How do I love thee, Pollster? Let me count the wives.

This political season has generated more polling than any other in history.

 

And because of the technology available to campaign committees, it's easier than ever to conduct a telephone survey to see exactly what voters are thinking.

 

Computers are dialing my house like crazy followed by a list of questions easily answered with the punch of a number on the keypad.

 

My favorite, though, is the personal interview where I get to talk to a real person.

 

I am enjoying it thoroughly.

 

You see, as a kid, I never had the guts to pull some of the pranks designed by the Eddie Haskell types I knew.

 

Calling the local Walgreen's to ask if they had Prince Albert in a can was a laugh riot to my juvenile mind ( "Well, you better let him out then.")

 

But I always left such mischief to the disreputables in our ranks.

 

I was above such behavior.

 

Occasionally, I found humor in the poor soul wearing a "kick me" sign surreptitiously taped to the back of his shirt.

 

Today we call this bullying followed by an investigation and eventual expulsion of the ruthless miscreants who would so demean their fellow student.

 

But never  a perpetrator of practical jokes was   I.

 

Until now.

 

Quinnipiac, Harris, and Gallup keep calling me and I am truthful regarding my choices for office.

 

But I must admit I'm having a ball with the demographic inquiries these pollsters make.

 

I think it's an invasion of privacy.

 

Therefore, I seek revenge.

 

I am creative when responding.

 

Last week, I was a high school dropout practicing Islam.

 

A couple of days ago, I was a single mom working part time at a Tattoo parlor.

 

Three weeks ago, my annual income ballooned to over one million dollars and I was 91 years old. My spouse was only 23.

 

The kids can't wait for me to kick so they can get their hands on that money.

 

One  earnest political interrogator wanted details of my marital status.

 

On that day, I had 15 wives.

 

I can't help it.

 

It's a religious practice.

 

No names. Just wife number one, wife number two, wife number three, etc.

 

Funny thing.

 

I never get them confused.

 

I'm  waiting to see the results on television.

 

"Among fundamentalist bigamists, Mitt Romney leads Obama by 10 points."

 

And accents.

 

I've used several of them, all of them bad.

 

One time I lost track and switched from a proper English accent to one from the  Jersey shore.

 

The poor chap listening to me couldn't  understand why a former butler from London kept on saying "Yo, man, how's it hangin' ? ".

 

I told you it was bad.

 

So political hacks, be warned.

 

Call my house if you want to.

 

You never know what rare character will emerge to answer your questions.

 

Have a nice day.

 

By the way, have you seen wife number eleven?

 

She picked up my dry cleaning last week and I can't find my loincloth.