Then the doorbell rings.  It's a woman holding a clipboard, hands full of what you quickly determine to be Barack Obama literature.  The game is on, the ice is melting in your soda and your pizza is getting cold... so you've got a few choices.

You could, A, answer the door, thank the woman kindly for stopping by but inform her politely that you're in the middle of a meal.

You could, B, look the misguided Obama-zombie straight in the eye and tell her that while you understand her candidate is planning to redistribute your wealth you will not, while you have the power, allow her to redistribute your time in the middle of a football game.

If that isn't enough you could always, C, have a little fun, opening the door and in a raspy voice answer her questions with lines from your favorite episode of Homestar Runner's Teen Girl Squad.  Unadulterated gibberish is perfectly befitting the economic policy being pursued by her candidate of choice.  

Her: "Hi, my name is Suzy and I'm going door-to-door talking to people about Barack Obama.  Have you decided who you'll be voting for this November?"

You: "Corn chips are no place for a mighty warrior."

Her: "I'm sorry, what?  No, I mean, this November, are you going to be voting for Barack Obama?"

You: "Lathe'd!!!!"

Her: "I really don't understand.  I'm here representing Barack Obama."

You: "And lunch today will be a breadtangle of pizza.  It's OVER." *SLAM*

Or, if you're a really enterprising resident of the sort of eighty-percent Dem precinct that actually gets door-knocks from Democrats, you could go with option D.  Let that pizza get cold, ignore the football game and occupy the Obama acolyte for as long as you can manage.

After all, the longer she's on your front-porch talking to YOU the less time she's spending trying to indoctrinate your neighbors.

This was my dilemma this weekend but really, it was no dilemma at all.  

Read on...