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I am not just your fearless leader, oh no. I am also a roving reporter, did you know that? In the world we call eRepublik, there are only four jobs: soldier, politician, factory worker, and newspaper reporter. And all citizens do all these jobs full time. We have achieved 400% employment, comrades!

In between pocketing bulging brown envelopes from Federalist cabinet members, I recently hit the streets to investigate the burning question of our age: Who from the Socialist Freedom Party is running for Congress, and in the name of all that is decent, why?

shiloh13: Freedom Fighter
First I met up with my SFP vice president, veteran of Stalingrad (hey comrade! the war is over, buddy!), and general mensch, shiloh13. I recognized him immediately as he was the only person at Starbucks with a dented infantry helmet cocked over one eye.

As we sipped our usual tipples (trenti iced coffee, 12 pumps sugar-free vanilla, 12 pumps sugar-free hazelnut, 12 pumps sugar-free caramel, 5 pumps skinny mocha, a splash of soy, coffee to the star on the siren's head, ice, double-blended), shiloh13 looked reflective. Or maybe it was just his well-polished helmet.

He put his plastic cup down and told me, "Congress is cool. You get to push one more button than everyone else." I knew what he said was true.

PimpDollaz: Mercenary
Pausing only to throw a chair through Starbucks' plate glass window in an unsuccessful attempt to restart the 1999 WTO protests, I was back on the street again, stalking my next interviewee, PimpDollaz. I found him on his usual corner, lounging against the door of his mustard Continental, adjusting the fur collar on his full-length leather coat.

After a few minutes of secret handshaking, I put the question to him: How does his Congressional career affect his street game? "Both are about stacking that paper, baby," he drawled. "On these streets I'm running Q7 hos but in the Man's Congress we're all of us bitches." The clarity of his words resonated.

Elaine of the Snowy Forest: Hard Worker
With trepidation and awe I approached the gleaming skyscraper where Elaine keeps her office. Slipping the doorman a factory reset token, I entered the lobby. The building was one enormous, seventy-storey room, and a bit chilly. Despite being in the heart of the financial district, one had the sense of a remote cabin under an avalanche. In the far corner of the otherwise empty room I saw Elaine hunched over a card table covered in its own avalanche of paperwork. As I stepped towards her, a burly receptionist appeared, blocking my way.

"Do you have an appointment?" she barked.

"No," I admitted. "But I'm the well-known bon viveur and boulevardier, What A --"

"Elaine of the Snowy Forest does not see anyone without an appointment," the receptionist intoned. "In addition to serving as Minister of Education in the Vootsman administration, she is on her party's Revolutionary Committee, and one of their Congressional representatives. Right now she is writing important dissertations for distribution to the workers. She may be our only hope to make sense of the crumbling patchwork of shorting wires which we call eRepublik. This crucial work will not be bothered by the likes of you."

I hung my head but saw her point. I waved frantically at Elaine in the distance, and called out, "Good luck in the election, Elaine of the Snowy Forest!" She raised her weary head momentarily from within the stacks of scrawled notes. Through half-lidded eyes she attempted to discern me. Her lilting reply echoed across space: "Education is a weapon whose effects depend on who holds it and at whom it is aimed."

Salty: Battle Hero
As Elaine's uniformed guards hustled me back onto the sidewalk, I almost tripped over a figure crouched against the building. He held another Starbucks cup out to me, and it rattled. "Spare some cc?" the bedraggled figure moaned weakly.

I dug in my pocket and placed into his cup a card with information on signing up for CRAP and GIMP. "I was like you once," the beggar told me, throwing the card over his shoulder. "Riding high, all the glory and perks of being party president, chairman of the revolution, serving in Congress with the illustrious statesmen of my time. Hubris will lead to your downfall, What A Guy. Be warned."

Taken aback that this wretch knew my name, I suddenly realized who I was speaking with. None other than Salty, x4 SFP Party Chairman/President, x21 eUSA Congress Member, Deputy Secretary of Media (March 2018 ), SFP Country Presidential Candidate (February 2018 ), and Church of the Latter Day Harambe Founder/High Priest. His list of achievements ran on and on. And yet here he was, sleeping against the cold glass of the Skyscraper of the Snowy Forest.

