As newly self-appointed Mayor of Bootietown, I hope to govern benevolently, wisely, and with an ideology of folksy righteousness*. My
reign term will be one of defensive posturing cronyism despair prosperity for all who have the glorious right to call themselves Bootietown patriots. I believe it is our inalienable right to buy entire hanks of sock yarn just to use 25 grams, to own countless books of sweater patterns we never intend to make, and to litter the couch cushions with tiny, sharp needles. Shivering sheep, acres of forest, and tender undercarriages of loved ones be damned are precious natural resources and we should work to exploit deplete utilize them as we, in our tunnel vision superior wisdom, see fit!
As fellow Bootietown citizens, you know that there are those who would oppose us. Those who hate our freedom. With the fire of seven suns and the volume of eight Dixie Chicks albums turned up to "eleven," they hate our freedom. With complicated lace nightgowns knit in cobweb-weight thread, they spit on our freedom. With teeth clenched over lace-edged sweatpants with knitted-in lining worked on double-pointed needles, they gypsy-curse our freedom. They crush the head of our freedom between their arthritic fingers, made claws through miles of mercerized cotton stockinette baby blankets. But they will not prevail. Two-hour projects for
all some a few chosen ones folks!
Having made this proclamation, I return to my desk to
spy on you play solitaire threaten vetoes bail out the twins draft some seriously awesome legislation. Be ever paranoid fear-ridden vigilant, citizens y'all!
*Naturally, as a born-again Bootiean, all past transgressions of mine are no longer up for discussion. Tabula rasa, my dear citizens. You have a problem with my past pecadillos, take it up with the Great Bootie-sattva in
my pocket the Sky.