Mar 7, 2011

Former Mayor’s Hair Returns From Grave To Terrorize Hapless Town!!

The Town of Lamont, long accustomed to hideous outrages that other real, normal, fully-functioning towns shudder at the very thought of, was once again catapulted to the very brink of madness after nightmarish reports began to trickle in that Harlan Snopes’ hair, the hair of the town’s first farmer/rancher mayor, somehow managed to wriggle from the cold, cruel grave to vex the town yet again. This hair, if one can stretch the very language to accommodate such an unholy abomination, seems to be the combination of the horrifyingly nightmarish elements of what appears to be some sort of primitive ‘man-perm’ and some totally creepy sort of oil/gel thing on the back or whatever, more or less like combining the unnatural strength and ugliness of Frankenstein with the slashing fangs/claws of a canine-inspired werewolf with a hankering for human flesh!

“Oh, now that is just so dadburn wrong!” screeched Jethro Festoon, 56, an area farmer/rancher. “Like it ain’t bad enough waking up to another day of crushing failure and having to glance over at that slumbering hulk that, unfortunately, belongs to the wife, but now my very life itself is one long waking nightmare filled with dread and loathing at the thought of being psychologically destroyed by some unnatural, undead, unmanly hairdo that we long ago thought was consigned to the wicked, sour, poisoned earth that spawned it? Heck, we have had 3 stampedes already this week! Them cows just get one glimpse of that – well, whatever it is, bobbing behind a fence so only the hair is visible and the poor things just panic - like only a cow can panic - and there ain’t a force in this world that can stop them from reducing every fence for miles around into twisted hulks of tangled metal and/or reducing the wooden gates to matchsticks with their slashing, fear-inspired hooves! Why won’t that man’s hair just let us move on with our largely meaningless lives where all we ever talk about are cattle prices, varying rainfall amounts, why trucking water to a fire is better than using an existing, close-at-hand hydrant with 82 psi of pressure fed from a tank with over 100,000 gallons of water (and a refresh rate of over 200 gallons per minute! Thank you Century West!) and how much we hate the Town of Lamont and just wish it would be allowed to be reduced to rubble like it should be so it don't make our ranches look so dang bad in comparison?” he panted in a low whisper while clutching his crucifix and spitting three times to ward off the hellish (not to mention hairish!) apparition! “I just cannot help but think that all them outsiders with all their fancy pro-toilet, pro-painting, pro-pavement/sidewalk, pro-library ways have summoned this unholy apparition on us as some sort of cosmic retribution for our profoundly un-American, shockingly ignorant, decidedly anti-modern, ‘pro-angry-drunken-mob’ ways!” he stammered disgustedly. “Darn them and their stupid big city ways!! When will this madness ever cease?” he whined pathetically.

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