Disco Finally Makes It To Lamont - All Too Soon Yet 40 Years Too Late

Editorial Note:
In another sign that the 'End Times' are upon us, that unfortunate Disco dance/dress social abomination has finally wound its nefarious influences into the 2nd smallest town in the State. As if that were not bad enough, the entire sissy Lamont Blog reporting staff threatened to resign en masse if they were forced to report on such an unholy development in this day and age. So, given this quite reasonable yet insubordinate rebellion by trained professionals who have devoted their measly energies and sparse talents to bringing the eager, news-hungry world the very essence of life in the Greater Lamont Metropolitan Area (GLMA) (the global community chomps at the bit for every morsel and tidbit, or so it would seem!), the highly professional, under-appreciated, quietly heroic and ever vigilant "Editorial Staff" at the Lamont Blog had to step up, step in and carry the water once again for the whole doggone team, like that is anything new. This Disco story was so disturbing and so fundamentally unsettling that our generous readers will just have to fill in the horrible and nauseating blanks, if they can summon the courage, that is - given that our reporters seem to be so lilly-livered and spineless to the extreme when faced with the very horrors that make life on this wretched orb less than sustainable from a social and psychological perspective. We apologize for any inconvenience that this gutless hand-wringing by our so-called 'reporters' might have caused our faithful readership or readerhood or whatever that word is supposed to be. Thank you!

“Mother Nature” Administers Official “Smack Down” To Area Busybody For Not Minding Her Own Doggone Business

In a quite appropriate assemblage of circumstances that has beleaguered son-in-laws the world over rejoicing at the sheer poetic justice of the thing, an area busybody (and quite enthusiastic and over-reaching mother-in-law in her own right) Brunhilda Snopes, aged 63, an area battle axe and farm/ranch matriarch, was nearly rendered senseless with fright after inserting herself into a situation where she obviously didn’t belong in the misguided and somewhat cruel attempt to ridicule and undermine another human being over something that really doesn’t matter all that much anyway.

“Well, I was over at the Festoon place when Skeeter Festoon (the dumbest of the Festoon kids so obviously the one who will inherit the ranch!!) came traipsing up, looking all disheveled and dingy, all his clothes some sort of unimpressive gray or whatever, and that is when I noticed what I was certain was a major laundry faux pas!” said Brunhilda wearily. “You know how men are with laundry! They will wash on any old temperature, throw colors in with whites, and never, ever use fabric softener, regardless of how much one nags! Lord knows the concept of a dryer sheet is beyond the realm of the remotest possibility! (Editorial note: Using stupid dryer sheets is, in fact, a pronounced statistical improbability several stages past 'remote', yes!) Oh, it is just a disgusting mess! Anyway, as I was cataloging the quite numerous laundry violations that Skeeter seems to rack up like deer antlers at a taxidermy shop, I saw what appeared to any reasonable laundry aficionado to be a clothespin still attached to the back of his quite faded and unimpressive shirt. So, needless to say, I marched right up to him in order to remove the offending laundry instrument and wag it in his face in order to prove once and for all my superiority over him in all things laundry, when before I knew it, that supposed ‘clothespin” began wriggling in my hand and those horrid little forelegs began stroking my fingers and those beady little eyes just glared at me with the inter-species contempt and hatred that only a lower life form can feel for a creature at the top of the food chain!” she stammered pathetically (Ironically, that was the same look she gave Skeeter upon critiquing his current outfit or ‘get-up’ or whatever you call that odd assortment of garments that Skeeter likes to wear!) “Oh, it was horrid – and it even scared Skeeter so bad he went lumbering across the yard (at unnaturally high speed for a homo sapien!) and knocked himself unconscious against that apricot tree. Oh, none of this dern mess would have happened if he would have just listened to my years of laundry-related scolding and if he would have bended himself to my irrepressible will and let me control every aspect of his stupid and worthless life until every semblance of humanity was wrung from him!” she said defiantly with an air of misplaced superiority and angst. (While vigorously wiping her liver-spotted hand on her tattered apron to get the 'insect germs' off!)

