Reflections on . . . Oh, Never Mind. Just Read It and You’ll See.

It's here at last: election day 2016. I voted, as I'm sure you did too, and so, as we sit here awaiting the results this election eve, naturally my thoughts turn to vomit.
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By this I don't mean they are becoming said substance; I mean they are focusing on it as a matter of contemplation. I suppose it's only fitting that they should, given the particularly nauseating nature of this election cycle, but in fact, the election has nothing to do with the matter. So forget about it. Forget I said anything about the election. No election—we never had that conversation. Just remember the vomit part. That's very important, very germane to the following discussion. And to set the stage, I offer the following highly relevant lead-in:
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I need to get a new sax case. Badly. My present case is more than thirty years old and is falling apart. So last night I searched for one online, and now suddenly I'm getting inundated with ads for saxophone cases. They're everywhere—my sidebars are crawling with the bloody things.
 
This business of information scraping has gotten me to thinking. You know how you do a Google search, and, with the constancy of an atomic clock, an ad appears that promises the "best source for [whatever it is you're looking for]"? (Just say you know what I'm talking about, okay?) What you're looking for could be anything. Anything. As a nature lover with a penchant for wetlands, I've frequently encountered ads promising optimal deals on bogs, which leads me to wonder how the supplier manages shipping and handling. I mean, two hundred acres of dripping peat replete with tamarack trees has got to be a challenge. It's rich food for speculation, but we'll let it pass. Because the point I want to make is, I seem to have hit the limit for what such ads will offer.
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I just conducted a search on vomit. I wanted to see whether I'd be met with the promise of a best supplier. I felt sure I'd find a topnotch vendor who could provide buckets of barf—the best, freshest chunky gunk at rock-bottom prices. Imagine my disappointment when no such supplier stepped in. To whom now shall I turn?
 
Not that ads involving the word vomit don't abound. My search results are still in front of me, and first in order is the Genuine Joe Vomit Absorber. You can buy a 24-pack of 16-ounce bottles for $58.74. That should last you a while, I'd think. Plus, with Christmas just around the corner, one quick purchase solves the question of what to buy for stocking stuffers.
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Next in line, and sure to enhance the ambience at any party, is the Loftus Giant Vomit. The ad promises that "each vomitous mat is specially crafted so no two are alike." Just think: your very own custom-designed rubber puke sheet. "It's big," the ad enthuses. "It's real big. Sprinkle a few drops of water on it for the wet look." By all means, do. Win your date's undying admiration with your wacky sense of humor.
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But let us not dwell on fake barf overlong, for awaiting us is an offer for the literary minded: Vomit, a novel that taps into the full potential of the word visceral. In the words of the descriptive copy, "Der Romantitel 'Vomit' ist lateinischer Herkunft, kommt aber auch in englischer Sprache vor und assoziiert an Bulimie unter der die Hauptprotagonistin Victoria leidet. Die junge Romanschriftstellerin Marlene Holzer ist ein Meisterwerk gelungen!"
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One can only hope it's true. We are left to guess, for the Medical Action Industries Vomit and Urine Bag entices us to investigate its wonders. Perhaps "entices" is the wrong word, but let it stand; it cannot be too far off in describing this product, whose "wide opening is fully supported by a rigid plastic ring to help ensure unobstructed access to the containment bag while providing a circular grasping surface for secure grip." We can agree that a wide opening, unobstructed access, and a secure grip are all very good things to have in such an item.
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My search has turned up plenty of other equally compelling commodities: the Smelleze Eco Vomit Absorbent. The Mastodon Vomit Sweatshirt. The 25th Anniversary Psychedelic Vomit Guitar. Oh, and so much more, gobs upon gobs more—truly a never-ending supply of vomit.
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Which, come to think of it on this election eve, sounds a lot like the presidential campaign we're emerging from.