. . . from Election Central . . . .
While elsewhere on the tubes tonight people are being snored into somnambulism by the anti-news that Captain LapBand, a.k.a. the Baron Harkonnen, a.k.a. Chris “Meaty, Beaty, Big, and Bouncy” Christie, has secured a sentence of a second term as governor of the incredibly foul and indescribably noxious uber-fart known as New Jersey, and that some ugly ooze-slug of a Democrat has slimed into the governorship of Virginia, because his dufe GOoPer opponent was so batshit insane he even called upon the febrile fuck-brained “chain-the-nig*ers” nimrod Pawn Rawl to wildly ejaculate the confederate flag at his final rallies, we, we here at red, are offering the Real News: that is, that AvoWoman has been elected mayor of the Minnesota metropolis known as Icepick.
People who Don’t Know think that Icepick is actually called Minneapolis. But that is because they Don’t Know. In truth, and in all realms of Reality, as soon as all the region’s native peoples were all buggered out, the place became known, to all its white inhabitants, as Icepick. Because it is so often so fucking cold there that an icepick is required to perform even the simplest tasks: opening the front door, gathering firewood, grooming the cat, cooking a meal, making the bed, engaging in sexual congress.
These, the Icepickians, have long been the hardiest of American souls. Though it’s not like they really knew any better. Because most of them sprang from some sort of Viking stock—Norwegians, Swedes, Finns, Normans, High Germans, etc.—and so they considered it perfectly normal that one had to wield an icepick to, say, carve one’s sexual partner out of an ice cave before beginning the breeding season.
Those who did not consider this normal; those who did not spring from any sort of Viking stock; those who, among these non-Vikings, settled in Icepick; they really quickly died. Like fucking fruit-flies.
But: lo. A new dawn. It is shining brightly. On Icepick.
For global warming, which in so many elsewheres, has so many people shrieking their undies into their ovaries—well, over there in Icepick, it has people sunnily rolling the dice on avocado futures.
Because the ice, in Icepick, it has gone astray.
The cold, more and more, it has forgotten to come.
And thus, Icepick, it is poised—yea, verily—to become the new premier avocado-growing region, of all the planet.
There were Some who saw this. But none of the Some saw it as did AvoWoman. Who saw not only that Icepick would be growing whole town-rows of avocados. But also saw that people would next be wearing avocados.
Avocados. The clothes of the future.
The photo. Over there to the left. Depicting the common everyday costume of the Icepickian. Before the illumination that was vouchsafed to AvoWoman. Which resulted in her AvoWear.
Clearly, there needed to be a Change.
A change now embraced by all Decent citizens of Icepick. Who have, this night, ecstatically elevated AvoWoman to the mayoralty.
. . . . we interrupt this program for a special news bulletin . . . .
This here site, red, is now in possession of the full text of the victory speech emitted by AvoWoman. She having this night overwhelmingly been elected mayor of Icepick. These, her Words of Wisdom, we reprint, exclusively, below:
Your full embrace of the platform of environmentally friendly high fashion meets prison abolition is a tribute to the long standing progressive legacy of Icepick.
I am honored to be your Mayor. I promise to Do Better than that Man from Toronto.
And now, let me go shovel some snow
Yeah, but what does AvoWoman really want? This, the two or three readers of red who are at any one time fitfully conscious: they might wanna, maybe, someday, know.
Well. Shit. Because I am an omniscient being, one aided greatly by my access to all and every NSA intercept, I suppose I could go ahead and here reveal previously private conversations that indicate that AvoWoman is, probably, an imp of Satan.
We begin with a September 13, 2013 missive from Satan himself. Who suggests, temptingly, to AvoWoman:
You can campaign in AvoWear, and announce that you will appoint a cat as chief of police. You can propose mining the bridge to St. Paul, to keep those people out, and suggest an electrified fence at the state border, to take out any blind Iowans who attempt to wander over with their six-guns. Your jobs program can consist of starting the Icepick cheese industry, since Wisconsans are simply too embarrassing to be allowed to make cheese. Any Icepickian caught with cheese on their head will be forced by city ordinance to clean the sidewalks with a toothbrush.
AvoWoman, already a shrewd political operative, replies thusly:
You know—that’s kinda an appealing thought. Not a bad platform—especially the part about Police Chief and the electrified border w/Iowa. Possible appeal to many constituencies.
The NSA intercepts next indicate that crazed penis-hacking lesbians will be running hog-wild throughout AvoWoman’s godless anti-man administration.
The evidence, as ever, begins with a tempting missive from Satan:
Am I remembering right that there were one or more lesbian students who really Wanted you? These could serve as your security/bodyguards, when you are AvoMayor.
To which AvoWoman replies:
And yes you do remember correctly. More—maybe many?? So i have wardrobe, an Icepick-centric platform, a press secretary, and security.
The evidence: it is irrefutable.
No penis, is hereafter safe, in Icepick. Now that there is AvoWoman, as AvoMayor.
Why has the News Media not picked up on this? Why is red the only Fount of True Knowledge? And why do we even care if a penis survives in AvoWoman’s city? Where previously a penis was serviceable only if it was pried outta the permafrost with one or more icepicks? Why don’t we just listen to Lou Reed?