In a stunning display of democratic prowess, Pennsylvania voters have launched themselves into an everlasting tug-of-war over fracking, a game more likely to result in rope burns than resolution. In a show of unity, residents from the rolling hills of the Appalachians to the suburban sprawl of Philadelphia have decidedly split their population down the middle, with one group heroically defending the pristine reputation of “All Natural” labels and the other ardently insisting that natural gas is a miracle from the Earth that should be extracted at all costs—even if it involves using unlicensed excavation tools typically reserved for DIY home projects. Local gas companies, swifter than the speed of a thousand gas leaks, have been handing out “voting advice” pamphlets, usually featuring a smiling baby next to a smiling fracking rig—because who doesn’t love babies? These pamphlets promise lower bills, cleaner air, and a generally unexplainable increase in tender moments at Thanksgiving dinners. Unbeknownst to most, the pamphlets were printed on recycled corn husks in an effort to appeal to sustainability-minded voters. During the fracking debates — voted the Official Sport of Pennsylvania by the state legislature, an action met with ferocious applause at last week's "We Pump, You Jump" rally — crowds gathered outside local diners wielding signs declaring either “Frack Off” or “Drill, Baby, Drill!” This resulted in an epic showdown where lattes flew like projectiles and whole grain toast was launched with the fury usually reserved for high school football rivalries. The stakes were raised further when an enterprising local voted to inject gas directly into his barbecue grill, proclaiming it a major breakthrough in “frack-cuisine.” When asked how it tasted, he simply mumbled something about a “unique, earthy flavor” while his hair smoldered slightly—a true testament to the culinary risks Pennsylvanians are willing to take for the sake of energy independence. On the political front, candidates are racing to claim the title of “Most Environmental Conscience.” One candidate, who visited a sustainable farm equipped solely with protective bubble wrap and organic tofu, promised to “bring Pennsylvania back to its roots while pulling it forward into the future.” His opponent countered by brandishing a large check from a fracking corporation while simultaneously chewing on a small piece of kale. Debate night approached, triggering a frenzy of activity from local enthusiasm coordinators, who quickly set up a tug-of-war competition in the middle of the event. The candidate who could pull hardest on the rope (which was suspiciously made from the finest, yet most toxic, polymer) would win the coveted endorsement from the grassroots fracking community, despite its unanimous disapproval from the actual grassroots. As election day looms, residents are left at the mercy of their leaders, who, after watching the results of their fervent Yankee Doodle deliberations, will surely chart a course of action more convoluted than a gas line being installed at a children’s playground. As the line continues to blur between acclamation and condemnation, Pennsylvanians can rest assured of one thing: regardless of the outcome, the debate over fracking will continue to be as reliable as the annual Groundhog Day celebration—and probably just as enlightening. So whether you’re fracking for votes or roasting marshmallows over the sweet scent of natural gas, just remember: in Pennsylvania, the only thing more explosive than the energy industry is the voters’ stubborn resolve to keep fighting for answers. Preferably while wearing helmets and waving lawn signs.