“Well, when I got out of bed about noon and went to do whatever one is supposed to do on a ranch or whatever, I had the unfortunate reality of bumping into that ever-unpleasant Brunhilda out by the chicken coop!” said the still groggy Skeeter while holding a piece of raw liver to his quite livid and greenish-black eye. “Anyway, I was trying to be polite and move away from her with some dispatch, realizing that I was more than likely going to have to sneak into the barn and hit the bottle like I do after most exchanges with that bitter shrew of a woman, when the next thing I knew she marches right up to me, touches me on the back between my shoulder blades and then begins screaming and howling and carrying on like some demon inspired banshee from the very pit itself! Needless to say that was quite unexpected. Well, being a coward by nature, resolving the ‘fight or flight’ dichotomy was really a no-brainer for me, and the next thing I knew my pappy was dumping a bucket of cold water over my head and saying something about how I was not getting out of my chores that easily. It was all very confusing. Anyway, Brunhilda made a quick departure after that and I ended up in the barn with that bottle I have hidden behind the manure fork – so I guess things ain’t all so bad after all, I guess” he concluded drunkenly (and repeating himself in the same sentence!) with a dopey smile that is all too common among those who are already “half in the bag” at 1:30 in the afternoon, for Pete’s sake.

(Editorial Note: For the record, the unfortunate Praying Mantis, who was just minding his own business after mistaking that gray, dingy, obviously mistreated shirt for a rock where it might catch a moth or something, somehow managed to extricate itself from that shrieking mental patient of a shrew of a woman who was making such a fuss and eventually ended up in the potato patch, unharmed, thank goodness, where it spent the rest of the day looking like a stick and trying to get a quick snack while checking out all the female Praying Mantises who seem cuter and more sassy than usual this year, for some reason. Thank you.)

Insidious Weed Infestation Causes Quite Considerable Cultural Conundrum

In one of those things that would only happen in a place like Lamont, a feisty yet forlorn anti-metropolis nestled against the barren, hellish wastes known somewhat politely as “The Scablands”. (Oh, who came up with that name! Talk about a complete and total lack of a marketing orientation!) Anyway, as the old adage goes, “Where there is dirt, there are weeds” (Okay, I just made that adage up - but freedom of the press belongs to those who own one!!) – and believe you me, Lamont has more than its fair share of dirt, and not just the growing kind, either. So, given this volatile mix of regularly tilled soil, above average rainfall, interstate trucking from international ports over on the coast and an above average propensity for bad things to happen, the lowly town of Lamont (Oh, they are not even a city! Given their lack of population, they are defined as just a measly little town! Think of the psychological strain and humiliation that can put on an electoral body, for Pete’s sake!) has been struck by a non-native weed that has radically altered the social and cultural dynamic which was hanging by a thread in the first place. Yes, Lamont and the surrounding area have a Stage 4 infestation of the dreaded ‘Lunas Hippicus’ weed, known in farm/ranch circles more simply as “Loco Weed”.

“Oh great! That’s all I need right now!” lamented Wilber Festoon, 54, an area farmer/rancher and heir to the tarnished and tattered Festoon farm/ranch dynasty! “First, my little girl (She is 23 and well over 16 stone!!) has got it in her head to go get tattoos and piercings on parts of the body me and the wife never even knew existed, then my son goes to the slammer after getting caught up in some illegal ‘bull wrestling’ ring, and I do not have the time or the inclination to outline my wife’s quite extensive incongruities, we could be here for days, but now the whole herd is all hopped up 24/7 on some dern weed that seems to grow with some proclivity (more like reckless abandon!) in these parts, although I can’t seem to get wheat to grow here to save my life! (Maybe that has something to do with drinking a 12-pack before getting on the tractor!) Yeah, that is just great!” he sniveled in typical farmer/rancher fashion – which can be downright annoying if you ponder it for any length of time, given that totally bogus reputation they have for rugged individualism and the untamed American spirit and all of those other Hollywood lies about farmers/ranchers – at least the farmers/ranchers in these parts, anyway. (Editorial Note: The Lamont Blog believes that farmers/ranchers in other parts of the country do indeed live up to their cultural stereotypes, but the area ones leave more than a little to be desired in their manly pursuits and world view – except for the area women, of course, who seem to excel in these areas. So please, do not fall into the trap of generalizing our local farmers/ranchers with the national variety – like in Texas or Iowa or other normal places like that where the men who serve on the County Fire Department don’t start crying when asked by the town to use a fire hydrant to put out fires or whatever. Thank you!!)

