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Opa-Locka Mayor Pete Palmer vs. The Cult
Everyone, please. Order please? Just grab some floor and sit Indian-style, everybody. Alright, thanks for coming out to this town council meeting on such short notice. And double thanks to Laser Tag Stadium for letting us use their main gaming area for this session, as the town chambers have been closed for emergency redecoration. That may seem like poor planning, but really, those chambers were looking painfully nineties.
Try to ignore the tykes from Mrs. Ferrier’s third-grade class running around with those zappers and helmets because we’ve got bigger fish to fry. No, Rusty, not the recent rash of pit bull maulings in the area, although that’s also very dispiriting. I’m referring to the three-hundred-strong religious cult that has made Opa-Locka its home.
It’d be bad enough that they’ve built a heavily-fortified compound two miles out of town, especially when they hike back in weekly and take up every available table at Pooter’s All-You-Can-Eat Loghouse on Ribby Tuesday. But no – “Heaven’s Portal” is also planning to take advantage of our legendarily-crippling voter apathy and elect their own candidate in the upcoming Mayoral Election. I don’t think I need to point out the obvious… scratch that, Merle the Pearl’s in the room. I am also running for Mayor. As I am the Mayor.
If their leader – one “Tommy the Prophet” – gets a majority, which is almost certain given our citizens’ aversion to any kind of vote they can’t cast with a cell phone, who knows what kind of havoc they’ll create?
My head hurts. Someone else talk.
Merle, I said to leave the kids alone. They don’t need someone whipping mints at them, even if you are “teaching them to concentrate”. You’re gonna get us kicked out of here, so could you quit?
Tim, challenging the Prophet to a debate on community TV is the best idea yet, but it’s not going to bear fruit. From everything we’ve heard, this Tommy has a certain bushy-haired, vacant-eyed charisma that I just can’t touch. I mean, he’s got hundreds of runaway youths ready to off themselves at the drop of a hat when the mothership touches down. God knows what he could convince all of our couch-surfing welfare cases to do.
Plus, as I’m sure you know, I’m currently serving a five-year ban from Peachfuzz TV after inadvertently exposing myself to viewers because of an ill-tailored pair of Bermuda shorts.
We could just raid the compound, Rusty, but they don’t have one warrant we can nail them on. These weirdos are squeaky-clean. They even adopted a highway! Who does that anymore? And the last time we stormed what we thought was a cult operation, it turned out to be an alternative lifestyle prom. These are mistakes we can’t make twice, gang.
Merle, I don’t know where you got your own laser zapper, though my Spidey sense tells me you may have brought it from home, but sit down and grow up. You look like a buffoon, and these kids don’t need someone sneaking up on them and “getting them execution-style”.
And for the rest of you, Merle definitely doesn’t need a cheering section.
Come on, folks, we need big ideas here. The election’s two Wednesdays from now, and I’ve run unopposed for so long that I can’t even remember what my core beliefs are. Was I for teaching evolution in schools or against it? I’m freaking out here. Someone go to the snack bar and snag me a vitamin water.
Wayne, whenever something like this happens to the town, you always suggest that we pack up and form a secret island society. I’ll be blunt: it’s not going to work, and there’s no lack of reasons why! Not to mention I doubt that four-seat seaplane of yours with the busted pontoon and Led Zeppelin decals is going to be able to transport this entire council, so I’ll leave it there.
Okay, Merle, now you’re just being a bully. I know you were cornered, but there’s really no way to justify heart-punching a nine-year old, is there? Either fork over the gun or holster it, these are your options.
Hold on five seconds – Wayne, does that seaplane still run? And what about all that neon paint from when we tried to paint the tourist drag glow-in-the-dark? Your Mayor just had a devil of an idea. Let’s fake these suckers out and buzz their camp with our own homemade mothership. They’ll be two-fisting that spiked Koolaid in seconds!
Let’s reconvene at 2100 hours down at the airstrip. Tell no one. And guess what, Merle: bring your laser gun. Couldn’t do anything but help our little facade. In fact, whip it out right now and show us your stuff. Give us your best alien –
And you’ve aimed the laser directly into my eye.
Please give me that.