John Boston | Voting 37 Times and Identifying as a Gynecologist

John Boston

Hard to believe, but there are people in my life with even less science acumen than I. They embrace the Left and seem invested in the all-encompassing shades of climate change, from Global Warming to Ice Age to what I call in my best Twilight Zone voice: “The meteorological unimaginable…!!!”

Wide-eyed, they have to ask.

“What’s THAT?!?!?!”

“Cloudy, with a chance of meatballs,” I say with my omnipresent and lovable twinkle.

Some of my friends feel the world is ending a decade hence. Sure. If enough of you changos keep voting Democrat.

Such conversations are like having a beer with a bunch of Aztecs.

From the year 900. 

Every non-brassiered bozo with a Bernie Sanders haircut is passionately invested in Climategeddon. Only way to stop it? Move to a cave and turn in your wallet and Netflix account to the government.

Save The World. Win Valuable Prizes.

I had to visit the DMV recently for a license renewal. With the ongoing COVID-19 kabuki theater, all branches of government are snapping to attention to make our lives more difficult. The DMV requires appointments. That way, not only do you run the risk of kicking the bucket from Chinese Crayfish Flu, you can also die of heat exposure standing outside in line in 219-degree heat at Fort Tejon and inching your way down Interstate 5 to the Newhall office by the 15th.

Of November, 2067.

Sure. Have government fix the weather. They couldn’t take a bullet train two blocks from Walnut to Chestnut without getting lost. I could see destroying American civilization, if Rob Reiner and our neighboring imbecile congressman Adam Schiff were part of the deal. But what makes liberals think we should take the American economy to pre-Pleistocene levels in the belief that the geniuses who run Congress, the IRS AND the Post Office will save the day?

Adding to the left’s legacy, we now have mail-in ballots.

Which isn’t so stupid. It’s their plan to steal every election.

Send out a few hundred million blank ballots in the mail to dead people, illegal aliens, dogs, cats, long-bankrupt hot dog stands, MS-13 and, bletch — skateboarders? 

Heavens. What could possibly go wrong? Then the Left will act surprised. “Golly! I’m blushing!! EVERYONE voted for me!? Gosh! How’d that happen?!”

Of course, as we roll the burning wagon downhill toward Hades, sending Cerebrus screeching in three-part harmony with tails between his legs, maybe there’s a bright side to the liberal nirvana of ideocracy.

If I can just get a junk mail ballot to vote, why can’t I get a mail-in dog license for my non-existent dog?

Who, if I just added a last name, would be entitled to vote?

“Yes you’re a good boy yes you are you are!!” I say to my imaginary dog. “Do you want to VOTE? Do you want to VOTE? Yes!? Yes you do!? Gooboy…!”


Pardon my greediness usually reserved to the Democrats, but couldn’t I get mail order licenses for 37 imaginary dogs? And some ballots? What would it hurt? A scant 37 votes isn’t going to throw an election.

Why bother to visit city hall or Las Vegas to show up for marriage? Shouldn’t we, if the abject insane itch struck any of the hapless us, be able to just have government mail us our conjugal instructions and license? (s)?

Just mosey to the keyboard. Visit the new government website (which will cure global warming when it finally becomes operable). Maybe acquire the group package: Dog; Wife; Oak Tree Limb Trimming.

Who am I kidding? You can’t prune an oak in SClarita. You’d have to go to Brazil for that.

It’s not that I have any great yearning to become a gynecologist. But — if someone from the Cali Cartel can vote in San Diego, no questions asked — how come I can’t get certified, via the U.S. Postal Service, to become a gynecologist? I mean — what if I IDENTIFY as a gynecologist? Is the government, and, systemically, E.W.A.E.s (Evil White Americans Everywhere) — DISCRIMINATING against me? I think I’m going to find a restaurant that’s open and through a bullhorn give SCV diners a piece of my mind: “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU TO TELL ME I AM NOT A GYNECOLOGIST?”

Dear Mr. Santa Clarita Valley:

On behalf of Mr. Bob Kellar, city of SClarita councilman (and boy howdy, IS he), we regret to inform you that you are not — nor because of decades-long restraining orders ever will be — a gynecologist.

No! Bad Mr. Valley! NOT a gynecologist!

Learn it. Live it. Memorize it.

For Mr. Kellar,

Trudy Abou-Jean, Mr. Kellar’s Hubba-Hubba Intern                                                               

Golly, Trudy. Have to say. A smidge disappointed. Wait. Another letter:

Dear Mr. Santa Clarita Valley:

Phew! Just in time! Please accept our apologies.

Our crack investigative squad discovered that former disgraced congresswoman Katie Hill, D-Santa Clarita, forged the above letter just to cause friction between Mr. Kellar and HIS hubba-hubba wife, Kathy. 

Still. We regret to inform you that no matter HOW you identify yourself, you are not a gynecologist, lion tamer, certified swim instructor, female body inspector or, taking our caps off here in respect, a notary republic.

Best wishes for your continued success,

The Guys at SCV Sheriff’s Substation No. 94609, Gorman

Oh well. At least I still get to vote 37 times and no. It won’t be for Katie Hill. Or her ideological twin sister, Christy Smith.

On the bright side, maybe I’ll still get to keep the lab coat and plastic pocket protector…

John Boston is a local gynecol … er, ahem — writer. 

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