🚀 go-pugleaf

     "Last day," said the distinguished looking man
with the salt-and-pepper hair.
     Mayor Rupert Karst nodded at this.
     "Still time to reconsider," the other man said.
     "Don, my mind's made up.  I'm retiring.  I've been
doing this far longer than I should have in the first
place."
     District Attorney Don Loess gave his head a
scratch.  "If you say so, Rupe, but there's a reason
you've been mayor so long, and it has nothing to do
with holding an iron grip on the city.  The people like
you.  You're a damned fine mayor."
     Karst smiled.  "Not for long, Don.  It's time to
give someone else a crack at being a damned fine
mayor."
     Loess nodded gently.  "All right, Rupe, but I'll
go on record saying I think you should stay around.
Right now I've got a court date, though."
     Mayor Karst escorted his old friend and political
ally out of his office, then paused before turning to
go back in.
     "Elaine?" he said to the secretary sitting out
front.
     "Yes sir?"
     "Elaine, how long have you been working for me?"
     "Since 1970, sir."
     Karst knew this, of course.  Elaine Dershowitz was
a top-notch secretary and had been since day one.  He
had hired her directly out of secretarial school as
part of an attempt to bring new blood into the stodgy
local bureaucracy.  It had worked, in this case.
Elaine ran his office like she was born to the
position.  Looking back, it was amazing that he had
survived the first few years without her.  But now,
she'd have to survive without him.  Perhaps whoever won
the election might give her a job somewhere, but it
certainly wouldn't be the same.
     "So what will you do after..." Karst trailed off,
not really wanting to complete the sentence.
     "I honestly don't know, sir," Elaine replied.  "I
suppose I'll find something.  It'll be strange, not
working here, and even stranger you not being mayor.  I
suppose it had to end some time, though.  Who do you
suppose will get this office next?"
     Karst shook his head.  "I don't know.  I suppose
by this evening, though, we'll have a list of official
candidates.   It's the last day to register to get on
the ballot."  He paused and chuckled.  "Today we'll
know exactly what type of nutcases want this job."

               The Bob City Chronicles, Episode 26

               Vote Early and Vote Often, Part Two:

