Bilgmean . . . i think you need to start your own country. How about we tear off a little chunk of Nova Scotia for you and your platoon of glory-dayers. You can appoint Peter the Bubblehead Secretary of the Navy – he’ll be responsible for handing out rain slickers to the crossing guards and gassing up the Boston Whaler. Publius can be your Director of Secret Spying Stuff – “Wood Chuck to Grey Squirrel . . . Wood Chuck to Grey Squirrel”. AlexinCT can be Dean of the Liberty University and Bingo Grange – first order of business, teach everybody how to spell BINGO. Moongoose will be the town crazy, wandering the back alleys with a dollar bill taped to his forehead. Cybergeezer, you can be Finance Director, responsible for investing all the money the town earns from “Whittling Days.” And of course, Delia and Rachel and Sara for America can go along as breeders . . . at least when they’re not busy at the diner preparing the specialty . . . Government CheeseSteaks.
Quite a vision . . . all of you up there, isolated, alone, in a world made up of people only like you. No contrasting opinions. No nagging compromises. None of “them” to accommodate. Just an orgy of self-righteous bigotry. In other words, a little piece of Heaven. Oh, almost forgot, you’re gonna need a preacher, a man of GAWD to look after your souls. Tell you what, I’ll swing by once a month or so with some saltines and a bottle of Night Train. That oughta keep things proper. No, no, no need to thank me. I consider it an honor. Of course statistics show that one of you is gay, so you’ll need to deal with that first thing at the town hall meeting, right after the donuts.
