The strange tale of elections in the mysterious district. Read quotes from all the top candidates, find out a little more about District politics, and try to figure out what the hell is going on.
Dorroile, the worst man in the District, has been elected to its highest office. The District Superiors have called a special election to attempt to revoke his status, but Dorroile doesn't seem too worried...
It is moth month. Grey things are in the air; they fly at us and get in our tongues. We stir up ashes when we walk. The moths are coming back soon to eat at our clothes and land on our faces in the night. You will be shut in your house for weeks, and this bulletin must hold you over until you reemerge. Consider this news.
Dorroile is the worst man. He is antic and grotesque, beloved to the moon; incorrigible. His gruesome, slapping dance is imitated by children despite the loom of the switch, for he represents to them the mythic freedom of snakes and bears. All else who offend in this district offend in his shadow.
Recently, alas, a boast passed Dorroile's glistening teeth that could not be ignored. Our hearing of it was not perfect, said as it was in a noisome atmosphere of Dorroile's own devising, but reasonably certain are we of the general ideage: that Dorroile either has or is a god.
In which Dorroile-- though still regarded as the worst guy in the world forever-- is reluctantly commended for an act of uncharacteristic valor: protecting a manlet from heckling.
This week in the District, Dorroile has found the love of Swimp and turned into a wide-eyed, sweetly-smiling gentleman. Has he truly stopped being the worst guy? Nobody can figure it out, because he is smarter than everyone.
My friends are often fooled by the owlish sagacity of my baby’s countenance, but the baby is not wise. The baby fully witless and quite stupid even for a baby. The baby has voice both deep and calming and he offers awful quite bad advice in it. Lately, he is advised my friend Ollys to purchase a giant pink house full of cookies and puppies.
Dorroile, the worst guy, has taken to a hobby most vile: the distribution of false District Bulletins, aimed only at bad laughs at the cost of Your Beloved Superiors. More vile yet, he even has hobbied thus: to create tracts of religion, masquerading as the teachings of our Lord God Swimp, sweet Cookie Bear who lives in the Moon.
In the days when we had no god, we did not know what death brung. But now we have Swimp, and we are content to die: we will join our cuddle-soft cutie bunny on the moon forever. We will romp and play, and sour clams will be unlimited and Swimp will open their tins for us. Every person will be there, except Dorroile.
Dorroile, the worst of our guys, has really done a big one this time, and most gingerly must we avoid stepping in it.
Dorroile is missing. We are very glad to not have him. He was the Worst Guy, and his gay mischief rained soaking ridicule upon us all. It is good that Dorroile has left. Nobody misses him. However, Your Superiors are required to document his absence so diligent, as with any missing fellow.
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