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October 16, 2006


There's a special town meeting today regarding the "incident" from last night.

What happened?

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Jim: Tedium Gulch

“Let’s get this over with,” grumbled Marshall Tyrone, taking a seat.

Hizzoner the Mayor nodded at Tyrone. “We’re all here now so let’s begin. Three cowboys rode in last night…”

“Did they shoot up the town?” Tyrone asked.

“Well, no. Anyway, they headed straight for the saloon.”

“Did they get drunk and tear the place up?”

“Nope. They mostly drank sarsaparilla and played cards.”

Tyrone sighed. “Did they cheat anybody or take liberties with the ladies?”

“No, they didn’t do either of those things.”

“So the problem is…?”

“It’s just no fun living in the Mild West,” the Mayor sobbed.

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Tanya: Tragedy

The crowd bustled quietly as they waited for the outcome. Everyone had taken a side in this torrid, if not uncommon, battle. They crowded in small bunches, whispering about this latest drama.

The town leaders returned to their seats, shushing the curious audience effortlessly. “We understand the issue, and have given it great consideration. We have chosen not to prosecute, finding no one at fault, and this occurrence will hopefully soon be forgotten, so no reputations will be unnecessarily sullied.”

A small voice whined from the front row, “But she stole my idea to blog about Jessica Simpson last night!”

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David: Mmm, Salt

“It was just two people,” argued one man.

“Two Romans,” corrected another.

“Still, I don’t see what we have to worry about,” replied the first.

“People, please!” shouted the moderator. “Everyone relax. You’ll all get your chance.”

“Two Romans, in our town square, nothing to worry about? What Mediterranean fiefdom are you living in? Their being here was bad enough, but the town guard let them leave!”

“Maybe they were tourists,” suggested a guy in the back. “We could use vacationer money, and libras spend well.”

The moderator called out, “We know the opinion of the Carthage Tourism Council, thanks.”

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Ted: Slightly Altered

"Are you sure?" the chieftain queried.

"Absolutely. There were gods present last night. You know my medicine is strong. I tell the truth or the spirits would leave."

The chief looked his assembled people, scowling.

"I never believed that the day would come during my lifetime, but it seems that it has. Assemble the women and children to head for the mountains. We shall meet these gods with all the courtesy they deserve."

The chief pulled his brother the shaman aside. "If you are right, I'll apologize. But I'm chief and I say we kill this Cortez in his sleep."

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Stacy: Don't Drink the Water

“Order! This meeting will come to order!” The sheriff banged a makeshift gavel (his prized pearl-handled .357 magnum) on the podium, and the crowd instinctively ducked. He scowled.

“Now quit it, I ain’t gonna shoot y’all. Not YET, leastaways.” The townsfolk shifted uncomfortably, and muttered to each other. The sheriff glared harder at them.

“What’s that you’re saying there? Speak up!” They quieted, and watched him warily. He hitched up his belt and tried again.

“Now, I want to know whicha you ate Farmer Johnson’s sheep…” he began, but was interrupted by hissing voices.


“Goddammit,” he muttered. “Not again.”

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