Capitol City, ATP. Coronation Day. — The man o’war gin goons of the Southern Reactionary Establishment (SoReaEst) have seethed forth from the festering coal pits and bucolic shacks of Tsarist, Palest Appalachia to crown Aran Tron their King Maggot (lichky ruspèsano). Formerly a puny blond slave plying his timorous trade in the most lackluster lupanares of wannest Wyoming, Tron unnerved observers throughout the Tetrastics when, upon being anointed Top Changeling of SoReaEst’s ideological wing, the Maggots-Only Party of Social Integrity (MOPSI), he transformed himself into a prominent blowhard ejaculating extemporaneous bile on womaninity at large, lesbianism in particular, and all manner of otiose Intrussyan, Maori, Yazdehan, and etc. exiles who, though starving and penniless, refuse, according to MOPSI propaganda, “to abandon the inexplicable and promiscuous decadence of their abnormal natures contrary to the loose ideas irrupting out of the pure sod of MOPSI morality and adopt a more parsimonious manner of living und so weiter.” While it surprised no one when the Patriotic Pistol Providers (PPP), a trans-Lepastic consortium of arms emporia cum fābricātōribus, promised publicly to plot for Tron’s triumph, observers unfamiliar with the innate rakishness and malignantly maudlin wit characteristic of the inner workings of Appalachik politics marveled at how, the more asinistically the bloodless yet bumptiously irate bog runt expressed his bloated bovid personality, the more ecstatically la poisseuse masse blanchâtre of his adoring fellow parasites churned in sympathetic frenzy and this reporter, at least, wondered, “Pourquoi est-ce que le sacre de cet asticot de despote appalache se passe toujours le jour même de mon anniversaire?”

For instance, when word got out that he’d called this reporter’s colleague, Gasa Albiano of the Agua Prieta Piste, a “minion, sexy whore,” and that if he came across her in an “abandoned stable, in a train, or at sea,” he’d first “slake prying eyes” on her until, “rape being my urge,” he’d then “tear off her skirt and sprawl the harlot’s c__t open” (sic), because even if he was charged with some “sort of murder or burglary,” he’d be sure to get off scot-free — even after Tron orally affirmed having voiced, and quite likely acted upon, such venereal rapacity, the Appalachian Trust for the Defense and Development of the Environment (ATDDEn), a “network of industrial resource users, sellers, and acquirers (NIRUSA),” endorsed him, securing his elevation to the Supreme Maggotry (supersy lichanko). Perhaps, however, the most glaring takeaway from Tron’s coronation is not the swarm of haggard maggots that came pullulating out of the putrid corpse(s) of the Appalachian Territorial Provinces when it or they got poked by the regal sceptre, nor the lurid callowness with which the sallow Maggot-in-Chief (spesárnukoy lich) spooked our livid ears, nor even his venal promotion by NIRUSA, ATDDEn, and PPP, but that it makes explicit to all and sundry what had long been tacitly maintained by a few cadaverous, old, yet still spry, dermestid bores: that MOPSI is really just a front for SoReaEst’s armed wing, the Munching Maggots Militant Militia (MMMM).