This article is part of the District Bulletin series.
Whereas the wrong man has been chosen to lead Our District and,
Whereas we entreat our people to remove him from office and,
Whereas we carry terror that if this recall fails he will tease us so unkindly.
Neversoever more clear has the urgent need- the urgent, urgent need- to dutifully read your bulletins been. Was our warning not staunch, you reader? Did nary we admonish you so poignantly that Dorroile is a cocklaw, a jokesman? How upon how could you misapprehend our stern counsel to instead choose Claude Fantsy as your Head Better Superior, he who would execute his office with reverent dignifaction?
And still you swept this cocklaw into office, and now look. Your babylike voting has abased our proud District, and with grinding teeth we endure the sneery cackles of our neighbors. Kindly we now plead that you vote to remove Doroille from his office and replace him instead with him whom previous of the function, your Claude Fantsy.
To list Dorroile's abuses would only flatter him in his own infamy, and he would dance his awful dance and emit the burbling squeal that so often punctuates his joy. With inbuilt apology we sheepishly admit that we must do so, for the odious paradox of the law compels us not only to publish Dorroile's abuses but also to allow him to rebut them. Though honor prohibits us from encouraging you to skip his rebuttals, we must strenuously do that thing exactly.
A) Miscarriage of Public Vehicles
Dorroile has misemployed his jurisdiction to requisition many exotic or nonexistent service vehicles, including a treeclimber, an autohod, a bicycambulance, a motorsaucer and a stationary hearse. In his wantonness, he joyrode these conveyances around the District, a-wheeping and a-whooping, before inevitably hurtling them into the reservoir. The cost, paid from your taxbox, has yet to be entirely fathomed.
Dorroile's Rebuttal: I am not sorry, and as I write this I am shrieking with derisive laughter. Next, I will buy two of the most expensive things I can think of and crash them into one another, and I will use your taxes to do it and I will love it.
B) Erection of Baffling Statuary
Dorroile has melted our fine fancy statue, the huge bronze panther that has guarded the Weep of Desperation since before we know when, and appropriated the materials to create an obscene grotesquerie of his own design. Decency forbids description of the statue, but surely you are well familiar with its horror. How that panther, that melted panther, how he must rankle and roar at the debasement of his elements for such a purpose. Our greatest monument, our beloved Weep, has been ignominized and perversed by a fallowbrained cornwit.
Dorroile's Rebuttal: I think we all love the statue.
C) His Usual Dancing
Ladies, children and slender lily men are forewarned to forswear this paragraph, as it may permanently scandalize the minds of the delicate. Dorroile is perhaps notorious above all else for his dancing, a dance which he has honed for a decade. None in this District remains unscathed by the gyrations of this maniac. For the first time in print, his dance is described (cease to read now, ye squeamish): he slaps himself all over his body, on occasion lifting his shirt to slap bare flesh. His eyes are tight shut, as they always are, he never opens them. He shakes one leg, then both, then he mounts his arms in a horseshoe shape and shakes them too. Then more of the slapping, until he is on the floor, seizing and spasming, slapping himself and rubbing himself and slapping the floor, spitting into the air.
Dorroile's Rebuttal: No man will stop me dancing.
D) Passage of Frivolous Laws
The ugly wit of Dorroile has led him to loopholes in our charter. Through these holes, he has elaborated his own authority to such a point that now he can make his own laws and we cannot think of a way to repeal them. He has made it illegal to command a dog. Once we masters, lo, now the dogs operate with impunity and we cannot interfere. We blink with one eye at a time or face bad measures. The menstrual asylums have been closed, and we are harried by our angry dripping women. If our children demand taffy, we legally must oblige. Dorroile has us in a grip and we are frightened. We may live under his laws for centuries, or forever.
Dorroile's Rebuttal: By the time you figure out how to dispel these laws, I will have dreamt up a hundred new ways to humiliate you.
His abuses listed, we now entreat you to end his campaign of malaction. None but you, the citizen of the district, can choose justice for this jokelaw. Perhaps you thought it would be a nice silly chuckle to elect this man, and we reluctantly forgive your babyheaded badsense. Now it is time to remove this blasphemer of decency from our ranks and forget him and his nauseating dance once and for all.
You will never be rid of me. I will always deceive and humiliate you. Even if I am recalled, I will continue to offend you in novel ways until I die. Please remember that if I am recalled, Claude Fantsy will lead this District. Once, I dressed as a physician and told him that he had "silo leg," and that the only cure was to bathe with two cats under each arm and one between his knees, and he tried to do it. I am smarter than him and you, and I have never cared about anyone and I never open my eyes; I am invincible. Thank you.
Voting shall take place January 12th, beneath the heartbreaking gruesome statue where once stood the bronze panther that once guarded the Weep of Desperation. We beg of you to drive your hatchet into the "yes recall" stump, or we will be forced to endure indignities of which we have not yet even conceived.
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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