have to cycle around to one hundred.  Crap.

Well.  We are at least very relieved that the Secretary of State has thoughtfully provided a big screen plasma TV for us!  Yay!  Wait.  What is this crap?

Oh.  We are not relieved anymore.  There are recycled, cycled ads extolling the virtues of Michigan.  It is one big pile of statewide patriotism.  At one point a sham Harry Potter instructs a seventeen year old boy that DRINKING IS BAD.  Then it starts all over again.

We are only at 68.  How long has it been?  I don’t know my friends.  Time has no meaning in hell.