Weazel Sneeze gets a new mayor
Now Weazel Sneeze had a rotating mayorship. For the last term of four years, Corncob Jones was mayor. He was a descendent of the Weazel family. When chosen, it was decided that he was a Weazel if there ever was one.
Now it was a Sneeze’s turn. Since the citizens were all for decorum, it only seemed right that P. F. Sneeze become the mayor. After all, he was not any Tom, Dick or Harvey. He was the great great great, oh what the heck, he was directly descended from the original Sneeze, Goof-off Sneeze.
Now there’s some things everybody around Weazel Sneeze knew about P. F. Sneeze. First off, the P. F. stood for Pig Farmer. ‘Cause that was his vocation, his calling and what he did for a living. He used to be called Fourth till his ever-loving Daddy, P. F. Sneeze the Third died. For years, Third had been known as P. F. Now that he was long gone to that pig farm in the sky, Fourth was the new P. F.
P. F. was a right righteous fellow if ever there was one. He also had a lot of gumption. He got it the natural way. He took after his Mama. She was known in parts near and far throughout the state as a woman with petticoat gumption.
PF’s gumption had gotten him into trouble recently, but no one would have respected him around Weazel Sneeze if he hadn’t gotten into trouble. It was in the genes of the folks in those parts. Any way the State had given him a citation for “excessive pig farming without a license”.
“Just like the guvmint,” he told his nearest and dearest, the newly minted and nuptialed B S Pudding.
Under protest, he paid the fine and got hisself a license. But he wasn’t happy about it.
Everybody knew that he was qualified for excessive pig farming with or without a license. P F was highly edumacated fellow. He’d taken the correspondence course in pigology from the Snort Holler College of Agriculture and Horticulture and All-them-other Cultures. He could “Sooie” with the best of them. And he had a diploma to prove it.
P F wasn’t much of a talker. No sirree. He wasn’t a listener either. Mostly he was an ignorer. Give him a conversation to ignore, and he’d be the first to ignore it. That had been the thing that attracted B. S. to her husband, and she liked it. After all, if you’re going to be ignored by your red-blooded American male of a husband, you might as well choose a husband who takes his ignoring seriously.
On top of that, B S, what with her renovating her face, was now the prettiest girl in Podunk County. All the fellas ‘round about that part of the state were after her. Both the eligibles and the ineligibles. Only P F ignored her. It was right there and then that B S knew he was the man for her.
B S had always known she was something special. When P F went out of his way to ignore her, she knew she had found the One. She was tired of the pedestal all the other men put her on. The air up there was way too hard to breath. It was like being on Everest without an oxygen mask. Little did B S know she was about to have a special place in history.
Once every four years during Leap Year on February 1st, Weazel Sneeze got a new mayor. Three months after P F and B S were hitched, P F was inducted as mayor. When the City Council came to him to propose the proposal, P F just followed his usual strategy of ignoring them. But the City Council had decided aways back that he was their man. They were not taking No for an answer. He was going to be mayor whether he liked it or not.
They threw a bag over P F’s head and threw him into the back of the Official Weazel Sneeze Pickup Truck. It was a Chevy. Once upon a time, it had been a Ford. No one could remember why the folks in Weazel Sneeze had abandoned that brand, but they had. The City Council sang “Roll out the barrel” as they drove him down to City Hall, which just happened to be an outhouse on the other side of town. Though it was an outhouse, it was a mighty fine outhouse, and big enough for four people to take a dump in. The City Council was only three people. With the mayor that made four. So you can see that it was the perfect place to hold a City Council Meeting.
That City Council threw P F into the Outhouse and closed the door. Talk about smell. That place had a smell. P F was just about to gag from the odor.
There was only one way that the new mayor was going to get out of that outhouse. And that was through the front door. But that wasn’t about to happen until the mayor performed his first function as mayor. It was a tradition that went way way back.
We’ll leave that till next week’s episode of “Politics in America”.