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Welcome back to the first annual Presidential Hunger Games election! The ruined corpses of Jesus and Ron Paul lay dead on the field of battle, leaving twenty two candidates still in the running. Let's see how they fair today.

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The camaraderie of the comrades is broken in brutal fashion, showing that there can be only one master of the motherland. It would appear from seeing this that Mr. Rogers might have a cruel streak in his denial of mercy for George III, but the story is very different if we look into what both candidates have done thus far. Mr. Rogers is only armed with a backpack; he has yet to attack anybody or make any attempt to kill. George III, on the other hand, has had his weapon (a mace) stolen straight out of his hands by an overweight Korean, and that is all that has happened to him. George III hasn't been injured, and Mr. Rogers hasn't made any attempts on his life. After having his weapon stolen, it would appears the mad King has completely given up on life and decided to commit suicide by way of a backpacking children's television host. Is there anything more fitting in this festival for the democratic process than seeing monarchy debase itself like that?

No, it isn't Mr. Rogers our candidates should be fearing. The rising star in this battle is that bloodthirsty freer of the slaves, Abraham Lincoln! His spear was still soaked in the freedom loving blood of Ron Paul when he turned that weapon on Hilary Clinton. Ever the canny politician, however, she managed to wriggle her way out of answering this debate of combat. Surely Lincoln cannot be sated, his spear is only painted in the gore of one enemy. Who will he turn on next? I am sure we will find out soon enough.

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Little happens this round. Nigel heroically survives an attack by a common house-cat. At this point, the games must certainly be putting a sinking feeling into the roast-beef hearts of our British watchers. Their King has begged suicide after being mugged by an unarmed man despite being he himself being armed, which then caused him to become suicidal. Nigel Farage grabbed a bunch of food and then narrowly survived a mauling by a cat. Jeremy Corbyn has only achieved being followed by Genghis Khan. Mary Queen of Scots is the closest thing the British faction has for a champion. At the beginning she grabbed a bottle of booze, and must have drank it right out of the gate because she was looking for a water-source soon afterwards. If that isn't an achievement I don't know what is. In fact, I think the only thing that would make me happy now is some art of this event; the Queen of Scots chugging a bottle on the go. Somebody make this and i'll give them a like, a laugh, or a thank. Whichever on they want. I'll let them chose! 

Hitler also overhears Trump and Shrek talking. One must wonder what that conversation was about. I have a feeling they must have discussed that one thing they both share; a hatred of the foreigners that keep impinging on their respective swamps. We must wonder what Hitler thought as he heard the two corpulent ogres in conversation. Did he approve? Or was he noting the location of their swamps for future anschluss? Perhaps alliances later in the game will tell the truth of this story. 

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And there they are, the first blood of this election. Too sweet for this world, too gentle for the Presidency. Looking at this short list, I can't help but think of those old wise words from yonder times; "One of these things are not like the others, one of these things doesn't belong". Hint: It's Ron Paul, the only one non-socialist among the dead. 

That'll be it for the moment. In the mean time, place your bets for who Bloody Lincoln will carve through next.