Super with a D. a.k.a. "Super Delegate"

Super with a D.
That’s what I want my new calling card to be.
Everyone else may be Super Bad or Super Man.
But me, I’m just happy being me. With a D.

I represent 299 percent of America:
The 80 percent of Americans that are Caucasian;
The 72 percent that are students;
The 60 percent that go to sleep at night with a teddy bear (or used to);
The 41 percent that are musicians;
The 37 percent that believe we each have the power to make a difference (others are too young to know they can, too old and know they can’t, or just the right age and simply don’t care);
The 7 percent that are male and between the ages of 25 and 29;
The 2 percent that like smooth peanut butter over crunchy.

Not enough to make that super cut you say?
Well, I represent a cross section of America:
Your average, single 29 year old politically conscious, white, Jewish male law student from a middle class family raised on the Atlantic Seaboard, now living in Manhattan and preparing to be paid much more than my worth as a law firm associate.
I can walk into a bar in New York City and look like everyone else there.
I play the field, run the gamut and cook in the kitchen.
I walk, I ride, I talk, I jive.

There are 796 Super Delegates for the Democratic Party.
796 individuals who hold in their hands the power to choose the future of our country by selecting the party's presidential nominee if the two candidates arrive at a draw.
796 individuals who have the audacity, the gall, the nerves to sit down and nod their head one way or the other.
Well, let my head count also.
Let my head count along with the party heads, the talking heads and the bobbing heads that make up the 796.
One more won’t make a difference. (Or will it?)
Super. Superb. Superfluous. Superstitious.
Those words don’t even begin to describe me.
Super Delegate. Let that be me. Super with a D.