The Lashburg city council meeting began with the usual mundane matters. A cross walk light tipping over, the paint was coming off the parking lot lines at the courthouse, someone stuck a dead bird in Dr. Dickman’s mailbox, etc.. Shela Mumps took a sip of her water and said that she wanted to talk about the kids who had taken up camp in the park. They were doing their version of Occupy Wall Street except that they were occupying Hood park which was named after the confederate general. All the councilors groaned, first because none of them wanted to talk about the score of punks in the park and second, no one wanted to listen to Shela Mumps who was very activist oriented. The mayor nodded his head for her to go ahead.
“I think we should see about having some money put aside to help these kids live more comfortably in the park.”
Dr. Dickman, who was a large animal vet as well as a city councilor and who was determined to find out who stuffed a dead bird into his mailbox replied, “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was one of those kids who put a dead bird in my mailbox and there’s no way I’d support giving them taxpayer dollars for wasting human time.”
The mayor and the rest of the city council members slumped into their chairs knowing full well how the next hour was going to be spent.
Miss Mumps replied, “You have no idea who stuffed a dead bird into your mailbox. You just don’t like those kids because they’re actually out there doing something about the unfairness of our capitalist system.”
“Every time I drive by there I just see a bunch of dirty punks sitting on their asses smoking cigarettes and listening to that idiot on his bongo drum. All they’re doing is defacing our park by being there. You could empty a manure cart in front of General Hood and it would be more pleasant than the sight of those kids.”
“You really are against any kind of change because you come from a generation that is half dead. You can’t stand it. Change that is.”
“If I turned you over my knee and spanked your ass to a glowing cherry red it would be a change wouldn’t it? Is change inherently good? No it’s not.”
“Dr. Dickman!” Bellowed the mayor, “I’ve told you before about inappropriate comments at council meetings. You keep your barnyard language on the farm if you please.”
“Sorry mayor.” Replied Dr. Dickman. “I’m just trying to make the point that not all change is good.”
Here Shela Mumps cut in again and said, “Yes change is good. That’s what it’s all about. Those kids are going to change the way things are conducted on Wall Street. They’re making a difference.”
“How in God’s name are those kids going to change something on Wall Street? They’re not making a difference in anything except the way our park smells.”
“It’s a public park.” Said Miss Mumps.
“So it’s a public park. If I just brought a bunch of cattle into the public park and decided to stick my arm up their asses to check for gastric lesions would you approve of that Miss Mumps?”
“Dr. Dickman!” Said the mayor. “I don’t want to listen to this!”
“Look,” said Miss Mumps. “We can easily afford to budget enough to set up a small kitchen, a clinic, and some wi-fi in Hood park. It’s our duty to support the democratic process and help these kids make a difference on Wall Street.”
Dr. Dickman pointed his pencil at Miss Mumps and said, “If I called my stock broker right now and got him to connect us to an investment banker on Wall Street I can guarantee you that you could not elicit one flick of concern from that investment banker with regard to the punks in all the parks. They’re just sitting in their offices laughing at all the peasants who have to live with dirty noisy parks full of chanting retards spouting inane nonsense. This is your generation Miss Mumps. They’re so democratic they have to have a vote before one of them can take a dump.”
“Dr. Dickman!” Said the mayor.
“So am I to understand that you’re against consensus Dr. Dickman?” Asked Miss Mumps.
“When it gets to the point these kids have reached then yes, I’m against consensus. I’m against a generation of feckless pussies.”
“Dr. Dickman!” Shouted the mayor, “You needn’t speak like that at council!”
Shela Mumps stood up at her chair and leaned over the table towards Dr. Dickman. She pointed her freckled finger at him and said, “YOU are obtuse!”
Dr. Dickman leaned back in his chair and said, “You know, Miss Mumps, I’ve been behind you several times this week in the Licked Tiger (the town’s only coffee shop) and I’ve noticed that you’re one of those people who stands there staring at the menu board for ten minutes while people who can actually make a decision are dying of old age behind you. I understand your penchant for consensus and democracy. You could happily sit around spending years trying to decide what kind of coffee you want. But what you don’t seem to understand is that there are still some people left on the planet who can make decisions on their own within reasonable amounts of time.”
“What you are implying Dr. Dickman is that you would like to be a dictator. You would like to make decisions for the rest of us?”
“We, Miss Mumps, including you, are making decisions for the rest of them right now. At least we would be making decisions if it weren’t for your idiotic ideas which inevitably wind up wasting enormous amounts of time. It’s like you bring you coffee shop obstructionism with you every where you go.”
“Now, now.” Said the mayor. “Let’s calm down and try to get somewhere on this before the sun goes down.”
“I propose that we allocate 3500 dollars to the Occupy Wall Street via Lashburg Movement.” Said Miss Mumps.
“I will agree to that,” Said Dr. Dickman, “providing we agree to officially recognize the protestors as The Bowel Movement.”
“Dr. Dickman!” Shouted the mayor.
“Mr. mayor.” said Miss Mumps. “I want you to censor Dr. Dickman.”
“You have no sense of humor Miss Mumps. That’s why you support those aimless bird turds in the park. They too have no sense of humor or sense of anything else for that matter.” Said, Dr. Dickman.
“They have a sense of justice just like me which is more than I can say for you.” Replied Miss Mumps.
