A contrite Lord Mayor of Fernbrook Resort, Doc Ballard, sporting a stylish Gucci choke chain and a pair of Versace booties that were to die for, once again spoke to the masses.
“First off I want to address those ugly rumours about my being in rehab for abusing cat food and other cat products. Nine lives my ass… I categor… err… dog-gone-it I definitely… definitely deny those awful allegations. I don’t touch that stuff. And all you young pups out there, you stay away from it too. It’ll wreck you. Stay in obedience school.”
The Lord Mayor trailed off and turned to an aide and yipped softly under his breath, “Think they bought it? Damn straight they did. We ready? Ok then, lets roll…” then, much louder, “Fryers, Roasters and Broilers lend me your ears, I come not to burn chickens but to braise them…”
Here another aide rushed over to the mike, covering it with his hand, and began whispering into the Lord Mayor’s ear.
“Ooops. Heh heh. My bad. That was my speech for the graduating class over at Colonel Sanders Elementary. If you could just bear with me for a moment…” then after shuffling a few pages, “There it is okay. Let’s try this puppy again. Take Two. Madam Chairwoman, People with long hair, Members of the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences, my fellow Fernbrookarians:
This past year in Fernbrook Resort, we have flung much dog feces, both desiccated and fresh, and in so doing we have lifted lift Fernbrook’s feces fling rate to its highest level in more than three decades.
Smokers have flipped cigarette butts onto our lawns and roads at an impressive rate, doing their part to add to the more than eight million cigarette butts already deposited over the past four years.
Vandals damaged some of the best, and finest, personal property in Our resort, bringing the mindlessness of vandalism to impressive new lows. Let’s damage our neighbours stuff to show them that we’re mad, but too chicken to tell them what we’re mad at them for.
The gossipers are preparing for a bountiful spring after the strongest five-year stretch of gossip creation in our nation’s history. Which bodes well for an economy primarily fueled by the sale of rumours to tabloid media.
And right now across our great nation, fathers and mothers are tucking in their chicks, putting an arm around their hen, and remembering fallen comrades, all while giving thanks for living in a place where a large number of human beings can live side by side with a few chickens (and at least one rooster). Tolerating their bird-brained behaviour.
That’s why I believe this can be a breakthrough year for Fernbrook. After years of grit and determined effort Fernbrook Resort is better-positioned for the 21st century than any other nation on the east side of Highway Six.
As Lord Mayor, I’m committed to making Fernbrook Resort work better, and rebuilding the trust between the people and the chickens who put me here. I believe most of you are, too. But if things don’t work out… don’t blame me. Or yourselves. Blame one of those Justins. That Bieber douche. Or the Timberlake one with the hot wife... don’t all those Justins look alike? I can’t tell the difference between them. Seriously. And no, that don’t make me racist just because I can't tell one Justin from another. They all look alike. Go look at a bunch of Justins. You’ll see. Anyway, if we work together; if we summon what is best in us, with our feet planted firmly in today but our eyes cast towards tomorrow – I know it’s within our reach. Believe it.
God Bless you, and God bless Fernbrook Resort.
Thank you and Good Night.
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