Three months ago, our fine Governor cancelled all the fried chicken parties. Statewide, outright, wholesale. Gone. The fallout, locally, has been particularly acute.
People spend a lot more time looking at the ground. Even for Michigan. Mumbling to themselves. People have been self-limiting themselves to three friends. It's all unraveling.
One man covered himself in bees and drove his truck through the Virginia Farrell Beauty School. When they finally cleaned him up he couldn't stop shaking. They threw him right in the pit. No hope.
Fathers, for the first time in quite a while, have had to look their children in the eye and level with them. Really open up and confess weakness. “This is how the world is. I can't change it.”
It even outraged Pinball Jim. He hates fried chicken. Says he “doesn't care for [its skin].” He gave up playing double ball “to promote understanding amongst the classes.” He says, “A body spends all day painting new roads and there ain't no reward for it. Fried Chicken Parties with all the little hats and everything, it's all we got.”
But people voted for this Governor. They voted for his deputies. They voted to be stupid and ugly and ignorant and to have their dancing legs broken once a year. They put in a king who took away the Fried Chicken Parties and requires them to write down any thoughts they have about colors and mail them to the central registry.
These shits sleep at night. Unbelievable.