“You’re going to vote and that’s Final!” The fathers face slowly subsided from mauve to lavender. “You’re 18 now, and I think it’s time you act it!”
The solemn son glared out the side window, eyebrow bars reflecting the UV rays on to their newly acquired Magellan; apathetically charting their course to his ultimate doom as a registered citizen. He noticed through the hair guarding his face that they were taking a serpentine and circuitous route: His father noticed – by way of hate-drenched speech – the numerous red lights that were ensnaring them. The saturnine minor rolled his eyes “We’re almost on empty, genius. You just passed the gas station.”
The horn blared superfluously long.

In a voluminous leather chair, with the American flag proudly pinned behind it, sat the fallaciously presiding leader of the free world. Laptop open, he chortled incoherently at the satellite progress report: “I’mma have me a good laugh. Heh, I’ll give ‘em a good run fer their money.” He then decreed “Raise the gas prices!”