Blackwell meets Rove: one scenario.

[bleever]

The Walrus and the Architect (with apologies to Lewis Carroll)


The Walrus and the Architect
Were talking over tea,
Of Buckeyes of a voting age,
How numerous they be,
And how the Walrus ought to bear
This great responsibility.

The Architect, his eyes grew moist,
He said, “My dearest friend.
Though there be ballots by the millions,
Still we can depend
That you will safeguard each last one
Until the very end.”

“Alas,” the Architect went on,
“We know some might be lost.
And what a pity it would be
Were we to bear the cost.”
The Walrus stroked his papers
Where his title was embossed.

“I must concur,” the Walrus said,
“No sadder circumstance
Than ballots lost, a somber thing
We cannot leave to simple chance.”
With tears and great affection
They did heartily shake hands.

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“For many a serious thought
Of how to place this year’s machines;
Alas, we underbought.
Thank goodness for the lessons that
The last election taught.”

“Dear Sir,” the Architect replied,
“Your tender care for such details
Should not be spared from any part
Of this most sacred of travails.
I trust the final counting, too,
Will not be left to ‘heads’ or ‘tails’.”

“I’ll bore you not with TRIADS,
Or with hired thugs or GEMS,
Provisionals, or absentees,
Or other strategems;
But not one small discrepancy
Will benefit the Dems.”

“Splendid!” cried the architect,
“Let’s celebrate our noble pact.”
And bread and wine and cheese
Upon the table soon were neatly stacked.
The walrus’s new mansion, in his mind
Appeared as real as fact.

Folding up his napkin,
The architect he sighed,
The work of the dear Walrus
He now surveyed with pride.
And Walrus tasted oh so well
With wine and cheese upon the side.