Non Voters & Complainers

Absurdity ceases to seem absurd when it manages to make sense to those that view, read and/or hear it.

However, it still remains...







            Stinky (Stingly) Stenchvasser was mayor of Pizztown for the past ten years. His three elections were always by default because no one else wanted the job. However, he always considered his election to be unanimous; one to nothing; his one everybody else nothing. No one in Pizztown ever voted for anything or anyone. As Lizzy Wonknuttle wrote in her letter to The Daily Flash, Pizztown’s monthly newspaper, “I would have voted for Stinky Stenchvasser, not only because there was nobody else to vote for but because he got Pizztown on Fox News once. For what—I don’t exactly remember. It was something about our town’s name.”

            “What about removing the snowdrifts from Main Street?” wrote Nedddy Twinklite, after just missing the January issue of The Daily Flash, which was no fault of hers, since the owner, Herkimer (Herk) Slingmeister closed the submissions deadline two days early on account of the big blizzard. By the time her article was published in the paper, which didn’t appear until the August issue, everybody forgot about the snowdrifts on Main Street and were more concerned about the black family that moved into the old Lindberger place up on Mingus Mountain.

            “We never had any of those!” complained Lionel Trane to Sam, the postal delivery person in the village.



            “Any of what?”


            “Those, what?”

            “Black people.”

            Sam stuffed a letter and three circulars into Lionel Trane’s mailbox, reaching through the open window of his 1947 Buick Super sedan. “There was one in 1950—no it was 51. His name was Jasper or Jesper something-or-other or was that his last name?

            “He was with his family?”

            “No, he was with the FBI.”

            “The FBI?”

            “Yep. Came to arrest Stinky Stenchvasser’s grandfather for growing marijuana on his farm. He had 10 acres of the stuff. Made a nice living. Supplied six counties till they caught him.”

            A battered pickup truck pulled up along side of Sam’s 1947 Buick Super sedan and Homer Heatwittle yelled out of his open window. “You got a letter for me Sam?”

            “Expecting one?”

            “Not sure.”

            “From who?”

            “The President.”


            “He’s the only president we got for now, ain’t he?”

            “What would he be writing you about?” questioned Sam.

            “What would the President of these United States, even that one, be writing to you of all people?” added Lionel Trane. “Especially since you’re a Tea Party Republican.”

            “I can’t tell you. Got an important meeting about apples.” replied Homer Heatwittle and drove off.

            The table was in front of the post office. Seated at the table were Henny Heatwittle (Homer Heatwittle’s daughter) and Rufus Rodriggly Jr. They sat beneath a sign that read:





                        Section 1.    The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not                                   

                        be denied or abridged by the United States or any State on account of race, 

                        color, or previous condition of servitude.


                        Section 2.    The Congress shall have the power to enforce this article

                        by appropriate legislation.


February 3, 1870




            Missybelle Fortune (Everybody referred to her as Miss Fortune) stopped at the table and read the sign very slowly, moving her lips to form the words. “What kinda nonsense is this?” she demanded to know after just managing to finish Section 1.

            “It’s Amendment fifteen of the Constitution.” replied Rufus Rodriggly Jr. “It’s our way of reaffirming our support for voting rights. Just sign your name in the book to show your support for the right of all Americans to vote.”

            “I will do no such thing! And you Henny Heatwittle, the daughter of the founder of our local Tea Party, dare to do a thing like this!”


            Missybelle Fortune was in a foul mood due to her too tight girdle that barely allowed her to breathe. “Like—like using words like servitude.”

            “You know what that word means?” challenged Rufus Rodriggly Jr.

            Missybelle Fortune tugged at her girdle to no avail. “Don’t you get smart with me young man. I can tell foreign phraseology when I see it. How many other people in this town signed this book of yours?”

            “None.” replied Henny Heatwittle.

            At that moment Speedy Shapiro (The only Jew in town.) pulled up to the post office on his Indian motorcycle.

            “Hey Speedy, sign our book?” Called out Rufus Rodriggly Jr.

            Speedy Shapiro was the first person to sign as Missybelle Fortune fumed. “Hey Missfortune.” he called out, hurrying into the post office.

            “Those--those people!”  stammered Miss Fortune.

            Speedy Shapiro called Ed Nug, the postmaster to one side. “They’ve got 50 at the Thisbee Orchards and 60 or 65 at the Apple Tree orchards. They’re all undocumented aliens. Mostly from Mexico and Columbia.”

            “Homer Heatwittle knows so do all the others. Nobody’s gonna do anything about it. You know what they all say.

            Ed Nug and Speedy Shapiro said it together: “Who’s gonna pick our apples?”




Bob Flicker


A Writer’s Ghosts

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