On All Hallow’s Eve, the election polls were teeming with life. Some polls, even, with death. Across the country, in small, remote towns—near dense woods and dark cemeteries, polling locations were set up. ‘Vote Obama!’ cried a leathery corpse.  ‘Vote McCain!’ chanted another. Now that Congress had extended civil rights to the undead and the unsavory, they appeared in droves.  From sarcophagus and cell, from slag and cesspool, they came. They came shuffling, loping, creeping, slithering. They came crawling, gyrating, hobbling, burrowing, groping, and flapping.  And they cast their ballots.  There were, after all, many important issues at stake.