"What wisdom can you share with me, O Chairman Emeritus?" I asked him.

"You cannot make a revolution with silk gloves," he muttered, and began to snore.

RF Williams: Media Mogul
Quickly removing my silk gloves and dropping them in a mailbox, I hurried down the avenue to the speakeasy where I had arranged to meet the SFP's official mouthpiece, RF Williams. A legendary raconteur, RF has brought joy to millions as they scroll past his articles with great efficiency.

I called for a beer and pulled a chair up to his table in the back room, already crowded with his admirers. He was in the middle of a tale, and everyone craned to hear every detail. I didn't really get it, it was something about stuff that had happened ten years ago on some web game. I think the gist of it was that Groot is a wanker.

When the applause briefly subsided at the end of his story, I tapped RF on the shoulder. "Care to comment on your run for Congress?"

"I'm a blocker," he said, and turned his back on me, moving to prevent me from reaching my beer. Then he turned back around, grinning. "Get it?"

I still didn't.

Countess of Flame: Congress Member
A grim chuckle emanated from a dark corner of the room. I turned to its source, a shadowy woman with one eye blazing with contempt and the other covered by an eyepatch, but probably blazing with contempt under there as well. It was the Countess of Flame, as fiery as her name.

"You must be some kind of bot," she spat at me. "This article sounds like a Markov chain originating from a corpus of Rodney Dangerfield routines and photocopied sheets handed out by undergraduates on May Day."

"That does not compute," I said, winking at her. Her scowl deepened and her unblinking gaze seared my soul. "Uh, buy you a drink?"

The question hung in the air as I backed slowly towards the emergency exit.

Franklin Stone: Super Soldier
In the alleyway I bumped into Franklin Stone, a member of SFP also running for Congress. As I was about to begin my queries, he held up a hand. "Your article grows tedious, hurry this shit up," he suggested.

I saw the wisdom in this. "Okay, just tell me one thing that people should know about your candidacy."

Immediately he replied, "[egov#CONNECT]603416[/egov]"

"Thanks," I said, making some quick notes on my sleeve. "That helps."

T.J. SCOTT: True Patriot
T.J. Scott, temporarily not in upper case, stuck his head around the corner. "I am running for Congress, too, but also as a blocker," he pointed out. "The role of the blocker is a noble one, originating in our tradition of keeping total nimrods from sullying the good name of the Socialist Freedom Party. I mean, we get most of them."

I tried not to take that personally as I emerged onto the street again. I had managed to interview each of the SFP's Congressional candidates and obtain a full and fair evaluation of their supported policies. (Although I forgot to write that part down.) As I began my way back to the transit terminal to catch a capsule back to my habitation unit, I was roughly grabbed and spun around. A horrible, indescribable visage confronted me.

"You left out a candidate," the disfigured face was saying. "You left out the main one."

What A Guy: Dictator Trainee
Oh no! It was none other than What A Guy, the beloved chairman of the Socialist Freedom Party, the first and only winner of the definitely important PAL Award, and successful vaudevillian as the world's premier Elephant Man impersonator. But wait a minute, if he was What A Guy, then who was writing this article? (Spoiler Alert: not sure.)

What A Guy slapped me across the face, then slapped me again on the way back. "Ouch," I said, after a moment of consideration. He said, "You've been rambling long enough. Just tell the people to vote in the SFP primary on the very fun forum web site, and bring this charade to a close. You're not Joan Didion. You're not Tom Wolfe. There is no New Journalism here, only Old Onanism."

His grip tightened on my arm and I began to swoon. Suddenly I smacked onto the throw rug as I tumbled out of bed. It had all been a dream.

As I lay with my head between my furry slippers, my nose itched. I felt around it and pulled off a sticker lodged there. "I VOTED TODAY," it read. I re-applied the sticker and crawled back into bed.

"Wake me when this primary is over," I muttered to myself.

"We will," chorused shiloh13, PimpDollaz, Elaine of the Snowy Forest, Salty, RF Williams, Countess of Flame, Franklin Stone, and T.J. SCOTT from their side of the bed.

[Note: Any similarity to any actual players of eRepublik is purely coincidental. I decided against doing any research for this article. Don't forget to vote, folks!]