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Welcome back to the first annual Presidential Hunger Games election! We've seen relationships blossom; Mr. Rogers and Bernie Sanders kindle a friendship, Hitler and Shrek kindle a romance, and Hilary Clinton fondles Deez Nuts. We've also seen the rise of Abe Lincoln as the stone coldest of our killers. It seems likely he will win himself a third term. Again the question everyone is asking themselves is; who will Lincoln kill next?

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Mr. Rogers finishes what Lincoln started! The man who would be everybody's neighbor strikes a blow against the woman who every neighbor likes to bitch about when they run across you in the halls. The death of Hilary marks the end for the first of the candidates chosen by state primaries. Trump, the man who seems destined to just fiddle-fart around the arena, is the only hope for traditional democracy now. We also find Vermin, Shrek, and Stubbs helping each other out in what seems likely to be the plot for the 65th film in the Shrek franchise. 

What might be my favorite mental image from this morning is The Donald, Genghis Khan, Putin, and Dagnabbitoff telling ghost stories. It is now I realize that I am completely incapable of imagining Trump telling a ghost story. "I love ghosts, ghosts are great, ghosts are the best. But some ghosts, some ghosts are in our televisions, they are haunting our houses, ghosts need to go. I'll catch the ghosts, i'll build a ghost catcher, it will be yuge, it will be the best ghost catcher..."

And lastly, we run across the greatest tragedy of the game. George III makes like the big pussy that he is and bleeds out right there from no cause at all. His achievements included getting mugged, begging for someone to kill him, and hiding from fire. Congratulations, George III, you suck.

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Putin, Camacho, and Dragatoweloff. Helluva team. I can see them playing a dragnet strategy and clearing this arena in one sweep. 

Great Britain receives another embarrassment when a second of her chosen sons die. This one at least had the fortitude to be murdered. And in his defense, the picture I gave Vermin Supreme with his arms out like that seems to have effected his ambushing skills, because this is the second time he has pulled it off.

And it would seem Mary Queen of Scots has finally gotten tired of how useless her fellow countrymen are, and she performs her first kill in murdering the last competing Briton. Now it is only her and what might remain of her booze. God save the queen. 

The Donald's mild, low energy career comes to an end when he apparently poisons himself. That does not surprise me, but what does surprise me is that Genghis followed him in this fate. 

Though I admit one of the best parts of this is Stubs practicing his archery. That is impressive. I think the cat might be a legitimate competitor. 

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And there they go, the chaff is if separated from the real gangsta wheat. We have seen the near-collapse of Britain's hope and the primary-chosen. Those that remain are a stronger, heartier set. Though I think I speak for some when I confess my biggest disappointment was Lincoln's retirement to a cave. Has the bloodshed finally gotten to him? Must he wash away his sins in the womb of mother earth?