In a move so mind-bending it’s given astrophysicists existential crises, Senator Mildred McMillan, known for her fashion sense that’s stuck somewhere between 1955 and a rejected ‘Little House on the Prairie’ extra, has single-handedly rewritten the laws of spacetime. First, she blocked the city’s Pride celebrations, citing concerns that ‘rainbow flags might offend the sensibilities of those who prefer beige.’ Her exact words, which were oddly punctuated by the aggressive munching of a suspiciously large cucumber sandwich.
Then, in a twist worthy of an M. Night Shyamalan film (although significantly less coherent), Senator McMillan was the surprise keynote speaker at the very Pride rally she’d attempted to shut down. Apparently, her ‘concerns’ vanished faster than a drag queen’s lipstick during a lip-sync battle. Her speech, delivered with the emotional range of a monotone Roomba, focused on the importance of ‘fiscal responsibility’ within the LGBTQ+ community, a sentiment that received a lukewarm response, perhaps because people were slightly distracted by her inexplicable use of a feather boa while discussing balanced budgets.
The event was chaotic, to say the least. Security was overwhelmed by a sudden influx of attendees carrying rainbow-colored inflatable unicorns, and one brave attendee even attempted to crowd-surf while wearing a giant inflatable avocado (the symbolism remains unclear, but highly suspicious).
Meanwhile, a team of conspiracy theorists (their leader, a woman named Brenda who believed the earth was flat and secretly ruled by sentient garden gnomes) claimed the whole event was orchestrated by the deep state, which, according to Brenda, “includes but is not limited to: Lizzo, the entire cast of RuPaul’s Drag Race, and a cabal of mischievous squirrels wielding tiny rainbow flags.”
The Senator, when questioned about this wild turn of events, simply shrugged and said, “Honey, it’s giving ‘high camp.’ Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a cucumber sandwich to finish.” And with that, she sashayed away, leaving everyone to ponder the profound, existential question: Is this the dawning of a new age of political performance art, or just someone having a very strange Tuesday? Only time (and possibly Brenda) will tell.
