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Opa-Locka Mayor Pete Palmer vs. The Weather Machine
Alright, everyone settle down. Please have a seat. Sit down. Thanks for coming out to this emergency meeting of the town council. Also have to thank to the management of the Pizzadome for letting us convene here on such short notice, and order the tuna salad nachettes even though, as we are all aware, they are a Friday special.
Obviously, there’s a problem we need to address. Yes, Merle, it’s the weather. I’m not wearing this reindeer fur parka to make a fashion statement. Our usual sweltering summer heat has been replaced with negative-twenty-degree temperatures and sweeping white-out blizzards. Now either the library has been leaving its air con on and the door open, or this is due to our reclusive eighty-year old millionaire friend Artemis Webster and his weather machine.
I’ll be the first to share a slice of the blame pie. The man and I have never really seen eye to eye. Never approved of that army weapons magnate building his eight-million dollar stronghold on Knutledge Point, literally overshadowing the entire downtown strip. And we had words after his last and we-thought-final attempt to destroy the town. But Lance, I don’t think it was too wise to publish your probing Webster feature, “Tony Stark, if Tony Stark Were Old And Stupid” in the Opa Intelligencer, not to mention deeply damaging to your journalistic integrity.
I hear a lot of mumbling around the table, about how he’s pure evil, and has a grudge with all of us Opa-Lockians. If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure his grudge is against all of humanity. We just happen to be closest to his weather machine.
Well, we’ve teed off the napping giant again. Who’s got ideas?
Merle, can you just go find a chair? You’re making me nervous circling the table like that. No, that doesn’t mean taking a knee between Mr. and Mrs. Fortner. That means physically going to another table and bringing back a seat. Jesus.
Ray, I don’t think we can “just march right up the Point and sort him out”. The man’s estate is patrolled by an army of elite FROG units. Whether you bring your lucky ball bat “Little Ray” or not, they’re going to cut you to ribbons. It’s not a great idea.
And no, I wasn’t aware that you used Little Ray to hit a triple off of Baseball Hall of Famer Dennis Eckersley back when you and he played in single-A in the seventies. It’s also irrelevant to this conservation. Come on, people!
Running him straight out of town won’t do either. This isn’t like those Dateline NBC reporters who came nosing around to investigate our impotable water. The guy’s astronomical wealth is the only thing keeping us above the federal poverty level, and even with him factored in, it’s a close shave.
By the way, Bill, is there any update on that impotable water situation? You’ve been “sleeping on” that one for a couple of years now.
Oh, that’s hilarious, Merle. Now you’re sitting in a high chair that was clearly intended for a child. Alright – everyone, let’s stop discussing the weather machine and look at Merle! Ha! Ha! Ha! But you’re not a child, Merle! You’re not a child! Ha! Ha! The Chuckle Pump’s amateur night is Tuesday, Merle, so why don’t you save it for then.
Oh, sorry, I forgot. You don’t “think in terms of stand-up” and are “more of an improv guy”. How convenient. Can we all goddamn focus? It’s summer and it’s winter!
Apparently, his weather machine is codenamed “The Zeus Bolt”. I know that doesn’t help us any, but I wanted to make sure it was in the minutes.
He just doesn’t quit, I swear to God. It seems like just yesterday when he blocked the sun during my first term. Trite, yes, but effective. More so than when he blocked the moon. I mean, did anyone really miss the moon? But I had the trump card on that one. Who remembers “The Mayor’s Midnight Madness Marathon”? I mean, it took three weeks for the old bastard to finally cave, and I was getting seasonal-affective disorder from the lack of vitamin D, but the deals were out of this world.
Wait a second. Maybe that’s it. Artemis may have taken a huge, snowy, lemony crap on us, but we can still squeeze some lemonade out of this turd. I’m tabling that we do exactly what we did when we found out Cal Espie’s boy had elephantitis – turn it into a tourist attraction!
“Christmas in August” – what’s everyone think of that? Santas, elves, wrap some lights around a palm tree, the whole deal. It’ll be even bigger than our annual “Scads of Dads” Father’s Day Parade, and I’ve got a good feeling that this one won’t end in a race riot. Everyone on board?
Alright, here come the cheddar dips. Let’s adjourn this sucker. What’s that, Merle? A high five, “up top”? What the hey, I’ll bite –
And you moved your hand.
You know, Merle, it’s times like this I regret making you my deputy mayor.