“So, me and the wife went down to the back pasture and I’ll be dadburned if the whole herd wasn’t down there sitting around some bonfire, singing “Moo-Bai-Ya” and chewing on that dang Loco weed like it was going out of style!” said the flummoxed farmer/rancher while wiping the chewing tobacco juice off his shiny, pointy-toed, multi-colored, highly-embroidered 'cowboy' boot.. “And to top that all off, then one of the cows came up, saying he was now their new union representative from the International Bovine Brotherhood Local 642, and he was demanding that I rent some fancy cattle truck and drive the whole mess of them over there to that New York City so they could participate with their cultural soul mates in the “Occupy Wall Street” protest where all them hippie types who don’t know how to clean up after themselves and go to the bathroom wherever the need strikes them are proving how worthless they are! I don’t so much mind them cows getting all stoned and doing funny things with their hides, (or the wannabe hippies, either!) but I’ll be dadburned if I am going to go carting them all the way across the country so they can protest the very people who help set cattle future prices in some significant yet indirect way! A man has to draw the line somewhere, I reckon!” he said with whatever tattered remains of self-dignity he could muster in a pinch - although this meager bravado was largely sad and transparent! (Editorial Note: No animals or worthless, anti-social hippies were harmed in the making of this Blog article. Thank you!)

Lamont Has Nation's Conspiracy Theorists All "A Twitter" After Recent Modern Plumbing Improvements

The humble town of Lamont, a charming berg that thru a series of social, cultural, educational and laziness-related unfortunate circumstances, not to mention the meddlesome interference and hijinks of the patron saint of Lamont – 'Bad Luck' himself, never managed until now to put in a flush toilet or a simple sink or whatever. (Editorial Note: This "Bad Luck" archetype is depicted in popular local myth/lore as dressing just like Zorro - cape and all!!! What is that all about? What does Zorro have to do with not having a flush toilet after 100 years of failure? That in and of itself is really rather disturbing - more so, in fact, than being a town for 100 years and not having a public bathroom! There is some really disturbed thinking going on there! Thank you!) Anyway, this little town has the quite extensive US Conspiracy Theory community with a bee in their bonnet after word leaked out that Lamont was on the verge of getting its first public flush toilet in over 100 years. This implausible rumor of modern plumbing is even more shocking because it was opposed by the area fire fighters (who also opposed using fire hydrants – seems they have a problem with water or something, which is more than a tad ironic - but appears normal in the context of the Greater Lamont Metropolitan Area (GLMA)!), it was attacked by area church types who view any change as the devil’s handiwork, and it was scorned by the thankfully small segment of the population who doesn’t like to bathe and since a toilet is associated with the room the shower is in – well, it was guilt by association or something.

“Well, we pretty much have one of them fake moon landing scenarios like they tried to pull on us during the hippie era, right here in doggone Lamont, dadburn it!” said Chester Bodine, 56, an area farmer/rancher and unabashed flaky nut-case who sees conspiracies everywhere, even in his breakfast cereal, for Pete's sake. " (There is something unnatural and creepy about those unholy 'Lucky Charms' with all those weird marshmallow things that ain't really marshmallows that come in colors that no self-respecting marshmallow would ever appear in public with and all of that, so he might be onto something there - but we don't want to encourage Mr. Bodine in any way. Thank you.) “Heck, that moon landing thing was as fake as Old Man Festoon's teeth and any dern fool with a lick of sense knows that Lamont don’t have the political will nor the fancy know-how to put one of them dern things in! It is all one big hoax to lure the nation into another false sense of complacency so that there one world government or whatever can take over and the next thing we know we have to start saying 'comrade' to everybody and them people will make us watch that fancy ballet from that Red Square over there in Russia (sadly pronounced "Rusher") or what have you. And the dern media is in on it, too! I knew the minute Lamont made the front page of the Spokane paper (not the Police Blotter for a change, thank goodness!) that that darn main stream media was up to their usual tomfoolery. Then Lamont got one of the best water systems in small town America, thanks to Century West Engineering, with water so pure it hardly registered on that water testing thingamabob or whatever that is! Clean water, who needs it? I've been drinking water from under the cow pasture for years and it ain't hurt me none!" he stammered with that pronounced facial tic that can be so distracting! "Then, out of nowhere, more than half the town got paved! Or did they just make us believe it got paved? How do we know that is really pavement with sidewalks and not some fancy commie gravel that just makes us think it is pavement? You ever asked yourself that? And finally, that darn Whitman County gave Lamont a huge grant for a new library, like that ain’t a sign of the end times or something. That is all we need – more people reading! So, all of that was bad, but a flush toilet in Lamont – come on! That is just nonsense, I tell you! Some things are just beyond rational probability!” he fumed, bordering on a full-blown snit/temper tantrum.