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Welcome back to the first annual Presidential Hunger Games election! We've seen a lot happen. Hitler, bless his heart, has passed away into another world equal to his gentle spirit. Shrek destroyed Deez Nuts. Abraham Lincoln seems to have went soft on us, but Putin's one man coalition of the willing continues to plod forward, and a little cat named Stubbs arms itself for the coming showdown. Many have died, few remain, and our President is still to be decided.

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Right out of the gate the quiet Russian Dillpickov bloodily punctuates the impressive career of Putin. He was looking like the one; like the killer who might just take over for our Lincoln, who has degraded himself to a point once held by the weak George III in hiding from fires in the night.

Mary spears Strelok right in the gut. Now Strelok isn't a loss as he hasn't done anything, but this is a big win for the British block who otherwise haven't produced any impressive results. We Hail Mary, and wonder if maybe she has the stuff to fill in for the loss of Putin and newly-found passivity of Abe Lincoln.

Nothing much else happens here but...

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Stubbs, the cat with the plan, the hero who shed no inordinate amount of blood and prepared himself skillfully for the end, is betrayed. It took two men to drown the cat. He must have fought to the very end, until the last pathetic bubble of oxygen broke the service of the water and his body went limp with death. Did Camacho or Mr. Rogers feel remorse? Will Stubbs be avenged? The North Remembers. Or, at least, a town in Alaska does. 

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The murderers of Stubbs still remain at large, but the man who slew Putin has been brought down by four of our surviving warriors. I doubt this triumph will wash away the sins of Camacho, but team Putin can rest easy knowing theirs has been avenged.

But Lincoln! Oh Lincoln! There is a story that rivals the fall of Stubbs. How long was he our champion before this moment? His downfall brings about the end of an era. We must wonder if all we thought we knew about this election ever meant anything at all. 

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Bernie shows the same mercy a repentant Lincoln once showed to him in a different time and a different place. In some ways, his spirit lives on, freeing the metaphorical slaves that are within all of us. 

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They say good stories come in three acts, and the second act is the lowest point for the characters. It is now the responsibility of the survivors to make holy the sacrifices made on the field of electoral combat and bring about an ending that will have made the suffering worth it. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.