ELECTION STILL EVEN, ONE VOTE EACH, PARAMEDICS PREP TO TREAT MR. BERTILSON, IF NEED BE

Our regular commentator and general all-around mentor, Mr. Bertilson, had come to a state where we were somewhat worried for his sanity. His shakings and bouncings were enough to worry anyone. His obsessive reloadings of the election page might frighten Rambo.

"PEOPLE, VOTE," he suddenly bellowed, instigating chaos in the newsroom. Papers flew into the air from the noise, and several people blinked and swallowed some, to make sure their ears were still working.

After perhaps the ten thousandth reload, Mr. Bertilson put down the laptop not at all gently, and started pacing at an astounding rate. His face became fantastically pensive, and his features were wrinkled by the intensity of his thoughts. The laptop beeped, and he jumped the whole nine yards to the computer, whipped it up into his hands, and scowled. Still no more votes.

STAY TUNED! COVERAGE BY THE MINUTE! NEVER FEAR, CSAM IS HERE!

!Noah!