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2016 passes from us with the grace of an Elephant in heat, and as we watch it trample villages of indigenous children, we reflect on a solid year of hardcore Hunger Games and what it has meant to our lives. There has been joy, drama, banal pop culture references, and blood poured into these games. Today we gather here to watch some of the all time greats, both of our games and of the year in general, duke it out to see who will rule in 2016.

Forty eight pedestals surround a steel sculpture; a cornucopia, its design not unlike a lazy modern-art installation you might see next to a Midwestern Community College. In its center, pouring out like R. Lee Ermey's yard sale, is a selection of survival equipment and esoteric weaponry. The pedestals rise, our tributes enter the arena, the horn sounds, and the games begin.

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Lincoln, the mighty woodsman, the man who nearly dominated the Election Year games, quakes in his oversized boots at the sight of trees. His survival now seems dubious. 

Prince finds a tasty taco and flits gracefully out of sight. 

The Chicago Cubs lust for a gym bag but the Trump Pepe grabs it first, then proceeds to strangle the entire baseball team. That means the Chicago Cubs are the first blood, and the last-place loser of the 2016 games. Legend has it an old curse prevents the Cubs from winning anything until the next time Bill Murray is sad. 

BREAKING NEWS: CNN BASHES RIO! 
Citizens wonder if a sudden increase in bludgeoning deaths is related to sales of assault-maces. 

Chapa is in the games because he was a champion in the first half of the year, but his prior success doesn't protect him from Putin, who breaks his nose for some fuckin' carbs.

Shifty Kebab finds a large fork and, knowing how to use cooking utensils, decides to go with that. The Basket of Deplorables finds alcohol and a rag, maybe for Molotovs, or maybe just to sniff. 

Trump sees everybody grabbing stuff and he goes to grab the only thing he knows how, but he fails at this and gropes a dude. Their thumbnails tell us everything we need to know about the aftermath of the exchange. 

Hitler annexes the cornucopia while Bowser runs off with some water.

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Hillary walks up to the podium. "Lincoln is scared of the outdoors? I too have been scared of those outdoors. Great leaders in the past have been scared of places outside of American buildings, and I agree with them, the outdoors is scary. I have seen the outdoors. My parents both had some outdoors back in the midwest, where they nurtured me from infancy to adulthood as is typical for American parents to do. If you make me your President, I promise to follow in the footsteps of Great Americans by quaking in fear at the sight of things out of doors."

Dat Boi makes a memetic introduction that instantly endures him to the audience. He's like a friend we haven't seen since highschool, unicycling in from the early summer, when college didn't have us down, when Brexit hadn't stunned the world, when Bernie was still in the running and a Trump presidency seemed impossible. There he returns, telling us jokes like those days never left, reminding us of a world where everything was jokes. If he wins, our youth wins, and who doesn't want that?

Birdie Sanders scares a Waifu somehow. Are Waifu's typically scared of cantankerous leftist songbirds? Is that the mouse to their elephant?  

Gene Wilder finds alcohol, but Fake News finds some explosives. Though I don't know if I should trust fake news on this. Did they find a bag full of explosives, or just a few firecrackers? Was there even a bag? 

Duterte and Johnson grab swords. Arnold has no use for pansy weapons, but instead wants bread, and he is willing to punch a girl for it. 

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HaleytheRandom does the most barbaric thing imaginable: using a utensil when handling hot wings. Leonardo, The Phantom, and Alec Baldwin gather the supplies and, like typical liberal actors, they socialism the supplies amongst each other. 

The survivors scatter into the woods, except Hitler who settles obstinately into the Cornucopia and declares it lebensraum while nearby the corpses of all the Chicago Cubs lay dead among the cut-up remains of hot wings. Two dead, forty six to go.