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October 16, 2006

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.

“Braaaaiiiins…”

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

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