Why I’m Voting for Hillary Clinton
This chick’s got great hair, no hobbies, and, look, we just need abortion.
Hey, I’m freaked out about it, too. Not even in my wildest could I envision that I, Buck Crimshaw, a Christian, scientist, and man who has seen the transformative power of prayer in his life firsthand, would be casting a ballot in a presidential election for Hillary Clinton.
But that’s where we’re at and here’s why: That other guy — who is a real prick (Editor’s Note: Mr. Crimshaw was fired by the Republican nominee on the premiere episode of Celebrity Apprentice season four because he refused to wash any foreign-made vehicles during the car wash challenge.) — wants to do something that is just loony. He wants to get rid of abortion.
Yes, I am a devout Roman Catholic. Yes, I am the proud father of seven to nine children: Kethan, Melissica, Danline, Shadley, Uma, Carl, Trish, and possibly one or two of the busty one, the kid with the hair, and the gal whose got the tattoos. And, yes, I believe that women should be protected from themselves or else it’s only a matter of time before we’ve got a national holiday called like “Hats Day” or some crap. But I’ve got to draw the line at cutting abortion for reasons that are, admittedly, deeply personal.
In order to illustrate my incredibly complex rationale for maintaining a woman’s right to choose, I’m about to go abstract as heck, so I’m gonna ask you all to bear with me and trust that I’ll land this craft like Denzel. Here goes nothing:
Do NASCAR drivers not have airbags? Do sky divers not wear parachutes? Do lion tamers not have like a chair or something else to hold up in front of them? These death defying individuals who court ecstasy and adrenaline all take immense precautions to ensure their safety, do they not?
They all do, and my point is this: If I’m going to make love in a nation, that nation better have a contingency plan better than a friggin’ piece of latex because, number one, vasectomies just don’t take on me (I’ve tried), and number two, if I don’t leave myself a trail of bread crumbs there’s a helluva good chance I’m not finding my way out once I go in, and that’s just true. Plus, my little tadpoles are like Lochte — they’re dumb, have great genes, and can gosh darn swim — so I’m courting insemination every time I meet a divorcee or lady cop, and that just won’t do. Listen, I’m making four child support payments a month, I’ve got alimony out the bing-bong, I’m on the hook for three wrongful death claims, and somebody’s gotta get the boat out of the water this week and the only guy I trust is Dave because that son of a gun knows boats and you pay for perfection is what I’ve learned. I’ll tell ya, if my wages get any more garnished, they’re gonna start calling me “Chives” Crimshaw.
What I’m trying to say here is I’m not having another bundle of joy unless I can seduce Serena because that little guy would pay for himself.
Enter Hillary Clinton. With her in office and some more of these hippie dippie judges on the bench, you can bet your sister’s sweet one that the Crimshaw line will continue only through my currently living three or possibly four sons, and I stand a chance of holding onto a shred of the vast media empire I have worked so tirelessly to build.
Consider this The Eagle Shield’s official endorsement of Hillary Clinton, because a vote for Clinton is a vote for men everywhere.