The Martin Chronicles reporters watch every Villa Hills’ council meeting. While it is punishing, it is not meant to be a punishment. It’s done as a public service. And our publisher greatly appreciates the sacrifice. Sometimes it can take a great toll though. One of our reporters recounted what happened at the 1:30am editorial board meeting.
After watching another brutal meeting, our reporter decided to try and take his mind off of all the antics he had witnessed. First, the reporter watched a couple of reruns of The Andy Griffith Show to remember what a friendly city is like. Still unnerved, he played his DVD of the Christmas classic, It’s A Wonderful Life.
Somewhere towards the end of the movie, our reporter finally drifted off to sleep. Then the nightmare began. The reporter’s horrible dream was a combination of the beautiful Frank Capra movie and a twisted Mayberry, North Carolina gone terribly wrong.
The central character of the nightmare was a folksy fellow named George Brunsly. He was upset by the sorry state of affairs in his beloved town of Mayberry. He was so despondent in fact that he jumped into slimy Lake Nutini. He was convinced to climb out of the lake by a mysterious fellow named Phillip. When Brunsly told Phillip he wished he had never gotten involved in the mess, the mysterious man decided to show George what would have happened if he hadn’t.
Floyd the Barber was now in charge of a town whose name mysteriously changed from Mayberry to Martinsville. He had become a corrupt thug who “clipped” everybody in a far more devious way. Floyd was fond of beating his chest and saying, “Umm, Andy! I’m the umm barber, it’s umm my haircut, deal with it, and umm I’m umm moving on to the umm next clip-job!” When asked why he hadn’t clipped everyone, Floyd replied,” I don’t care how umm many times some people umm ask for a good trim, they are never umm going to umm get it!”
Suddenly, Barney was no longer the loveable but shaky deputy. He was transformed into an icy nut-job who was given a fully loaded e-mail box to shoot diatribes at anyone who dared question Floyd’s broad powers. Any time Barney was confronted with an uncomfortable question, he would simply grin and let loose a maniacal laugh and tap his finger on the ”send” button of his e-mail.
And Otis, oh sweet Mother MacCree! Otis now showed up at any town gatherings with a Blackberry in one hand and a glass of Vodka in the other. If anyone dared question his behavior, Otis growled in a drunken stupor, “Mediate this!”
Brunsly was shocked to learn that Floyd had hired Goober’s dim-witted twin sister Fubar to do the Martinsville book-cooking only because she was a personal friend. Boy, were the bank examiners having a field day trying to make sense out of Fubar’s reports!
George was frustrated to learn that Floyd was running rings around an attorney named Uncle Billy, who sat absently-minded by as Floyd, Fubar, Barney and Otis ran roughshod over the entire town of Martinsville. Whenever Uncle Billy was confronted with even the simplest of legal questions his sleepy reply was, “I’m not really as familiar with that area of the law as I need to be. Let me do some $150 per hour research into that.”
Brunsly then stopped by the government building. Normally, Howard Sprague would be mindlessly rubber-stamping documents between naps. Now, Howard was busy hiding those documents from the public. When George said “hello” to Sprague, the overly-long serving clerk just started sobbing uncontrollably.
In his desperation, George ran into the Civic Club to find some people he would still recognize. He was confronted with a group of surly sots surrounding the bar who were drunkenly heaping high praise on the venal Floyd the Barber. Even though the sots had not even the remotest clue what “venal” meant. Okay, we know. We get it. Not everything in our reporter’s nightmare was fantasy. Pinheads are still pinheads, even in nightmares. And in civic clubs.
Phillip put his hand on Brunsly’s shoulder and said, “See George, you can still make a difference. In fact, you have to. You just have to hang in there and fight for what’s right. I promise I will help you until the job is done.”
Then the reporter’s nightmare ended. But it really hasn’t. Not as long as Floyd the Barber still has a pair of scissors in his grubby little hands.
The Martin Chronicles surely cannot wait to hear that angel’s bell ring.
