This is no April Fool’s joke: hicksville Nelsonia thinks it’s the centre of the universe, when it’s actually in the heart of nowhere. Nothing much that happens in self-obsessed Nelsonia really matters, yet it acts like everything it does and what happens here is of consequential importance in the world at large that hardly even knows it exists, if at all. Sure, natural beauty Nelsonia is a lovely place to live from a privileged scenic perspective and whatnot, and it produces a whole bunch of super-talented youth who go on to bigger and better things among other assets, but for the most part no-one outside of the Cascadian realm cares one whit about what the White Heritage City thinks about the issues of the day, let alone what it does to address them.

Mainly, the delusions of grandeur exhibited by gnarly Nelsonia on a daily basis are laughable when you objectively look at this backwoods small-town around an hour away from its nearest commercial airport, with no passenger train access of any sort, and only three treacherous snowy highway access points into the Valley of the Lost Souls for almost six months of the year. It’s hard enough to get here, let alone pretend to care about nervous Nelsonia’s trials and tribulations as a white power haven for misogynistic boomers hellbent on ruling the planet with their hypocritical lifestyles that contradict their progressive hippie vibes. The high-pitched drama that drives many hick-town soap operas is dialed up to eleven in the Queen Consort City, where virtually everyone thinks they’re the star of the most interesting social media dilemma anyone’s ever seen.

Plus, the mislaid Nelsonian streets are covered in sandy dust from the latest winter invasion, there’s dog shit everywhere you can walk, and a lot of locals seem depressed about the less than early spring with mere hints from the snowdrops about the flowers to come. Alas, despite these severe seasonal handicaps, the hamlet formerly known as Ghoulieville still believes that its climate-change actions and labyrinthian recycling programs will make a jot of difference. Heck, the proud environmentalists and social justice warriors of the corny CoN can’t even convince their fellow locals to significantly protect the area’s old-growth forests from the blades of the Orcs’ corporate axes, nor they can host a drag storytime for children in costume without the Nelsonia Police State and Shitty Hall kowtowing to the threats and intimidation of a few Republicanazis wearing frucker-friendly maple leaf hats.

So why would a group of sad-sack conservative rednecks who act like they’re leftist do-gooders ignore the sprinkling of true gems in their rough patch who are globally exceptional and convince themselves that the rest of humanity gives a rat’s ass about what they and their cronies do in their unsparing time? The answer is rooted in the fact that many navel-gazing Nelsonians can’t see past the surrounding hills in all directions, causing them to feel like they’re the only things that matter in the whole wide whorl.