http://www.votemayor.com/?p=326Elected Command: Return to Sammy.A tinge of unexpected dread lands upon Tiny Titus, as his traitorous surge of kleptomania falls direly sour.
Before this chilly morning, he had never smuggled, stolen, bartered, purloined, pilfered, or filched for anyone but himself in all his years as a lowly guttersnipe.
The weight of Sammy’s words begins crashing down onto the street urchin’s distrustful psyche. Truthfully, he has never known of friends or allies. Those he is now working for are possibly dangerous. Fatally dangerous.
Conversely, the once petty thief had never willingly crossed the Communist Mafia. Counting on procuring an obscure pass, doubts flood into Titus’s erratic mind. Sammy is new, but family is family.
Retribution?
Classless, stateless retribution?
Inwardly panicking, Titus resolves to return to Sammy. Promptly.
Yet before he can stop the Punky Princess, before he can turn direction, before he can heartlessly apologize to that naïve mafia dog, Titus’s world flips upside down.
A muscular forearm reaches outward, clotheslining the mischievous child’s diminutive throat, rocketing his nimble yet legitimately frail body from off the moving motoscooter.
Titus chokes furiously, still airborne as the Punky Princess wildly skids into a storefront wall, further battering the already battered frame. Impacting upon the wet cobble brick, Titus reaches for his stinging larynx, only for his miniscule hands to be pinned against his own trachea.
Gasping for the slightest hint of air, the larceny prone moppet glimpses his tormentor. Freshly shined rattledragon boots applying relentless pressure, Uncle Gonzo’s mountainous companion glares downward.
“Tell me, citizen… Are you registered to vote?” growls the mountain.
Commands: 1. Nod head.
2. Shake head.
3. Stub boot with a headbutt.
4. Cry.
Voting ends in 48 hours.