A long, long time ago in the era now called the Bronze Age there was a town called New Danza. New Danza was the largest town in its region and boasted a democratic voting system that involved all the men coming out once a year to cast their vote for Mayor. On one such voting day, things started out normally, but went on to become a day on which history was made.
That day had current Mayor Greg B. Politics running against newcomer Gerald Candidate. At noon, Mayor Politics was ahead with sixty-nine percent of the votes to have come in so far. He was, understandably, very happy.
“It looks like the people are making the correct choice,” he told his supporters, who cheered. “I knew if I could get the pie vote, I’d have it made.”
In a small home on Hudson Street, a man named George and his wife Molly discussed how he would vote this year.
“I think you should vote for Greg B. Politics, Honey,” Molly said to her husband.
“I agree, Darling,” George replied. “His pie policies are very fair. And Candidate has said he would restrict them.”
“If only I could go out and show my own support for Greg B. Politics.”
“But honey, you know that women are not allowed to vote. The quills used to mark the ballots are far too phallic to be held by the fairer sex.”
“Of course George,” she answered. “Of course.”
She then told her husband that he had better get out to vote. He went on his way and Molly was left behind to continue thinking about her own wish to vote. Before long, an idea struck her like a piano falling down the stairs and hitting an old lady.
“Perhaps I can show my support for the Mayor. If no one can tell that I’m a woman, they will have no reason to keep me from voting.”
“Damn!” said Roscoe incredulously. “Molly’s gonna dress herself up so’s she look like a man.”
Molly ran to her husband’s wardrobe and took his manliest of clothes and put them on. She then cut an inch from her hair, then glued it to her face to form a moustache. She wandered out of the house and acted naturally as she made her way to the voting booths and waited for her turn.
Cornan the Agriculturist stood before her in the line. He was a massive, muscular man dressed only in a loincloth. He had broad shoulders, a square jaw and a thick head of hair. In one hand he held a sword.
“Good day, sir,” Molly said, trying to deepen her voice. “It sure is a nice day for voting, isn’t it my good fellow?”
“By Corn!” He said, “My vote shall be cast for the better man.”
“Damn!” said Roscoe, incredulously. “Cornan the Agriculturist is gonna cast his vote for the person he wants ta be Mayor for the next term.”
When her turn came, Molly went into the voting booth and looked at the voting card she was to fill out.
__ I vote for Greg B. Politics
__ I vote for Gerald Candidate
__ I vote for my right to party, because fighting for it is too hard
Molly put a checkmark by the first choice. About ten minutes later she was almost home when she was suddenly surrounded by soldiers. Their captain put his sword up to her throat.
“Come with me, ‘Sir’,” the Captain said.
Molly had no choice but to comply and was brought to the New Danza prison. As she was being booked she asked a guard how they realized that she was not a man.
“Well, ya see,” the guard said “we have magical devices that pick up estrogen deposits in voters.”
After a few more hours in her cell, Molly’s husband came to visit her.
“George!” She said happily
“Oh, Molly! It breaks my heart to see you in here…”
“Don’t worry for me, Honey. By doing my time in jail I’ll prove myself and all women the equal of all men.”
“Damn!” said Roscoe incredulously. “She’s gonna let herself stay locked up in that there slammer!”
“If that’s what you think is best my Darling, I’ll let you spend your sentence in here.” George replied. “But I intend to hire the best lawyer in the town, so that the time you spend is limited.”
George ran off to the office of the most powerful lawyer in all of New Danza, Mechalawzilla (catch phrase: “Well, I’m no big city lawyer… I’m a huge metal lizard!!!”). Little did George know that while he sat in Mechalawzilla’s waiting room, events would take place in the jail that would change the situation entirely.
As Molly was lying on her uncomfortable bed hoping to get some sleep, the guards ordered her to stand up and come with them. She had an idea where she was being taken.
The guards led Molly outside and across the street to City Hall. She was led through the building until the guards stopped in front of a large wooden door and gestured that she should go within.
She entered the room and saw the now re-elected Mayor Greg B. Politics sitting at his desk eating.
“I just called you in here to tell you how much I love pies,” the Mayor said.
Molly replied, “I assumed as much, sir. I voted for you, you know.”
“Oh, I know you did. That’s why I want to be kind and let you go.”
Just then, Cornan the Agriculturist kicked down the door with his sword drawn!
“I am here to kill you Greg B. Politics!” Cornan shouted.
“Oh no! I dislike the idea of my death!” Mayor Politics shrieked.
“Damn!” said Roscoe, incredulously. “Cornan the Agriculturist done gone crazy!”
Cornan the Agriculturist leapt at the Mayor, who was frozen in fear. Cornan the Agriculturist raised his sword high above his head.
But then Molly used her womanly powers to knit a net that caught Cornan the Agriculturist and she then baked a cage to restrain him.
“I thank you for saving my life, Miss.” Said Mayor Politics. “If you ever need anything let me know and I’ll do anything in my power to help.”
“Well then give me the last piece of that pie!”
“Give it to me!”
“No, I’ll give you anything but that!”
“How about giving women the right to vote?”
“Yes! Yes! Anything but the pie!”
The women were allowed to vote, the mayor ate his pie and all were well. Soon the custom of allowing female voters spread to other cities throughout the world.
Patrick D Ryall, the D is for Skill
Originally presented on Contains2 Thursday 26 September 2002