Local News: Chrislip Celebrates Broken Dreams

Chrislip Celebrates Broken Dreams

What began with a Nineteenth Century case of unrequited love and unsolved murder has turned into a modern day Chrislip celebration of unhappiness. The result is a “bizarro-world” version of Valentine’s Day, in which citizens are urged to forgive former lovers and burn all vestiges of their relationship in an attempt to suture what had been a gaping emotional wound. With the economy what it is, the flames burned brighter than ever last Saturday and they lasted well into the night. Not until the last divorce contract and foreclosure statement was turned to dust did Chrislip’s forlorned return to their retched lives feeling a little less empty.

The festival dates back to June 1880, when a young, beautiful Abigail Kowalski first spurned Otto von Chrislip’s offer of three chickens for a kiss. The offer was extended throughout the month to no avail. In July, a forth chicken was added to the offer for a kiss with some tongue. Abigail counter-offered that Otto drop dead. The negotiations continued back and forth throughout the summer until Abigail’s bloated, lifeless corpse was found floating in Perch Lake, a crime that Chrislip Police has yet to solve. Later that year, on the night of September 12th, when a furtive Otto von Chrislip was found burning all evidence of his love for Abigail, the Festival of Broken Dreams was born.

Chrislip Mayor Howard Presnell tells his son all about the woman that he really loved

Chrislip Mayor Howard Presnell tells his son all about the woman that he really loved

“I’m actually glad things didn’t work out with Greg,” said Allison Stewart, this year’s Broken Dream Queen. “Sure, if they had, I would have been much happier yesterday and probably tomorrow, too. But today I’d be miserable knowing that his rejection could make me so happy!”

When asked how she prepared for the honor, Steward replied, “All summer long I sat in my apartment hating Greg and his new girlfriend. She made him so happy that I wanted to smash her perfect, little pert nose. Then I’d add red food die to my vodka and pretend that I was drinking her blood.”

As is the tradition, the person who caused the Queen’s grief walked ahead of the parade, spreading broken glass on Main Street for the Queen and her court to trample upon. Said Greg, “Whatever, man. Maybe now when that crazy bitch finds some guy to sleep with, she’ll stop sending me the used condom.”

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