http://www.votemayor.com/?p=226Elected Command: Inform Sister Mister of a few details.“You’ve got that incredulatin’ look on your face, and I haven’t even answered ya question yet.” snickers Sammy. “Hey, don’t I look sharp in this new suit?”
“A clown costume would be mor’ dignified.” snorts Sister Mister, as Sammy playfully models. “Why’d Moorehead have’ta crash my joint?”
“Gonzo ain’t ‘round no more. Boss Craven is digging for the full deal, and since I saw The Uncle this mornin’, he came to me first.” explains Sammy.
“You met Uncle Gonzo? Fancy critter you ‘re.” says Sister Mister.
“Yeah, hello, new family member and all here. Anywho, old man Gonzo looked jus’ as fat ‘n jolly as ever. Dunno what went down after I’d left.” says Sammy, slumping back down onto his favorite bar stool.
“Whatev’.” incredulously whispers Sister Mister. “Be a dear and check out ‘dat racket in ‘da kitchen while I’s make ‘dis joint presentable like. Ratigators probably crawl’d up from ‘dat sewer drain again.”
Grunting, Sammy extinguishes his next to last cigarette, now all but an ashy stub. Lifting his small frame off the stool, his second-hand Mafioso dress shoes thud down onto the floor. Hunching over, he picks up the dinged bat with one hand, and crams the other into his jacket pocket, retrieving yet another cigarette. His last cigarette, to be precise. Twiddling the rolling paper between his fingers, the filter slips into his lips.
The ratty kitchen doors swing wide open from the strike of Sammy’s second-hand Mafioso dress shoes.
Darkness. The light switch to the cramped hallway passing itself off as a makeshift kitchen doesn’t respond. Sammy squints.
The boarded up fire exit in the back has been broken open, as the chilly night wind howls in from the alleyway behind Bar Nun. Sammy drags himself forward, shakily lighting his last cigarette. His second-hand Mafioso dress shoes bang into a soft lump.
Before he can exhale his first puff, a large hand grips his throat. The last cigarette is flicked away from his quivering lips, as he chokes, nearly losing his grip on the dinged bat.
The tip of the last cigarette glows bright, as the owner of the large hand inhales deeply. Smoke blows into Sammy’s alarmed face.
“Tell me, citizen… Are you registered to vote?” growls the smoker.
Commands: 1. “Yesssss.”
2. “N-no.”
3. “…”
4. “Bonk!”
Voting ends in 48 hours.
Poll
