In a startling declaration that has every chicken within a 30 mile radius quaking in their coops, a local practitioner of the long discredited and ultimately powerless pagan practice of voodoo has vowed to unleash all of his 'mumbo-jumbo' on anyone who is aware of the totally exciting and extremely rewarding Lamont 100 Year Festival but decides to stay home and mope around the house for no good reason. "Uga baga buga!" bellowed the poorly disguised Chester Bodine, 52, the somewhat ridiculous witch doctor while shaking a fake plastic spear that one of his kids purchased at 'Safari Land' on their one family vacation in the last 30 years. "Sumba ampa powa" he sneered, while twitching and shaking and bulging his eyes out in a quite unnatural way, thus increasing the overall cheesiness of his obviously heartfelt presentation. "Anyone who knows of the Lamont festival and does not attend - may their receding hairlines flee from them like scared jackals and may every morsel they ever eat rest forever on their hips! Oh yeah, and may your dog have fleas, too!" he said menacingly. "Life is too short to sit in one's straw hut, missing out on fun, socially significant gatherings in order to appease the voracious spirits of laziness! Let all who hear these words be warned!" he hollered unconvincingly before resorting to a coughing fit due to his '2 pack a day' habit. "And don't forget about that Sadie Hawkins dance in Rockford on May 1st, either!" he rasped!"Oh, that is just great!" bemoaned the besieged Mayor. "Here we are trying to organize a fun, family event and now we have some doggone voodoo nut job in the park placing curses on everyone in the whole dern world! I mean, why do I have to be the Mayor of a town that even has a witch doctor? I bet Cheney and Tekoa don't have witch doctors! (He is not so sure about those rival small towns in Lincoln and Adams Counties, however! Who can tell what those doggone rascals are up to from minute to minute!) Oh yeah, life is fair! We have 100 dadburn people and of course we have a witch doctor in the group! That's just peachy!" he cried with that all too familiar tone of self-pity and angst! "And where did he get that lame costume and phony hair? Oh, that is just so wrong! And what self-respecting witch doctor wears cheap, well-worn cowboy boots that appear to be covered in one of those unfortunate cow byproducts that make living in the Palouse so special? That ain't no dadburn witch doctor - that's just one of those doggone farmer/ranchers trying to scare up some visitors for the festival!" said the super-sleuth detective, finally stumbling on the obvious! "Dang it, man! We don't need no hocus-pocus or pagan tomfoolery to have a successful festival - not when we will have so many varied food vendors, raffles, entertainment, live music and a parade! Oh, when will Lamont put aside their primitive myths and mores and embrace the fact that we really aren't that bad of a town, after all?" he pleaded hopelessly. 'Success or failure of the festival is in the Hands of the Good Lord - and all the bad acting and poorly applied makeup in the world won't change the outcome one jot or tittle! And someone needs to tell him to quit tracking all of that manure into the park! Can't a man wipe his feet off from time to time, for Pete's sake?" he said exasperatedly while watching his step as he stormed off back to the office.
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