Since The Great Reckoning, war had been outlawed. “The Elections” were instead decided by showdowns of musical prowess.
The reigning Alpha for the last decade was Chortles Harshly, a complete and utter dick. But if you believed the rumours, he was a clone of The Malmsteen, and unbeatable.
The tribes gathered, making their way through the badlands to The Amphitheatre, a natural rock formation that could be seen for miles; sounds heard even further. Forty challengers stood and fell before Harshley.
He was about to be decreed triumphant when a great cry and hew came from the crowd. “GROM! GROM! GROM!” they chanted, carrying a young man to the stage on their shoulders.
“Dafuck is he?” asked Chortly.
“A young upstart from Hitashi Province, Alpha,” replied the Scrutineer.
Chortly growled suspiciously. “What’s his axe like?”
“Tin cans, Alpha,” replied the Scrutineer. “He is of no concern. It is within your rights to refuse the late challenge.”
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Chortly roared with laughter. “I’LL ALLOW IT!”
“But Alpha,” protested the Scrutineer. Chortly grabbed the Scrutineer’s head and dry-humped it. “ I SAID I’LL ALLOW IT!”
For hours, they dueled.
Van Harsh played expertly, but it was Grom that entranced the crowd. At the climax of his tin can solo, 5 women (and one man) in the front row had spontaneous orgasms.
There was a new Alpha in town. Van Harsh bowed his head in shame. And Grom was carried to the horizon as he bodysurfed on the crowd. Once in office, he proved every bit of a dick as Van Harsh had been.
But, man, what a spectacle “The Elections” had been that year.
