With beady eyes fixed upon the flat, featureless horizon of her dreams, she slowly pecks her way back towards the spotlight from which she was so unjustly exiled by mayoral term limits. For that flattened horizon is symbolic of her democracy: the straightline sermon that equality equals a common absence of opportunity, and it steadfastly remains the focus of her socialist fantasy of walkability. It will not be satiated until her every subject is gratefully installed inside government-owned art-worker's housing.
There is no lie too big that this chicken little will not tell to disrupt the nervous run and secure her place among the larger roosters. Her eggs have hatched into the worst nightmares of our past: unconstitutional acts of legal importunity, the imposition of a bleak, evangelistic Universal Code; the installation of petty municipal tyrants whose every breath spews forth a lie which aspires to her own. She looks back upon the shame she brought to her little farmyard in glory days and dreams of far greater embarrassments to come, for there yet remains merit to punish and spoils to distribute to those who lack both merit and spoils.
The soulless, neurotic zombie stirs herself from her pseudo-meditation and circulates among her peers: the sterile, flaccid males who gladly forfeit their own better judgment to her visionary resentments, and the squawking, under-occupied females whose raison d'etre is upsetting the natural order in the cause of Nature. For them she will return to the fight for vertical gardening mandates, watering bans and civil rights for feral felines. For their adoration she will expand their government to rival the size of their grand Academy of Cluckers; for their loyalty she will constrain all new construction to that of hay bales & recycled beer boxes. For their vote she will outlaw bathroom plumbing in favor of evapotranspiration absorption systems.
In the name of gender equality she will neuter and nullify all previous standards of male-defined achievement, to foster the propagation of female-defined failure. If she can only succeed in creating diversion sufficient to the task, her former victims will willingly forget her past indiscretions committed in their own best interests. With enough acrimony and recrimination she will tread across the necks of the unwitting and the naïve to reclaim her throne of indecency, and rule with the beak of impunity over a gaggle of those whom she secretly vilifies as rustics. In the name of social justice she will tear down their fragile society and reinstitute the mob rule of liberal fictions. In the name of higher education and alternative methodology she will trample common sense and tradition back into the mud from which it blossomed.
For the emancipation of the clueless she will gleefully enslave the accomplished, and be only too happy to take a bow in the glow of their unknowing applause. With her vague gospel of sustainability she will render her queendom into a hopeless, floundering stalag of unsustainable dependents, and fan the flames of her malcontents' self-loathing and distemper into a self-righteous revolution of undifferentiated, state-uneducated statistics. She will regain her throne and install her court of misfits, and she will do all this and more because she knows that most of the farmyard are too inattentive and unmotivated to adequately oppose it. She will calculate and mislead and mischaracterize and cheat in her casual manic frenzy until the well-adjusted throw up their hands and walk away. She will succeed in rewarding and establishing failure as a universal goal, because all you gullible, spineless chickens will let her, and then you're all well and truly clucked.
Or will you?
I'm Weird Menace, and I approve this message.