In a shocking turn of events, South Dakota officials are at their wits' end trying to get residents to fulfill their civic duty and vote. So desperate is the situation that they've issued a warning: if voter turnout doesn't improve, they may have to unleash a Cornhusker upon the unsuspecting populace. "Our state is known for pride, potatoes, and a plethora of corn ambitions, but lately, it seems that the only thing growing is apathy," lamented local election official Patty Peavine. "We’ve attempted every method: public announcements, social media campaigns, and bribing folks with promises of free pie. But as the election date looms, we have to consider more drastic measures." The Cornhusker—a legendary figure steeped in rural tradition and notorious for his persuasive skills—has long served as South Dakota's secret weapon in various emergencies. Folks say he can woo even the most obstinate creatures into compliance, whether it's a stubborn cow or a reluctant neighbor. But sending a Cornhusker to ‘persuade’ voters? That's a last resort. Critics of the plan are already rumbling. "I don’t want a Cornhusker coming to my door, leaning on my fence, and regaling me with tales of last year’s harvest!” protested local resident Betty Bartlett. “If I wanted that kind of pressure, I’d ask my aunt about my love life!" Meanwhile, state officials are arranging a training seminar for the Cornhusker, who, for legal reasons, has requested to remain anonymous. “We are currently reviewing the Cornhusker Code of Conduct,” revealed a state spokesperson. “There’s a fine line between enthusiastic encouragement and just plain ol’ scare tactics. His aim is to convince, not frighten—unless, of course, you’re considering not voting. Then, well, we’d advise you to stay out of the field alone.” If turnout doesn’t pick up, the state plans to employ a classic Cornhusker technique: the Uninvited Potluck of Persuasion. "The Cornhusker will be sent to every address within the 100-mile radius of the capital with a casserole so good it’ll be impossible to turn him down," Peavine explained. “For the price of one good meal, you might end up filling out that ballot just to make him go away.” Experts predict an increase in attendance at polls now that the threat of a Cornhusker is looming ominously over the state. "It's like a 21st-century version of the 'foot in the door' technique," noted urban sociologist Fran Franks. "Once they get you to the potluck, the Cornhusker has you pinned between your ‘just one more slice of that delicious casserole’ and 'how about a quick chat about local candidates?'” As this unprecedented election season continues, residents are urged to embrace a different way of participating in democracy. “Voting should be more delectable than soul-crushing,” said Peavine. “Now go cast your ballot—before the Cornhusker shows up with beans and an agenda!” South Dakotans are left to ponder: Would it really be so bad if a Cornhusker did come knocking? After all, nothing says “get out the vote” quite like a herd of enthusiastic corn farmers urging you to make your voice heard, one casserole at a time.