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I Can't Wait Until This Goddamn Phone Stops Robo-Ringing

Robo-Mitt Romney, robo-Clint Eastwood, robo-“Monica,”* several polling companies I’ve never heard of — the pace has only picked-up in the past week on this here swing-state landline phone.

Robo-Mitt Romney, robo-Clint Eastwood, robo-“Monica,”* several polling companies I’ve never heard of — the pace has only picked-up in the past week on this here swing-state landline phone. And every time it rings, the dog goes nuts because four years of city life has trained him that phones ringing usually means someone’s at the door. The bombardment starts about eight in the morning, with usually a final blirrrring gasp around the end of dinnertime. I don’t believe a single one yet has come from a left-wing entity, which is nuts because Dolores County, CO (population: about 1,800) seems like it might have some vulnerable, undecided minds. No idea how straight-up harassment is supposed to garner a favorable vote, but maybe our phone number doesn’t lead to “the norm.”

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I guess the psychological idea is suggestibility, or, simply, our potential to believe things that are repeated at us. Like “Mitt Romney is a great guy.” Or somesuch. I dunno, the phone is usually hung up upon realizing that the caller is another right-wing robot. But, in the suggestibility scheme, repetition counts — not to wear us down but to make us feel like we’re surrounded by this particular opinion, get our mob reflexes going. Also, worth noting is that these calls aren’t so much going after me but going after the smaller subset of people that are even more suggestible, older people or voters with low self-esteem or perhaps sporting one or another personality disorders that predisposes them to suggestibility (PTSD, say). Also: really emotional people are generally more suggestible. Myself, meanwhile, I’m as emotional as a gunslinger.

But I am susceptible to being irritated, so I reckon its time to make the 50 mile haul to Dove Creek, the Pinto Bean Capital of the World, to drop off my ballot. This being one of those select few states where presidential votes matter or not, it’s a great way to get away from this fucking phone.

* Robo-Monica invited me to a Mitt Romney “victory party” at a place where rich people keep their jets.

Reach this writer at michaelb@motherboard.tv.