               We'd like to know a little bit about you for our files

               by Ben Brown

     Doreen Watkins was having a rough day.  She had
expected this when she woke up.  As the registrar's
clerk responsible for ballot preparations, she was the
one who received the candidate's petitions to be put on
the official ballot, and made sure they were properly
qualified to hold the offices that they offices they
were running for.  Not that it made much of a
difference, usually.  In a town as tightly controlled
by a political machine as Bob City was, it often seemed
pointless to put down any names but those of the
candidates officially endorsed by the Democratic Party.
     Today, of course, was different.  With no official
Democratic candidate, at least that she knew of, there
would likely be an even greater flurry than usual of
second string politicos, radical activists, and old-
fashioned loonies dropping by her office today with
their requisite 500 signatures.  Not that hard to
gather, considering there were some people in the city
who would sign anything if you paid them, which Doreen
Watkins had absolutely no doubt some of the candidates
did.
     "Excuse me," said a deep voice.
     Doreen looked up.  In front of her stood a rather
large man dressed in a black suit.  He looked
terrifying and imposing.  Doreen failed to flinch.
     "May I help you?"
     "Yes," boomed the man.  "I've come about
registration for the mayoral race."
     Wonderful.  First of today's loons.
     "Right."  Doreen produced a clipboard with a stack
of forms on it.  "Your full name?"
     "Er..." the man's voice resonated.  "Zonglar.
Edwin Zonglar.  Also known as Zonglar the Invincible."
     "Right.  Do you have a party affiliation?"
     "I'm..." Zonglar's voice was hesitant, but still
deep and booming.  "Well, I'm normally a Democrat, but
in this town, who isn't."
     "Right.  But you're not the official Democratic
candidate."
     "Oh, no," Zonglar's voice echoed.  "Certainly not.
Oh, wait.  You think I'm the candidate?"
     "You're not?"
     "No, I'm just the campaign manager and treasurer."
     Doreen rolled her eyes and tore the top page off
of the clipboard.
     "Right.  So who is the candidate?"
     "Professor Gerald Raymond Destruction."
     "Right.  Destruction.  Why are you here instead of
him?"
     "He's not available.   Actually he's in prison.  I
hope that doesn't disqualify him or anything."
     Doreen gave the big man a `hah' look and said
"Around here?"
     Zonglar smiled slightly at this.  "I've got the
petition right here.  Anything more I have to do?"
     Doreen handed him a large stack of forms and a
ball point pen.  "Just hand them back to me when you're
done."
     As Zonglar the Invincible crammed himself into one
of the old high-school desks in the corner and started
writing things in slots on the forms, Doreen Watkins
went back to reading her romance novel and waiting for
the next of the loons to arrive.
     As it turned out, the next arrival was not one, but
two.  They walked in, in their rather cheap suits, looking
around suspiciously.
     "Nice office," said one of them to nobody in
particular.
     "Yeah," the other replied almost instinctively.  "It'd
be a pity if anything was to happen to it."
     "Shh," the first one hushed his associate.  "Not here,
Howard.  We're here legit."
     "Oh, yeah.  Sorry."
     Doreen looked sullenly up from her book.  "Can I help
you?"
     "Yeah," said the first one.  "I wanna run for mayor."
     The registrar's clerk looked him up and down.
     "You have the petition?"
     The would-be candidate turned to his companion.  "You
got the petition?"
     "Sure, Mickey," said companion replied, setting a
briefcase on the counter.  "Most of `em didn't scream too
much when I told `em to sign, either."
     Doreen Watkins ignored this statement.  Apparently
these loons were somewhat violent loons.
