Many of your friends will tell you that if you go on this way, refusing to choose, you are engaging in a “both sides” fallacy. They will say that in fact, Donald Trump is more likely to blow up the whole goddamned world, with his micron-twitch temper and the nuclear button. That may be true. But voting for Hillary Clinton as president and then living with her presidency may turn you into the kind of irritable jerk who wakes up every morning wishing the whole goddamned world could be blown up.
You may in fact believe one side is worse than the other. Even significantly. That’s fine. In the sacred sanctum of my heart, I’d rather die at the hand of a knife-wielding relative over a game of cribbage than by drowning in an inflated kiddie pool filled with ammonia. I’ve gamed both of these scenarios out at length, and one of them is certainly preferable to the other. But I’m not going to interrupt a pleasant November day to endorse either of them.
And please don’t tell me that I owe it to those who died on Utah Beach on D-Day, or at the Battle of Yorktown in the Civil War, to choose between Trump and Clinton. If we really believed that electing a president was somehow connected to honoring our war dead, we would not have chosen a bilious moron and a greedy black hole of ambition as our candidates in the first place.
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