http://www.worstmayorsever.com/?p=135Elected Command: Head for the tall buildings with chimneys and thick smoke. Unwelcoming.
The Mayor cracks his neck from side to side and begins powerfully striding toward his destination. He had heard unsavory tales of the district, and felt it wise to never visit in-person before. Now, the smoggy collection of buildings passing themselves off as a township was to be his next step towards electoral salvation.
Further lowering the brim of his musky top hat, he shields his unprotected eyes from the harsh luminous celestial body in the sky. One day, The Sun and he would have words. With their fists.
His mind wanders, recollecting the plains which he now manly traverses. In old times, these lush pockets of green hill zones were ideal for frolicking picnics and majestic hunts for the latest wild beast to snuff out of existence. As the brick buildings on the horizon grow ever closer, he notes that the blades of grass begin growing splotched, and discolored.
Poverty, that ruthless bastard, has begun to screw with Mother Nature, The Mayor angrily concludes. He is stopped from gritting his teeth into powder by the sudden and horrific scream of man coming from over the next ridge.
“Ahhhhh! I am suddenly and horrifically screamings!” Suddenly screams the horrified voice of an older man. “Heeeeeeelps!”
With haste, The Mayor bounds to the tip of the ridge, before jolting still. The sudden and horrific fact that his deep slumber and valiant escape has greatly weakened him washes over. Carefully, The Mayor kneels down, and peers over the ridge’s edge.
“Ahhhhhh! The Povertoids! The Povertoids! They comes! For meeeeees!” says the older man, limping below. Clearly exhausted, the rotund gentleman has shed his dapper garments, now wearing only his trousers and sleeveless undershirt. Drenched in his own excreted moisture, he collapses to the ground like a rotted log.
“No! This can’t be happenings to meeees!” he cries out, head jerking to the opposite ridge from which the Mayor is knelt.
What The Mayor sees next shakes him to his chivalrous core.
A small band of wretched hobos, ambling down upon the gentleman. Four, maybe five? Their mud covered trench coats drag along, as their vomit stained fingerless gloves reach out for the helpless, diet challenged man.
“You! Gets me outtas heres!” begs the chubby victim, now spotting The Mayor.
Closing his eyes, The Mayor clenches his fists.
Commands: 1. Leap into the fray, for prosperous justice!
2. Slyly attempt escape, as they prey upon the rotund one.
3. Watch on, while biting tongue.
Voting ends in 48 hours.
Poll
11 (50%)
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Topic: The Mayor - Chapter 6 - Povertoids! (Read 3076 times)