The Blunt town hall and court building was erected only five hundred years ago when our city finally received federal recognition. The city is named after the type of trauma that decimated the early inhabitors of the region. Many of them died from big clunks that sprayed their brains across the plains.
Some cities get gentle rain over the course of a lazy afternoon. We don't. But every now and then a big ol' giant ball of water smashes down on the city and kills ten or so people. Or sometimes a pissed-off native to the region will ride by and crush someone's skull with a big thing.
Beyond that, we're like any other city. We have running water in the form of a geyser that blasts scalding hot water thousands of feet into the air every six months. (When the water lands, it's unspeakably cold.) We have electricity in the form of relentless lightning storms. We have in-house water closets where we can defecate and shower. We have a championship high school football team consisting entirely of animals trained by the town wizard -- Pepe Rodriguez. There was a lot of debate, but the final starting lineup ended up as:
Place Kicker: Donkey Kickoff Kicker: Giraffe Return Specialist: Gazelle Special Teams Specialist: Anaconda
The quarterback was a local boy named Guy Tendermeat.
The team is our city's pride and joy. Winner of thirty straight state football championships.
In fact, if it wasn't for the near-constant yeti attacks, you'd think you were in any quaint town in the world.
As town judge, I get to hear everyone's dirty little secrets, and judge them for 'em. Ever since we abolished religion, people come to me with their confessions. I listen to the townspeople carefully and piously, and then I announce their sins publicly to the town and we all dance a jig on their horribly mangled, yet absolved, bloody corpses.
It's what we in America call justice, thank you very much!
The history of our city is deep and sprawling, like a good miasma. We were the first city to both enact slavery and proclamate an emancipation, then re-enact it for a while and then get rid of it again for good -- for now. Unfortunately for us, we didn't even have the good kind of slaves. Those big dark ones we've seen in the movie-pictures that practically built America. The only slaves we had were British, and their scathing wit had a way of making us both whip 'em even harder but also feel bad about it at the same time. Like we were stupid or something. (If we were so stupid, then why were we whipping you so hard? Huh? Wha-CRACK!) They didn't even have any good slave songs. They spent most of their time arguing with each other about the Kennedys. And worst of all, they couldn't work to save their lives (in fact, many of them lost their lives because we were displeased with their smarmy slave incompetence). There's a reason England sucks so bad these days, and I'm pretty sure it's because they make terrible slaves.
Anyway, as I said before, the most notable alumnus of Blunt High was Hillary-Joe Krandle. Beyond him and his unmentionable doings, we also had Greg-Allen Mountblank, who could cough up these really big loogies, and sometimes he'd spit 'em pretty far. We also had Daisy-Marie Krump, who discovered the vaccine to polio six years after Jonas Salk. We were still proud of her -- you know, for a woman. Then there was the notable and distinguished judge -- and my grandfather -- the honorable JaBlack'well Byrd, the only Supreme Court nominee to be rejected by the Senate for being "grossly dishonorable" and "guilty of treason." And this according to those semen-sweating creeps in our government! They tarred and feathered him all the way back to Blunt, at which point we re-tarred and feathered him. And then he became known as Judge Re-tarred. And then he killed a bunch of people and himself.
I was telling myself all these things while waiting for the bomb I planted in the dog to explode. I wanted to measure the blast radius of packing a dog full of nitroglycerine and then shooting him with a shotgun versus filling a cat with gunpowder and setting it on fire. The results of this experiment could change forever the way we think about everything. But just then my best friend in the whole world, Eddie Murphy, reminded me that I should probably turn around, face the somber crowd, and eulogize my aunt, whose funeral we were attending.
I said, "Thanks, Eddie, you're the best friend a man like me could ever afford."
He said, "I know, Hurley, I know," and he patted me on the shoulder in a caring yet manly yet slightly gay way. I brushed his hand off me quickly for fear the crowd would think I was gay, and then I reminded the crowd that Eddie told me he still jacks off in the bathtub. I don't think it made me look any less gay, but Eddie was still pretty pissed. So I considered it a success.
Then I started my eulogy.
"Well, yeah, well, oh yeah, she was a fine girl. She could get down, wit' de get down. All da way down. She do your laundry. She change ya tire. Chop a little wood for de fire. Poke it around, if it died down. Oh yeah, she was a fine girl. She go up in the morning. She go down in de evening. All de way down. She do da dishes, if ya wishes. Silverware too. Make it look brand new, when she get through. Oh yeah, she was a fine girl. Outta this world. She do your laundry, change your tire. Chop a little wood for de fire. Poke it around if it died down. Whoah yeah, she was a fine girl, with a lovely smile, with a bucket on her head full of water from de well she could run a mile, whoah yeah, she wouldn't spill a drop, would stay on top, her head was kinda flat, but her hair covered that, she was a fine girl. Didn't need no school, she was built like a mule with a thong sandal. Wasn't no kinda job she could not handle, she could get down, wit da get down, went to get down, all de way down... we need some more like dat, in dis kinda town. We need some more like dat, in dis kinda town. We need some more like dat, in dis kinda town..."
By the end I could barely hold my head up.
"I'll miss you, Aunt Blue Jean. It'll take me a good long time to get over this mourning. But I will. Don't worry about that. Eventually you'll be no more than a hardly rememberable memory. And then I'll be fine. Probably even better than fine. Facing down this tragedy can only make me stronger. In fact, I'm starting to feel better already. Actually, I'm over it."
Everyone agreed, so her lawyer, Carl Marks, played the audio book version of her will to the gathered, bored audience -- as read by Ellen Burstyn.
"I ain't got nothin' but what's in m' storm cellar, and I leave that to my nephew, Judge Hurley Byrd. Perhaps he kin figure out what t'do with it. I only wish my husband were alive to watch me die. I'll miss most of you, but I'll hit some too. Hoo-eee! Okay how do I turn this thing off? This button? (Muffled reply.) Well it's the only button I can see on this piece of junk! (Muffled reply.) Oh you have to hold it in--"
A stunned silence filled the room. And then the glycerin-dog bellowed a pathetic death rattle, and I shot him with my gun, and the explosion was terrific.
