Epiphany in the Poot

It was a dark and quiet night. I was sleeping soundly, enjoying replays of my dream girl, a gorgeous eastern European named Anna Falaksis, but this time in my bed, not the Poot’s Humvee. All was well, or better than well, and I was content. A flash of light awoke me, and I sat bolt upright.

So this is what an epiphany feels like.

For some time I’d been thinking of ways to further honor our great leader, Donald Trump, whose magnificence knows no limits, and this idea came to me. I immediately put out the word to the whole town about a big party at the local beer joint for the next day. I lined up a local band to play—Kitty Litter and the Toxic Waste Box (blend of country/western/rap/religious)— and planned my big announcement.

When we arrived I heard the professor arguing (as usual) with Dr. Rev. Elbert the eggplant farmer. Parting shot was, “Better use of a National Emergency Declaration would have been for Obama to declare one when Trump got elected!”

My announcement would be short and simple and roundly celebrated. Rather than being called the mayor of Possum Poot, in order to honor the great Golden One who is our leader, I am to be called: The Donald.

Y’all come visit us and get righteous in our corner of heaven; it’ll do you good and make America great again. The Donald has spoken. STEVE GIBSON

Little Rock