The municipal elections take place in October of this year, but campaigning has already begun. Every day, including Sunday, between the hours of 9am and 10pm, baseball-hatted clowns are driving around town belching out some of the worst electoral jingles ever scrawled on somebody's hand during a bender in Pirapora do Bom Jesus. They are uniformly degrading of the political classes (if that's possible to any greater extent than they manage themselves), and my prediction is that it could lead to an outbreak of random knifings, particularly if I don't find professional help soon.
When I was a child, local elections were greeted in our leafy English suburb by a lone Ford Cortina containing a member of the ruling class meekly urging voters to, "Vote Conservative, you know it makes sense". In a scandalous (to me then) attempt at vote-buying, the Tories once offered my mother a lift to the polling station, only for her to vote for the SDP, making it the closest she's ever come to civil disobedience. But Brazilian elections are handled in an entirely louder, more strident manner.
The jingles range from the Brazilian sertanejo-style country music (the current Mayor's effort at re-election), to the warbling Whitney Houston-style homage to everything kitsch (some other candidate) and a more samba-laden number from one of the others. The lyrics are really what inspire, however. As each candidate has a five-figure number, some fairly ludicrous rhymes are concocted. My personal favourite remains one that assaulted our senses during the last round of local elections, involving the coupling of the number 7 (sete, pronounced setch-y) with the word lanchonete, or snack food establishment (pronounced lan-shon-etch-y), due to the candidate's ownership of the same. It proved a tragic tune, nay his requiem, in fact, as in the middle of his mandate, the victorious vereador (local councillor) was ruthlessly gunned down as he opened the same lanchonete one morning. Politics is not for the faint-hearted, or indeed the unarmed, round these parts.
Personally I thought it was an overreaction - there were far worse jingles during that election campaign, that stood out for their unimaginative time signature, deeply inane lyrics and failure to spark anything but an apathetic torpor. If I were a candidate, I would avoid meeting a violent end by employing the sublime composing skills of the Legend of Olinda, Alceu Valença.
I doubt he'd accept, though.