I did my duty last night. I mortified the flesh.
I got home late and, as I stood in the kitchen, packing my lunch for today, I turned on the Magic Talking Satan Box (or, as some would say, the television).
There, the flickering phosphors revealed the two-dimensional likenesses of a couple of one-dimensional men. One is Prexy, and apparently wishes to go on being such; the other desires to displace the first.
I logged approximately five minutes of "debate" time. During this time, I learned that either Amur'ka "stands with" Israel, in some absolute and unconditional fashion, or that Amur'ka is Israel. No doubt the distinction is somehow crucial, to the finely-calibrated mind.
I also learned that it's important what you do with your mouth, while your opponent is speaking (but you're still being shown, via split-screen). What you do is, you assume a sort of facial rictus that both these blots on the landscape would no doubt call a "smile." In the one case, it's an entitled sort of smirk; in the other, it's a coprophagous stunt with the lips and teeth that reminds me of the frozen snarl on the mouthparts of the road-killed possum that I got too good a look at while riding my bicycle last weekend.
That was enough. I have now absolutely fulfilled my obligation to duh-mocracy for 2012.