Spite.

My politically-involved friend, T, had another fit of misplaced rage on Tuesday night, watching primary results come in. Something about Hillary not doing as well as he would have liked. His anger would be better aimed at a more devoted Obama supporter...not at me. Sure, I voted for him. That was, like, 4 months ago. I've bowed out of the action since then.
T started yelling at me that he wants Obama to win the primary, so that when John McCain beats him in the general election, T can call me from the train station -- dirty, beaten, and starved, his gold fillings ripped from his teeth, finally down to his target weight of 98 lbs, ready for shipment to Canada with all the other homosexuals -- and say, "I told you so."
I bet if you survey voters when all this is done and ask them why they voted the way they did, there's going to be a surprising number of people who say: Spite. I voted out of spite.