I can't even donate $2.50 yet the DNC and its many tentacles are calling me everyday at the world's most awkward hours asking me to help.
Rick Santorum, left, and Hillary Clinton, right, posing at a coffee shop and anxiously awaiting their steak paid for by you, the Republican National Committee.
It's like my alma mater begging for money. They can't take no for an answer. There's no magic bullet. I don't want to be rude and say, "FFFFFFFFFFFFUCK YOU" in the slowest, most dramatic way possible but I really want to be rude and say, "FFFFFFFFFFUCK YOU" in the slowest, most dramatic way possible.
Once I promised to donate when I'm no longer poor and they offered to send me an envelope to send back money when that happened as if it would happen in the next three to five days. So I told them I found this cell phone, likely a burner a la the television series the Wire, and I lived in the sewer being trained in karate or kung fu by a large talking rat named Splinter.
"You don't know if it's karate or kung fu?" the donation seeker implored.
"It could be taekwando for all I know."