THE LAST SIXTIES CHICK

This is a South Park Story, but it's also a psychedelic commentary on the Sixties and the 2016 presidential election. Please comment nicely!

"Sure I like Elvis, I guess." Stan Marsh shrugged his shoulders.
"He died before I was born."

"But what if he didn't just die?" Eric Cartman asked. "What if Elvis Presley was murdered?"

"You mean like for money?" Kyle Broflovski glared at the fat kid. "Don't say I brought up money because I'm Jewish. Elvis had all kinds of money. He used to wear gold suits and he had fifty gold records on his wall. I bet he even had a gold coffin!"

"Mm-hmm hmm hmm!" Kenny McCormack mumbled.

"Yeah, and if it was made of gold it would stay hard all the time,"
Cartman agreed.

"But why would anybody want to kill the king of rock and roll?" Kyle asked.

"Boys! Pay attention!" Mrs. Garrison pointed to the guest speaker in the South Park Elementary classroom. "Somebody famous is about to explain why Donald Trump is an asshole."

"Donald Trump is bloodthirsty and brutal," whined Grace Slick, the 100 year old lead singer of the Jefferson Airplane. "He'll plunge us into war in the Middle East. Just like Vietnam, man!"

"But didn't Hillary Clinton vote for war in Iraq back in 2003?" Kyle asked. "That was kind of bloodthirsty, wasn't it? Not to mention cowardly, cynical, short-sighted and stupid."

"Little boy, you're a sexist pig!" Tottering forward on her withered legs, Grace Slick attempted to club Kyle Broflovski with her cane. "Now I'm going to kill you, kill you just like I killed Elvis Presley!"

"Oh, ho!" Cartman cried. "So that's what happened to the King. Those peace and love bitches will get you every time."

"Shut up, you fat, ugly, baby-killing pig! I hate men! I wish you were all dead!" While Stan and Kyle held her back, a snarling, drooling Grace Slick tried to claw at Cartman's fat face, but somehow Kenny McCormick got in the middle. The savage hippy chick slashed his throat with her razor-sharp nails.

"Oh, my God!" Stan cried. "Grace Slick just killed Kenny!"

"You bastards!" Kyle cursed. Working with Stan, he dragged the aging hag off Kenny's corpse, which was already being devoured by rats. A Vulcan nerve-pinch immobilized the decrepit anti-war diva, perfectly administered by gentle, golden-haired Butters.

"Well, uh, I don't get it fellers. Why would someone who hates war want to kill Cartman? Why would a rock singer want to kill Elvis?"

"That's not Grace Slick," Kyle said, suddenly tugging at the unconscious woman's scalp. An incredibly lifelike pullover mask came right off in his hands. "That's Mary Gordon, McIntosh Professor of English at Barnard College in New York City!"

"Why'd you do it, baby?" Cartman gently kicked the old woman in the face. "Come on, spill! Officer Barbrady will be here any minute."

"Dirty," the Barnard professor mumbled. "Sex . . . dirty. Concealment . . . the only way. Men a bunch of pigs. Baby killers, baby killers . . . basket of deplorables. Hail, Mary, full of grace. Holy Mary, Mother of God, punish the dirty male sex . . . for filling my head with unclean thoughts!"

"My God," Kyle said, understanding all at once. "Mary Gordon was raised Catholic in the Fifties, but forced herself to go undercover and become a Sixties chick so she could make tons of money as part of the Manhattan feminist elite. Her Catholic training made it easy for her to adopt a bold, man-hating Sixties pose in public. But deep down she was mortified by her insatiable Fifties craving for sex with Elvis. Finally she had to kill him to keep her real past covered up!"

"And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it wasn't for you meddling kids!" Professor Mary Gordon shook her fist at the four boys as Officer Barbrady dragged her off to the South Park Jail.

"Well, I guess that's the last Sixties chick," Stan said thoughtfully.

"What a loss for humanity," Cartman sighed. "Now the world will never know how much Elvis Presley really could have accomplished."

"Yeah," Kyle wisecracked. "Elvis Presley could have made America great again. But you know, I learned something today. The Sixties didn't really die at Altamont, where those mean bikers killed that black guy during a free Stones concert. And they didn't die when Saigon fell, or when Nixon left the White House in disgrace. The Sixties died when smug bitches like Hillary Clinton and Mary Gordon began covering up their own deadly sins with the lofty ideals of others. They're the real baby killers . . . and they always were."