“Well Miss Mumps if having a sense of justice would make me like you or those protestors then I’m thankful to be without it.” Here Dr. Dickman laughed and said, “Could you imagine sitting around in that park playing a bongo drum and smoking clove cigarettes and thinking that you’re ruffling the feathers of some dude in a New York high rise office building who is making ten grand a minute? It’s a good thing those high rise windows can’t be opened because I guarantee you those wall street bankers would be pissing out the windows onto the heads of the protestors.”
“Dr. Dickman!” Said the mayor. “Can’t we settle down and just wrap this up without foul notions?”
“You know, Dr. Dickman,” said Miss Mumps. “Someday those protestors may just come get you and take you out like those people in Libya did to Colonel Gadafi.”
“Well that’s really terrifying Miss Mumps. Having them capture me that is, because I’m afraid they would never kill me. I do believe they might make me listen to them playing their bongo drum and chanting ‘we all agree to let Jane Tu take a dump today after we wash off all the trees in the park!’ Believe me death would be a luxury compared to that!”
“You’re a philistine Dr. Dickman. You belong in a stall with your face up a horse’s ass!”
“Miss Mumps!” Said the mayor. “Now I don’t want to listen to this.”
“Well, I take it Miss Mumps that when you say philistine you mean that I have a modicum of common sense. Clearly an appreciation of art in this era implies that you are profoundly retarded as made evident by those kids in that park. Can you imagine! I drove by there the other day and one of them was saying. ‘Let’s decide whether or not we should or should not allow smoking during the poetry reading at three this afternoon.’ and then all of them chanted back, ‘Let’s all decide whether or not we should or should not allow smoking during the poetry reading at three this afternoon.’ and then when I drove by nearly an hour and a half later they were still chanting that same sentence back and forth. That’s your democracy and your consensus Miss Mumps. Those kids would be twice as smart if someone whacked them in their heads with a baseball bat. I mean come on. They’re painting rainbows and unicorns on each other’s faces! Can you imagine what all those Arab spring revolutionaries are thinking about these little pussies and their poetry readings? Calling them children would be a compliment! They’re infants! And that’s your generation Miss Mumps. My generation never reached adulthood and I’m sorry for it but your generation is embryonic! I take that back. They’re just sperm and egg not even mixed and growing but rather just sitting there like bio waste!”
“You’re beyond ignorant Dr. Dickman! Without revolution we never would have had this country. These are little George Washingtons!”
“Ha! If Washington acted like these kids we’d still be totting bags of grain for the British and talking like our mouths were full of horse shit.”
“Dr. Dickman!” Shouted the mayor, “I won’t listen to any more of this language.
“And let’s just go ahead and say it.” Said Dr. Dickman “Most of those protestors are gay thespians to start with. Most of them wouldn’t know Wall Street from Meryl Streep. They just want people to think that they are worthy of some sort of attention since they know in their hearts that they are not worth any attention whatsoever.”
“Jesus Christ!” Shouted Miss Mumps. “Could you be any more out of date? Do you live on the current version of planet earth?”
“Unfortunately, Miss Mumps, I do live on the current version of planet earth. You’re a brain dead zombie.”
“I’d rather be a brain dead zombie than a right wing fanatic dick head!”
“Miss Mumps!” Hollered the mayor. “We can’t speak like this at council.”
“Miss Mumps,” Replied Dr, Dickman, “Zombies have become very popular in the culture lately. Don’t you think it’s interesting to see so many young adults obsessed with zombies? What is so alluring about decomposing, brainless creatures? I’ll tell you Miss Mumps. I believe that these kids look up to zombies as paragons of intellectual leadership. And doesn’t that make a great deal of sense? When I’m standing behind you in the coffee shop waiting for the broken down gears of your brain to grind out a decision for the barista I definitely think of you as a zombie. And honestly, if you didn’t have such a nice ass to take my attention off your deficient brain I would pummel you to the ground like a dog.”
“Dr. Dickman!” Shouted the mayor. “That kind of comment is just entirely inappropriate during a city council meeting. Please conduct yourself in a tolerable manner!”
“He can’t help it mayor.” Said Miss Mumps. “He’s an underdeveloped primate expressing himself in the only manner he knows how. Notice the overbearing brow and the abundance of hair between his eyebrows. Notice the growth of hair coming out of his nose and ears. He simply doesn’t possess the capacity for more sophisticated thinking and to listen to him is an act of kindness that we have to bear.”
“Good God.” Said the mayor. “What kind of people are you two? We haven’t gotten a thing done here and I think I speak for everyone when I say I’m about to die of boredom. The only think keeping me awake is Dr. Dickman’s foul language and my responsibility as moderator. Now let’s take a vote on this proposal of Miss Mumps.”
“Hold on mayor.” Said Dr. Dickman. “I have a proposal too. I propose we set aside one thousand dollars to put up a plaque in the park memorializing Miss Mumps and her idiotic ideas.”
“That’s enough!” Shouted the mayor. But it was too late. Miss Mumps had jumped across the table and knocked Dr. Dickman out of his chair. No one else stirred from their seats but watched with great satisfaction as the two council members fought like badgers and rolled around on the floor. The mayor nudged council woman Blake, leaned over and said, “They couldn’t live without each other.” He was correct.
