Thanks, everyone, thank you for coming to my home. Grab some couch, if there’s room. If not, I’ve laid some towels out on the floor, so… everybody pack in. I apologize for the directions, I forgot that army surplus store on the corner closed down.
As all of you on the council know by now, I am no longer your Mayor. It was close, but that title now belongs to one Jason Giambi who, I have been assured, has decades of experience. Experience, you know, hitting balls with a stick. Right.
The fine folks of this town came out in never-before-seen numbers to have their voices heard. Rumor has it the turnout may have hit triple digits. That’s a first. I’m going to chalk it up to my assault on high overdue library book fees, an issue I fear my successor is going to sweep under the rug.
Once it became clear that I was not going to win, I tried to make a concession call to Mr. Giambi, who quickly informed me that he was riding an ATV through Opa-Locka’s endangered animal sanctuary and had “no time for bullshit”. Well, I think the thought was there.
Yes, Tyson, you can “have at” the cheese and crackers I prepared. Feel free to start a plate.
I wish him the best of luck. But I can’t say the same for your friend and mine, Merle the Pearl. Not only did he split this council and essentially play the Ralph Nader spoiler role, which is a reference he’d understand if he weren’t politically- and possibly regular-retarded, but he’s now been recruited by Mayor Giambi to be his deputy mayor. I think what drove him to run against me was being asked to wear formal dress to the annual Kids Kickin’ Cancer’s Butt! Charity Dinner, and learning that sweat pants paired with one of those T-shirts that looks like a tuxedo would not fly.
Well, speak of the devil, here’s Merle now. Et tu, Brutus? No, not Brutus the Barber Beefcake, you idiot.
Nice suit. Armani. Mr. Giambi certainly keeps his people looking good. Come to think, looking around this room I see a lot more Rolex watches than I usually do at our meetings, and I know at least three of you can’t tell time.
I’ll be durned. My own faithful council, in bed with the enemy. How could you all stab me in the back? So quickly you forget the good times, and the great laughs. Like… that time Janice fell down… and when I typed up the minutes using old-timey pirate jargon!
Fine, so you felt unappreciated. But you don’t know what this baseball player has in store for us! Something’s not right there. You can see it in his square jaw and steely glare. Sure, his Tuesday morning ritual of batting grounders to Mrs. Ferracutti’s fourth-grade class has been a huge success. But what about all the dead, defiled bodies that have been turning up on the outskirts of town, stained with pine tar? Connect the dots, people!
I guess you’re not going to help me devise a plan to get Giambi out of office so I can regain my livelihood. Then it’s on to Plan B.
Ladies and gentlemen, what good is a knife if it can’t cut? Are the ones you have in your kitchen doing the job or just dulling you out? I bring you a wonderful offer from Pyramid Knives, a set of twenty blades so sharp and sturdy they’ll even cut through your walls! Don’t believe me? Watch this throw!
Jesus Christ, Lucy, I’m sorry! Wow, those fillet knives really hunk in there. My wife’s going to take you to the hospital right away. But at least it missed the eye, right? You could even end up with a sexy little Tina Fey scar.
And Merle, I don’t think capturing the moment on your cell phone is helping matters one bit.
Well, we started with insult, and there’s the injury. Let’s wrap this baby up. See you all never and once my house is foreclosed upon, I will be reachable via my mother-in-law’s bungalow in Sweetwater. It’s been a hoot.
Merle, I believe that sound clip of an African-American man saying “Damn son, check yo phone” means you have a text message. Go ahead and see what it is, we’re all waiting with breath, both bated and otherwise.
What’s that? Giambi blew out his ACL and MCL pummelling a white heron? Yes! Harm! Just as I wished him!
Do you know what this means? In the event of the Mayor of Opa-Locka suffering a dehabilitating injury, the last election’s runner-up must step in! It’s the act I snuck in with all those “Loopy Lawz” we passed in ’99! I knew that one would pay off, and not just because I was raised to believe it’s morally wrong to wear plaid pants on a Sunday. I’m back, baby!
From the deathly silence in the room, I can tell you’re all a little disappointed. But things are going to be different this time around! You can forget about business as usual, and start getting used to the new-and-improved old Mayor! For instance, uh… every Wednesday, I’m bringing in Dunkin’ Donuts!
A celebratory hug, Merle? I’d be a fool if I said no. Come on, let’s –
And you’re shaking me like a rag doll. I definitely felt something pop there.
Tyson, why don’t you stop my wife before she’s out of the driveway?