     "Your name please?"
     "Mickey `The Squid' Vitello," Mickey replied.
     "The Squid?" Doreen asked boredly.
     "Yep.  It's a nickname, so put it in quotes."
     Doreen looked up at the eager look on his face and
sighed.  "Right.  Nickname.  And you are definitely the
candidate?"
     Mickey "The Squid" Vitello nodded.  "Yeah.  Why?"
     Doreen likewise ignored this question.  "Do you have a
party affiliation?" she asked instead.
     "Party?"  Mickey "The Squid" Vitello looked at his
associate, Howard "The Football" Coselli, and they both
started laughing.
     "Naw," Howard said, turning towards the obviously
uninterested Doreen.  "He's with the Family."
     "Right," she said, idly scribbling the word down.
"Family."  She handed a clipboard to Mickey "The Squid" and
said: "Just fill these out and hand them back when you're
done."
     Still laughing, the two thugs moved over to the much
too small desks and began puzzledly filling out forms.
---------------

     "Go on in, Diego," said the gentleman.
     Diego proudly adjusted his brand new suit and walked in
through the doors to the registrar's office.  The gentlemen
of the club where he had been working had been so kind to
him, and certainly were helping him a great deal.  The
thought that he could even run for mayor had never entered
his head at all.
     Now he was here, and the clerk was right in front of
him ready to put his name--HIS NAME--on the official mayoral
ballot.
     "Name?" the clerk asked.
     "My name," Diego replied proudly, "is Diego Enrique
Ximenez Martinez."
     "And are you affiliated with a political party?"
     "No," Diego said.  "I am an independent candidate for
the office of mayor."
     "Right.  Here's the forms."
     One of the gentlemen stepped forward.  "Don't worry
about these, Diego," he said.  "We'll take care of them."
     Diego wondered what exactly was on the forms, but felt
that the gentlemen knew more about such things than he did,
and so he waited patiently while he filled them out.
     "What are you doin' hangin' around with these guys?"
     Diego turned.  It was the clerk from behind the desk
asking the question.
     "They're helping me run for mayor," he said.
     "Ooookay."  The woman sounded a bit dubious.  "I hope
you know what you're doing."
     Diego was going to ask what she meant by that, but just
then, two enthusiastic men in trenchcoats burst into the
room, waving--no, actually more brandishing a large
collection of papers.
     "Right!  Where do we go?  We've got the forms!"
     "Yes!  Forms!"
     Behind the desk, Doreen Watkins looked away from the
proud, yet somewhat confused looking Mexican and towards the
new arrivals.  These were definitely in the loon category.
     "Hi!" said the taller of the two.  "I'm Sam.  He's
Bert.  We're cops."
     "Detectives even," said the shorter. "But that's not
why we're here today."
     "No!" said Sam.  "We're here because of the mayoral
election!"
     "That's right!" Bert added enthusiastically.
     Doreen stared blankly at them.
     "Which one of you is the candidate?"
     Sam looked at Bert.  Bert looked at Sam.
     "Oh, it's not one of us," said Bert.
     "No no no no no!" Sam agreed.
     "Then who is it?" Doreen asked.
     "Louis McScum," Sam replied.
     "Yes.  `Lucky Louie' to those who knew him," Bert
added.
     "And we've some of the forms filled out," Sam
continued.
     "There wasn't a slot to mark whether the candidate was
alive or not, so we put that under `Party Affiliation'."
     "Alive?"
     "No, actually, he's not," Bert replied.
     "He's not?"
     "Nope," Sam said, then paused for a bit.  "That's not
illegal, is it?"
     Doreen snorted.  "In this city?"
     "Ah, right,  so, there's the info.  Any more to fill
out?"
     The clerk thumbed through their stack of forms, then
handed them half a dozen more.
     "Thanks!" they said in unison, and tromped off towards
the desks.

