I didn’t even realize what was happening until yesterday. While at a red light one block from my office, six giant heads made of sand were suddenly staring at me from across the street of the Myrtle Beach Convention Center.

I thought I had suddenly been transported to Easter Island before I noticed one of the heads had perfect hair.

“Oh, Mitt Romney,” I concluded.

The G.O.P. holds their Presidential debate tomorrow right in my back yard, and I couldn’t be more confused.

What is a major political event doing in a tourist town?

I think there should be a rule that no act of politics can occur within five miles of ANY beach. The debate is being held so close to the ocean, Ron Paul could answer a question about the economy, shed his clothes and go streaking down 21st avenue, and be frolicking in the water before John McCain has finished his rebuttal.

Since I’ve been a resident of Myrtle Beach I’ve been in a complete state of lethargy. CNN is my kryptonite. All I want to do is drink beer and play air guitar to Guns n’ Roses at Bummz. People who live in a tourist town aren’t supposed to be concerned with politics. For us, the “hard questions” include things like how they can make the ice in their cooler melt slower.

All I’m saying is that I don’t think this is the proper environment to determine our nation’s future leader.

Also, like adding water to acid, isn’t it never a great idea to mix politicians (those kinky Republicans especially) with an abundance of strip clubs? Tomorrow night I’ll be at Nuttin’ Butt Horseplay* with a camera phone and a tape recorder.

By Friday I’ll be retired, having sold my blackmail to TMZ.com for millions.

Maybe I’ll attend the debates (if only to ask which candidate, if elected, will allow the liquor stores around here to stay open past 7 p.m.).

Considering the bizarreness of these creepy sand heads, I can’t possibly fathom how it will be an ordinary day in politics.

*Real name for a strip club in Myrtle Beach, by the way. I could never make that up.