There existed a small nation with a peculiar practice.
The people of each town chose their mayor by magically imbuing life into inanimate objects and letting the sentient objects dispense laws.
Often the objects they chose and the way those objects acted reflected the spirit of the villagers that created it.
The wealthy village in the north was represented by a big diamond that spoke with a posh accent and tended to be a bit disconnected from the working class.
Meanwhile, a friendly wholesome community in the west was ruled over by a blueberry muffin that was determined to instill strong morals in its village and always spoke kindly of those it met.
In the south there was a rural, backwater village that was unhappy with its mayor: a wooden 2x4 that spoke with an embarrassing hillbilly accent.
His speeches were excruciatingly slow and drawn-out.
The townspeople implored him to speak with a bit more distinction, but the old 2x4 always fell back into his lazy old tongue.
Though the community built around the mayor did indeed reflect its values well enough, they thought they deserved better.
They spent years trying out different objects to varying degrees of success--a haughty but untrustworthy umbrella; a bashful stapler that couldn't quite get the hang of being a government official.
The people of the village tried and tried but always found that the new inanimate-object-turned-mayors they created were never any better than the original.
Eventually they gave up, saying, "Well, back to the old drawling board."