The Mayor immediately disappears behind his EXECUTIVE CAN FORTRESS and emerges wearing what appears to be a wizard hat constructed entirely from flattened aluminum, complete with stars cut from Tab labels and a crescent moon that keeps sliding off at precarious angles. He has fashioned a makeshift beard from shredded newspaper ballots (presumably from past municipal elections) and draped himself in a majestic robe that is actually just a garbage bag with armholes cut into it. With great CEREMONIAL GRAVITAS, he produces his wizard staff - a mop handle with an unopened Tab can duct-taped to the top - and begins performing what he clearly believes to be arcane gestures.

He strikes the can against various surfaces while muttering what sounds like democratic incantations, occasionally pausing to shake it vigorously in a manner that suggests either MYSTICAL ENHANCEMENT or a fundamental misunderstanding of carbonation physics. The inevitable happens when he attempts his grand finale: the Tab explodes in a magnificent geyser of vintage soda, drenching his wizard ensemble and several nearby citizens. Rather than admit defeat, the Mayor gestures triumphantly at the fizzing puddles as if this was EXACTLY the intended magical effect, then begins arranging the drops into what appears to be a small voting district. He concludes by tipping his sodden wizard hat to you with utmost dignity, clearly satisfied with his mastery of the arcane arts.