Don’t get me wrong. I’m as much a supporter of free speech as any God-fearing card-carrying Libertarian. But really, when Candice Justin of our fair town suggested that we have an open mike night at the town square so that anyone with an opinion can express it freely, without interruption, this editor nearly fell out of his La-z-boy.
Now, in any other town, this might work out fine. Other towns are made up of hard-working folks who vote, send their children to summer camp, and drink Folgers. Trout, on the other hand, seems to attract every left-winged dingbat between the Golden Gate Bridge and Greenwich Village.
Evidence? I give you one Horace Brewer. Between 1998 and the present, Horace has written no less than 873 letters to the editor—this editor!—claiming that the Chinese had infiltrated Wal Mart and are slowly filtering the entire GNP toward their own military pursuits.
And then there’s Olivia Cramshackle, daughter of Godfrey Cramshackle, who went completely insane one December night and showed up for his Santa gig at the Elk’s Club wearing nothing but the boots and beard! Now Olivia is somewhat less touched in the gray matter, but only slightly so. If my dear readers will kindly recall, it was Olivia who stood up at a PTO meeting not so long ago and insisted the school mascot be changed to a moose because we might insult all the Trojans living in Northern Michigan. Certainly the fact that she is owner and operator of Moose Paraphernalia has nothing to do with it!
Goodness, I almost forgot about Ralph “Cosmo” Parker. Not only is Cosmo a member in active status of the Old Doe Hunters Association, a position in itself that raises questions of his intelligence, but he is also an avid supporter of the National Organization for Women. Odd association, wouldn’t you say, for a man whose paw print can probably be lifted off the derrière of half the legal aged women in this town, and very likely a good portion of the illegal ones.
I could go on, but space limits me. By all means, take a casual stroll downtown and look at the faces of passers by. You know most of them. Imagine a microphone tucked under their chin, awaiting the drops of wisdom that will escape with each breath.
Are we really ready for that? I’d prefer the Chinese.
Buck Rubb—Editor in Chief