Mid Terms

Skunkerton is a veritable mecca for the modern tourist. Local attractions include fast food restaurants, drug rehabilitation centers, large scale homeless encampments, and the grim sites of multiple teen suicides. 

Where else but in Skunkerton can you gorge yourself on microwaved meat product while a human oil-slick urinates on the street in front of your very eyes? 

Well, I suppose you can do that pretty much anywhere these days. But only in Skunkerton will that human oil-slick also be the city's current mayor, a certain James O'Backhander, running for election on the deliberately confusing Demopublican ticket.

O'Backhander is known to all his cronies as 'The Boss,' and in return he fondly refers to them as 'The Mob.' Together they rule Skunkerton with a ruthless combination of targeted violence, bribery, nepotism, and walk-a-thons to raise money for charities of dubious provenance.

O'Backhander has been in politics since the age of twelve, when he became Town Selectman for the bankrupt suburb of West Taxfraud. His first legislative act was to close down the high school where he was failing all his classes. 

After graduating 'sum cum via papa' from Corrupton Community College in 2006, O'Backhander immediately married South American lampshade heiress Martina Bormann. 

The couple have one son, Jose O' Backhander, whose name has already been put down for Congress.

James O'Backhander's proud track record of political achievements includes extorting money to build the new Casino on Rte 666; being orally pleasured by his secretary without being caught; and supporting the War with Iran while simultaneously calling for all American forces to be withdrawn, except for the African American ones.

Mayor Backander is neither pro nor anti abortion. He simply is one. Any citizen who doesn't vote for The Boss you will find themselves removed from the electoral register forthwith and harassed by local policemen affiliated with the Mob.

So vote Demopublican ... or else!

Stations of the Anxious

My tourist's train to Saltport is delayed by about an hour or more, so I'm stuck at an unfamiliar station with all my luggage, long-suffering feet cramped uncomfortable formal shoes. I hadn't wanted to pack them in case they got crushed. Ditto this stiff dress shirt and suit jacket. I resemble a recently unemployed middle-management executive, a laid-off white collar worker who's cleared the contents of his desk into a faux leather valise and an old rucksack, then decided to leave all his clothes on the nearest beach and walk into the sea. At least I'm not wearing a tie. It's still damn hot even though it's already September.

Suddenly the tannoy system bursts into sound and a metallic voice announces 'The next train to Moorland arrives in fifteen minutes.' Moorland? Where's that? I wonder what it's like there? Places I've never heard of always project a certain glamor to my mind. Perhaps interesting people live there; the sort of people in whose company I could spend many happy evenings. Maybe there are wonderful shops stocked with all the things I've ever wanted, and fantastic restaurants serving my favorite drinks and dishes at bargain prices. And, who knows, even that very French but welcoming cafe with alfresco seating I've dreamt about all my life. Existing infrastructure permitting, Moorland could bring out the social butterfly in me, replacing this fossilized caterpillar I've become, who can't even crawl to Saltport to spend a few precious days beside the sea.

So I looked Moorland up in my guidebook to Greater Landmass. Apparently it's over-developed suburbia, named Moorland to conceal the fact that the entire area has been paved over with road and parking lots, grey Nowheresville flanked by Burger King, Caffe Nero, The Gap, and Old Navy. Not a destination I'd willingly choose to go, despite the immanent arrival of the train that goes in that direction. I guess I'll stick with Saltport, although God knows when I'll get there. Train still delayed and the time isn't exactly flying by. But there will be a baked cod dinner at some point in my future. Then I can stare at the ever changing ocean until my eyes get tired, thinking of all the many towns across the waves, and what they might have to offer.