Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Judging by the ten or so calls I received today from anonymous numbers and pre-recorded 'Please support' messages, I'm going to take an educated guess and say it's election time. A time when people stand on corners and hold big signs with other people's names on them, and wave and smile at cars. And as I mentioned before, when I get 10 calls a day from recordings telling me to vote for someone I've never heard of.
I was thinking of running for mayor. I mentioned it quite a few months ago, but the last call I got (literally 30 seconds ago) urging me to support Mayor Phelan, was just the push I needed.
People always talk about the issues. I've got plenty of them. I've also got ideas of how to waste people's money. For example, instead of putting up those ultra gay banners on all the street lights in Quincy Center, we build more bomb shelters. And by bomb shelters, I mean shelter, as in one. Big enough to fit myself, my entourage, one (dozen) or so suitable child bearers, and a lot of guns in the event of a nuclear holocaust. When the bombs drop, we'll need someone like me, you'll see.
Rather than having resources for kids, we build robots. Not for cleaning or maintenance, but like some high-tech ass robots that just sort of co-exist in our society. Give 'em some quarks and let 'em loose. Good luck bringing down Postpartum Depression Torrettes bot, wreaking havoc at the local church. And it looks like ol' Decapo-borg just ripped another senior citizens head off. Since we don't need Christians or the elderly to have a good city, I don't see these things as problems.
In addition to a bomb shelter and robots, I would propose Quincy become it's own sovereign nation, much like the various Indian ones. All of the important areas will be represented (With the exception of Quincy Point, because it's Quincy Point...) and everyone would get along. We'll leave peacefully for a while, but then, using cunning and subterfuge we slowly annex the surrounding areas. First Dorchester, then Southie. We'll launch a few h-bombs into Weymouth because no one likes Weymouth, and move onto Braintree. Pretty soon, the suburbs will be under Quincy rule and before you can say "Appeasement" my term will be up and some poor fuck will have to try to undue the damage I've done.
Might as well just call me Jim Sheets...
Blame Hans Strongo