Dear Simple Citizens of Northfield,
For thousands of years, men have visited Northfield and stared in wide-eyed amazement at the vast power of the Cannon River as it rushes past between its east and west banks.
All these men have yearned for one thing: sex with strangers.
Most of them have also yearned for a ramp and a motorcycle powerful enough to hurl themselves across the majesty of its waters and carp.
These men have all failed to accomplish this noble task because they pinned their chances to an Earth-bound, mechanical object.
They did not realize, or realized too late after being devoured by carp, that a motorcycle is no match for the human heart.
What is physical will always fail you. That is why I have taken a different approach to this heroic venture. I am going to jump the Cannon River using simply the awesome power of love.
Negative and cynical voters might see this as some sort of cheap publicity stunt by a desperate write-in mayoral candidate. I say no! You must not, cannot be negative!
I do not stoop to meaningless, easy publicity stunts. My love is meaning itself. My motorcycle was not cheap; it cost nearly twenty thousand bucks on eBay.
And, if you think it's been easy refining a gallon of gasoline from the blood and heart tissue scraped from inside my heart, then you're simply wrong or uninformed.
The surgery lasted for thirty hours alone. My petrochemical engineers have been trying everything in their textbooks to create a gallon of gas while I have been recovering in intensive care for four months.
I'm still weak, and having great difficulty standing upright, but I've got over one-half gallon of 50-octane, slightly pulpy "Red Fire" in the tank, and the desire to uplift all you sad denizens in this great town!
That, my friends, is not a cheap publicity stunt by a desperate candidate; it is a defiant stab at elevating your wretched existence by a surgically-compromised, dizzyingly-attractive man.
That is love.
That is your mayor.
That is I.
You will wear a jumpsuit. Say you will!
Yes, an assless jumpsuit. Something for the ladies.
If the jumpsuit is assless, it will be empty.
Nice. Listen, Henry, I know you're threatened by my glamour, but let's not get into a debate about assitude.
That would just be so futile.
I feel MORE threatened by what is typically "emitted" through an assless jumpsuit.
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