as seen on phillyBurbs.com

Don't write me in
If elected, I will not serve - your interests.

Tomorrow, a fraction of eligible voters will go to the polls, laugh, pull some levers and possibly a few practical jokes.

Those among you who feel compelled to do your civic duty may not like the choices you face, but I highly suggest that you take it seriously. Don't write in anyone who wouldn't at least like doing the job.

That includes me.

I was once elected to be a town constable on a lark. It was the second strangest letter I have ever received.

The all-time strangest has to be my rejection letter from the CIA. But more on that in a bit.

I credit my stunning election victory (I wasn't actually running) in the early '90s on a platform of heavy drinking and a fellow reporter, Bob Bauder, who thought it would be funny.

Bauder, now a reporter for the Beaver County Times in the Calkins Media chain, convinced at least one other co-worker to cast a write-in ballot in my name.

When the votes were tallied, I wound up tying a guy who actually mounted a legitimate write-in campaign for the vacant post.

Being a constable in a small town isn't exactly a glamorous job. It mostly involves handing folks court orders from the area's district justice and picking up offenders who fail to show for court hearings - all for a percentage of a modest court fee.

At the time, I was driving a Ford Escort and couldn't envision how I would bring a prisoner to court in that - unless I locked him or her in the hatchback.

Needlesstosay, I thought someone in the courthouse was kidding when I came home late one night and heard a message on my answering machine announcing the tie.

The message asked if I cared to attend "the drawing of lots" to serve as a tie-breaker. Since I thought it was a joke, I ignored it.

The next thing I know the official letter arrived proclaiming me the victor.

I, of course, declined to serve. I believe the job went to my opponent.

So I say to you earnest voters, before you cast a ballot in my name, make sure the job pays at least $50,000, has plenty of opportunity for graft (i.e. getting my friends jobs and government business) and some really cool swag like sweatshirts.

You know something like a county commissioner post, but without the morning meetings.

After more than a year of getting up before 4 a.m., I'd like to start sleeping late again.

As for myself, I will be among the legions of potentially eligible voters who opt out on Tuesday.

I have yet to register to vote in Bucks County. I tried when I first moved back here three years ago at the same time I applied for a change of address card for my driver's license.

The extra card for my license came in the mail. My county voter's card didn't.

The state's motor voter law was in its infancy then, and for some reason - what I have no idea - my voter registration got lost in the mail. No one bothered to inform me until I showed up at my allegedly designated polling place.

The poll workers' solution: I should drive to Doylestown, petition a judge, have a hearing and high-tail it back home to vote before going to work for the day.

My laissez-faire solution: Do nothing further and go to work.

In fact, the last three years mark the only time in my adult life in which I haven't written "None of the above" on a write-in ballot at least once.

It's actually been kind of comforting to know that my choices are not responsible for the current state of affairs. I'd hate to think I could be arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a society.

Of course, then a constable would have to come and pick me up.

My career choice could have been worse.

Back in college, during a night of heavy drinking no doubt, somebody convinced me it would be a good idea to apply for a job with the CIA that was being advertised in the paper.

I swear, I don't even remember doing it. But about three months later, and I'm sure after a lengthy investigation of my background, the rejection letter from the spy service came in the mail.

Whew.

I was never more glad that I was turned down for a job with the Company than last week, when I read the strange saga of Edwin P. Wilson.

Wilson, 75, has spent the last 20 years in Allenwood federal prison after he was convicted in 1983 of shipping 20 tons of C-4 plastic explosives to Libya - something he said he did to ingratiate himself with the Libyan government at the CIA's request.

In a scathing opinion released Tuesday, U.S. Judge Lynn N. Hughes found the CIA lied when it said Wilson wasn't working for the agency at the time of the arms sale.

"Confronted with its own internal memoranda, the government now says that, well, it might have misstated the truth, but that it was Wilson's fault, it did not really matter, and it did not know what it was doing," the judge wrote in a 24-page ruling.

Yet, on Thursday, the CIA continued to deny that the former agent was working on its behalf at time of his arrest.

"The CIA didn't authorize or play any role whatsoever in his decision to sell arms to Libya," agency spokesman Mark Mansfield told the Associated Press. "That decision was his and that is why he went to jail."

At times like these, it's comforting to remember that we get the government we deserve. And if you can't trust the CIA, who can you trust?

Dave Ralis is a card-carrying member of the Donner Party (They eat their own) and has not, nor has he ever been, in the employ of the CIA. His Pave The Grass column appears on Mondays. You can send him an e-mail at  or call him at 215-269-5051. To read his previous columns, click here.