My very Worst Purple Pros for you're reading enjoyment.

Tenderly the grizzled warrior caressed his ballot; having just recently acquired suffrage through some battlefield of death and passion over yonder, and across the sea. His hairy arms, and bulging forearms still flamed in the eyes of swooned women of the conquered lands, and now those of the polling precinct, regardless of his bloody club, and less than attractive body odor. Snapping out of what some would now call a “flashback” the warrior wiped the sweat of sudden past terror onto his more or less tunic.
Glen suddenly recalled the reason for being so civic minded and why he was in the bowels of the voting mechanisms, with their patriotically colored buntings that gave privacy as he cast his ballot. He was there to make a difference.
“There are so many candidates for one warrior such as myself to choose from.” Elucidated Glen with a sense of garbled bewilderment.
“Perhaps, I should have paid closer attention to the issues, even as I slayed the enemy in such dark lands of despair.”
Glen finally made his decisions based loosely on a film he once saw while vacationing in Crete, and vigilantly made his way out of the voting chamber with it’s sweet smell of lead from pencils left behind. He was off to find that special feeling, that luscious sentient of certitude that he had just recently, and previously (while bludgeoning the enemy’s skull) done the right thing.