     The next would-be candidate followed almost
immediately.  He was a large unpleasant looking, and even
more unpleasant smelling man in an ill-fitting suit, which
looked like it was probably the best-fitting thing he owned.
     "I wanna be mayor," he said.
     Doreen glared at him.
     "Where do I go to be mayor?"
     She continued her glare.
     "Listen, lady, I'm gonna be mayor, and there's nothin'
you can do to stop me!"
     "Want to bet?  I can keep your name off the ballot.
You can't get elected if nobody votes for you.  That's how
it works, even in this town!"  Doreen's gumption was up.
She'd been harassed by loons all day, but this was the final
straw.
     "Listen, sister," the unpleasant man said, leaning
irritatingly close to her.  "I'm gonna be on the ballot, or
else someone's gonna pay.  You're not gonna leave Roy Kettle
off of that ballot, no ma'am!"
     Doreen sighed and scribbled down "Roy Kettle" on her
sheet of paper.  "And do you have a party affiliation?" she
asked through clenched teeth.
     "A what?"
     She scribbled down "Independent," then handed Kettle a
slightly larger than normal stack of forms.
     "Fill `em out, bud.  You can sit over there."
     After a few seconds of glaring between the two, Kettle
moved off towards the desks, and Doreen sat back down, still
growling slightly.  She was absolutely sick of the would-be
mayors who came in, guaranteed losers every one of them, at
least in a normal race.  There was very little that could
fray her nerves more than they were already frayed.
Unfortunately for her, one of those things had just walked
in wearing a radiation suit, gas mask, and hard hat.
     "Name?" Doreen Watkins snapped at the latest loon.
     "Mr. Safety," said Mr. Safety.
     She looked up the him with a look in her eye that said
`weirdo'.  "First name?"
     "Er...," he said hesitantly.
     "You have got a first name, don't you?
     "Er..."
     "Your first name is `Er'?"
     "Um..."
     "Perhaps we can help," announced one of the two strange
detectives, getting up from his desk.
     "Yeah," added   the other, then turned to the would-be
candidate. "What's up, Safety-dude?"
     "Oh, hi Bert," Mr. Safety, "Hi Sam.  I'm not sure I
should do this."
     "What, run for mayor?" Bert asked.
     "No.  I'm sure I should do that.  I'm just not sure I
should give out my secret identity like this."
     Sam and Bert stared at the apostle of industrial
safety.
     "Safety old bean," Sam said.  "You don't _have_ a
secret identity.  Your name's a matter of public record.
It's written on a placard on your desk down at the OSHA
office.  You have nothing to worry about."
     "Oh," said Mr. Safety, somewhat embarrassed.  "Er...
well, then."  He turned back to the clerk.
     "First name?" she repeated.
     "Richard," Mr. Safety replied promptly.
     "Right," she said, looking back down.  "Richard
Safety."
     "Er..." Safety said again.  "No."
     "No?"
     "No."
     "Not Richard Safety."
     "Nope."
     "But you said you were Mr. Safety."
     "I am."
     "And your first name is Richard."
     "Yes."
     "But you're not Richard Safety."
     "No."
     "So Safety isn't your last name."
     "No."
     "What is your last name?"
     "Laughlin."
     "Why are you Mr. Safety then and not Mr. Laughlin?"
     "It's a code name."
     "A code name."
     "Yes."
     "I'm still confused.  What's your full name?"
     "Richard Chahultapec Laughlin."
     "Chahultapec?"
     "Mom was a sentimentalist."
     Doreen Watkins stared at the much scribbled-on form in
front of her, then sighed exasperatedly and crumpled it up.
"Let's start again," she said.  "Your name?"
     "Mr. Safety."
     She sighed again.  "Listen.  Have you got any
identification on you?"
     "Certainly," said Mr. Safety cheerfully, as he dragged
a thick wallet out of his pocket.  He opened it, and
produced assorted identification cards.  "Here's my driver's
license.  Please note that I'm licensed not only for cars,
but also for motorcycles, tractor-trailers and buses (both
school busses and large coaches).  Here's my international
driver's license, allowing me to operate a motor vehicle in
all countries subscribed to the international motor vehicle
operations treaty, my passport which is proof of citizenship
and identity, my voter registration card for the county of
Bob River..."
     "Thank you," said Doreen Watkins, quickly copying the
name and other relevant information off of the driver's
license.
     "My Social Security card, bearing my social security
number, which although it is not supposed to be used as
identification except for the payment of social security
withholdings and social security benefits, is used in ninety-
eight percent (98%) of official personal government
documents as an identification code, my AAA membership card,
my Visa card from First and Third National Bank of Bob City,
my Mastercard from the same bank, my Discover card, my
American Express card, my OSHA identification card, my
health insurance card which identifies me as a government
employee..."
     "Thank you," Doreen Watkins said again.
     "My Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks membership
card, my International Association of Superheroes membership
card, my pilot's license, for both single and double engine
fixed-wing propeller aircraft, my forklift operator's
license..."
     "Thank you."
     "My Ralph Nader fan club membership card, my..."
     "Aaaah!"
     "Can we help?" asked Sam, who, with his partner, had
been calmly watching the proceedings.
     "Aaaah!" the clerk repeated.
     "Er, right."  As Bert scooped the assorted
identifications of the somewhat obsessive hero into his hat,
Sam took Mr. Safety by the arm and dragged him towards the
door.
     "Bert, you give the lady all the info she needs.  I'll
try to calm him down."
     Safety was rather in the groove by this point.  "And
here's my official Captain Midnight Secret Squadron
membership card and decoder ring."
     "Right," Bert agreed with his partner, then asked.
"Where ya takin' him?"
     "Kosarski's," Sam replied.
     "I thought you and Kosarski hated each other."
     Sam smiled.  "We do, but y'see, under that gas mask,
Safety here could well be under 21, and with a cop there,
Kosarski certainly wouldn't let him in without asking for
I.D."
     Bert looked admiringly at his partner.  "You're evil,"
he said.  "Did you know that?"
---------------

     Doreen Watkins slumped on her desk.  It was nearly time
to shut down, and no more loons had come in the last hour.
With any luck she'd seen the last of them.
     With barely five minutes left, a man rushed
breathlessly into the room.
     "I'm here to register my candidacy for mayor."
     Doreen Watkins groaned silently.
     "Don't worry," said the man.  "This will be fast.  I've
got all the paperwork done already."  He opened his
briefcase and began placing various documents on the
counter.  Anything I have to do here?"
     "I need your name."
     He nodded.  "Michael Till."
     She scribbled down the name then looked wearily back up
at him.
     "And your party affiliation?"
     Mike Till grinned at her.  "Oh, that?" he said
offhandedly. "I'm the Democratic candidate."

WILL DOREEN WATKINS GO UTTERLY AND TRULY INSANE?????

WILL KOSARSKI GO INSANE?????

WILL ANY OF THE CANDIDATES GO INSANE (OTHER THAN THOSE WHO
     ALREADY ARE)?????

WILL THE READERS GO INSANE?????

AM I INSANE?????

You're almost sure not to find out if you don't catch the
next installment of Vote Early and Vote Often, a nutritious
part of the Bob City Chronicles, found only on...

SUPERGUY!!!!!