Tim Robbins got his pinko panties in a twist while attempting to vote in New York yesterday afternoon after being informed that his name was not listed on the official register. Rather than just fill out a provisional ballot and cast his vote on paper instead of the machine, Robbins began screaming and accusing poll workers of trying “intimidate him so he wouldn’t vote.” He made such a stink that cops were called to the scene, and eventually resorted to marching into the City Board of Elections to obtain proof that he was in fact registered to vote at that location.
Long boring story short — it took five hours, two cops, and a court order for him to cast his stupid vote. But don’t you dare think it’s all about him. Oh, no. He told MSNBC
“The fact that there’s some kind of attention being paid to me — what should be the real story is there are many like me who did not have the time to do what I did. A lot of people went to their polling places and wound up not being able to vote, or they had to cast affidavit ballots. This is info the poll workers should have had. This didn’t just happen to me, it happened to a significant amount of people.”
[Regarding reports that he caused a ruckus]: “I was non-confrontational … I just asked the polling person, ‘Are you trying to intimidate me to leave because I have a right to vote and right to an explanation if I can’t.’”
Jesus fucking Christ. It’s not like they told him he couldn’t vote. They just told him he had to use a paper ballot. You’d think they’d turned a fire hose on him and held his wife at gunpoint or something. I, on the other hand, show up to vote and get turned away and nobody bats a fucking eye. Oh, so you blow chunks on a voting machine once and you’re suddenly banned for life now? Is that how it goes? Flash your tits at a couple of poll workers and instantly forfeit your rights? Show up with a gun and a megaphone and create a “hostage situation” and “incite a riot” and “assault a police officer” now your vote magically doesn’t count? You want to talk injustice, Tim Robbins, you’ve got my number. And if you don’t, it’s written in a number of bathroom stalls in west Tennessee bars. Call me.