This article is part of the District Bulletin series.
Halt, you! Kindly permit your betters to interrupt your freedom. Those who pass this pole without lingering to read the dispatch posted hereon shall forfeit their right to an hour without shame.
Odd season choosing is upon us, when them like you enter the electoral chamber to choose your betters. As we enter the odd season, serious season, dour season of little dalliance and large weighty choosing, our district shall gracefully upheave once more. You, bearer of just hatchet, bring swift decision down upon us, and with sour humility we resign to your prescription. Your betters place their trust in you, citizen of the district, to select your betters with wisdom and soundness of reason.
Please do not quit reading this pole! Oh, not yet! First, memorize this complicated ballot. Incorrect memorization of this ballot may result in the selection of unwanted or inferior betters.
Superior for Education
The Superior for Education accepts manifold tasks relating to the herding and indoctrination of youngmasters, youngmisses and youngmartins. The Superior for Education employs his giant head to impress his charges, driving them to success with lessons and fables designed to impose respect and civic girth. He sorts youngmasters from youngmisses and ensures that they don't commingle to produce lust babies or sex bats. He identifies youngmartins within the herd and drives them over cliffs. And so promise will these candidates:
Tiny man Walf Bazane is our current incumbent, having made proud hearth in the office for countless years. It is speculated that he invented education. Walf Bazane has killed less children than any other man in the district. His soft heart and enormous head bring dignity to the office.
"Under my control, your children will become like you: huge, stupid and invincible. Please let me keep doing my job, or I will tie a fine wire on my neck and jump out of a tree. My giant head will roll to the center of town and taunt you forever."Hairbank:
Hairbank arrives from the North. He makes his business as a merchant of spoiled meats and automobile husks. He claims to have no family, and bares his teeth at ladies. He possesses no qualifications. He is hostile to our culture.
"Your safety is paramount. If you choose me as your superior, I pledge to feed enough of your children to wild animals that wild animals will not leave the woods angry with hunger and come after you. If I am not elected, I will taunt wild animals until they overrun the town."
This superior enforces the shame of punishment on they who might shrug our happy customs and slouch to the shameful life of the crooklaw. He measures punishment for all ingraces, from trivial slights to the awful rough and grim. He maintains the tether-pole, and twines all them to it who offend us. The honest and gentle need fear him not, but them who offend will taste the salty slap of his crackbook. Read the words of they who would serve:
A native district boy, hale and tall, huge, stupid, and invincible. Traps the smell of vigor in his palms like a goose catching a bread. Arthur Asb, such a specimen, pale and fine in breeding, he waves to old men on porches so politely. A gay giant.
"I have more teeth than any other man, and like pearls they shine, except the black one. The black one is my will. With this black tooth I will impose my conscience on the undertuned."Weyre Asb:
The brother of Arthur, a robust man of appreciable and attractive quality. In boyhood, Weyre lacked the apprehension of a man, and sought the craft of a treachor. After six days tethered to the pole, Weyre learned his hard lesson, and now desires to bring that hard lesson to the lesser.
"Tremble now, cocklaw, for I have something unpleasant. I have grown my finger's nails into claws. Elect my brother if you fear my mantle of horror."
This superior fulfils one simple task: he drives away Croisquessein, the invisible man who has thwarted us lo so long of years. Maybe a hundred years. Croisquessein hides our trinkets, dirties our suitcoats and shirtcourts, flimsies our children, and impedes our footfalls on the ground, creating invisible obstacles to fell us. He embarrasses us in our professions by misplacing our tasks. Croisquessein can't be seen due to his invisibility or non-existence, but the Superior for Protection & Warding spends his days attempting to drive him from our lives. So far, no Superior has been able to do so. Perhaps one of these men here:
One of the most notable men of science in our district, James Feiche is the inventor of the duck-rim and the Feiche clamp, as well as the sporting throw known as the mastodon press, which he used to defeat Hon Helch in the masked sport games so long ago. It is a lucky turn indeed that he now turns his machinelike mind to the problem of Croisquessein.
"I thank you for the vote which you may see fit to afford me. I will destroy Croisquessein with the furnace of science. Only science can find a man who is invisible or does not exist. I beg that you will let me destroy Croisquessein."Hon Helch:
Hon Helch is the sole rival of James Feiche, and carries the bitterness of defeat on into the years with the tenacity of a springloaded Feiche clamp. He has no interest in warding or destroying Croisquessein.
"I am coming for you, James Feiche. I will snap this election in half and then I will snap you in half."
Our head better superior stands above all other men. He is owner of the district, and he coddles it to him like a baby child. Our Head Better Superior lies sunbellied alongside us in the favorable times, sharing in our content and fat, and in the poor times he swats the wasps from our eyes like a cat so vigilant. Please take especial care to choose him, for he outstands all other superiors as their better. Find him among the two below:
Goodbarrel Claude Fantsy was one of the district's most noted grandfellows, a superior even into his bones inside, a servant to all man and men. He pledged his whole face, his face of truth, to the life in public and the demands of many. Please elect Claude Fantsy instead of Dorroile.
"Please, please do not vote for Dorroile, because he is notorious for being obscene, and he will only use his position to find women, smirk at decency, and cheat in the dance lottery. Dorroile is evil and crafty. I am a good person and the district is my very marrow inside. I will do good things. I will give away my car to somebody, if I win. I will do anything."Dorroile Y_____:
Dorroile is an awful man, a pranksman and joke artist. He loves eating and money. He is smarter than everybody. H never seems to open his eyes. Nobody can figure out what to do to punish him.
"Please vote for me so that I can use your money to buy stupid food. I am going to buy a chicken filled with taffy and eat it in front of everybody for laughs. I can make Claude Fantsy cry just by dancing, I bet. It would be funny to see him cry, so let's do that. I want to sleep with women all the time also."
Elections shall be held on the 19th of April, beneath awful bronze panther that guards the Weep of Desperation. To vote, drive your hatchet into the stump corresponding to the candidate of your choice. Following your votes, please proceed into the Weep's eastern gulch for relief & fancy times.
This libtard terminator keeps asking for guns that don't exist and I may have to close early out of frustration.
Editor's Note: Due to a freak power outage, this obituary of Barbara Bush was written without the benefit of research. In order to pay our respects to this great woman in a timely fashion, we have decided to post this piece as-is. We hope you forgive any errors on our part.
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