Something electrifying is happening in Northern Virginia, particularly in the upscale realms of Prince William County. The community, historically home to residents who cherish unobstructed views, has been buzzing—not from the hum of electrical lines but from an audacious new movement: PELVIS (People Excluding Line Views in Society).
This advocacy group has launched a campaign, aptly named The Right to Not See Power Lines, demanding that their skies remain pure and unblemished by the so-called "vulgar cables."
Sheila Wickerbasket, the group’s founder, took a brave stand, expressing, “It's a travesty to sip on my handcrafted, organic, cruelty-free chai latte and have the mood completely ruined by the sight of these power 'tentacles' waving in the wind.”
Some argue that power lines are a part and parcel of modern living, visible throughout the country. But Bradley Stilton, PELVIS’s chief evangelist, begs to differ. “I once ventured beyond our county borders on an exploratory sojourn, and while I did see these ‘lines,’ I assumed they were avant-garde clotheslines or skinny flagpoles. Who knew they conducted electricity?”
In a random survey conducted by this reporter, it was discovered that 9 out of 10 Prince William residents believe that electricity is delivered by benevolent fairies named “Volt” and “Ampere” who work tirelessly after dusk to power homes. This startling revelation sheds light on why these residents might find actual power lines so jarring.
Historical documents reveal that Northern Virginia's aversion to over-the-air technology is not new. Records from the 1800s show residents protesting against the first telegraph lines, yearning for a return to “organic, free-range communication” via smoke signals.
To appease the growing resistance against power lines, the county is considering a proposal that involves burying all lines and placing decorative trees and sculptures every 10 feet. The ambitious plan will reportedly cost billions and would require charging each household an additional $500 monthly fee. However, in a preliminary poll, 97% of PELVIS members expressed they would willingly pay the price for a power line-free view.
“We have to consider the aesthetic and emotional trauma,” Wickerbasket emphasized, flipping her perfectly coiffed hair. “Every time I see a power line, my soul feels a pinch.”
While the nation might giggle at Prince William County's electrifying endeavor, for its privileged residents, it's simply about keeping their skyline as pristine as their hand-stitched, gluten-free, artisanal pillows.
