Flakey Fickleman addresses his odiferous concerns to the Lobotomy City Council

Councilman Sandbagger: Mr. Fickleman: Thank you for attending our meeting and please, in 250 words or less, express your concerns for all of us to hear. Fickleman: Thank you, Mr. Councilman. As most of you have probably noticed, this city is really starting to smell. Pesky critters are showing up in places they’ve never been seen before, and it’s all due to new decrees requiring placement of organic garbage in our yard clippings container. Being a good steward of the environment of course, I want to help save the planet. I realize we only have a few years left until we totally self-destruct. I read this prediction in a monthly magazine published by the Happy Gardens Home for the Incurably Hopeless. But be that as it may, this garbage policy is for the birds - also for rats, mice and other disease-carrying pests. So that you know I’m not just speaking in generalities, let me give you a personal example. The other day, I threw leftovers from the Ramblin’ Roach Coach into my garden refuse container. After two days of 90 degree-plus weather, the smell was worse than a car trunk being used by the “Outfit” to take snitches for a ride. It has become so bad that my wife refuses to open the yard waste container. Now she takes the organic scraps across the street and throws them into the park where our local homeless campers reside. While I question her wisdom with this unorthodox solution, she simply retorts with, “If my methodology is good enough for our displaced residents then it’s good enough for me.” She also says if I complain any further, she will contact a divorce lawyer and kick me out on my derriere. Needless to say… Sandbagger: That’s 263 words, Mr. Fickleman. I’m afraid your time is up. There are others waiting to speak. Fickleman: I could demand a recount but let me sum up by saying this policy of yours really stinks and is simply unworkable — not to mention the disease it will bring to our community. Once again, It will force us all into meaningless masks and social distancing – except, of course, for the mayor when he dines at that expensive restaurant called the Parisian Laundromat. Sandbagger: Thank you for your comments, Mr. Fickleman. I’m sure I speak for all of my colleagues when I empathize with your plight, as we have experienced similar distresses. As a matter of fact, Councilman Bigot’s wife divorced him just last week over a similar unresolvable putrid smell. However, we hope you understand this policy has been forced down our throats by the state legislature - just as you probably forced down that cuisine from the Ramblin’ Roach Coach. We have no choice in the matter, but you do. Next time you’re in the voting booth or stuffing those mail-in ballot boxes, don’t just blindly bubble in a candidate. Think about whom you send to the state legislature and what their policies might wrought, or “rot” for that matter. We serfs on the Council are only allowed to carry out the whims of these state masters. Fickleman: So, is there anything else I can do besides vote as an informed citizen? Sandbagger: Well, there is one other thing. Fickleman: And what’s that? Sandbagger: You could join the less fortunate residents living across the street, and dispose of personal garbage any way you please. Fickleman: Well, Councilman Sandbagger, if lawmakers in the state capitol keep raising my utility costs to save the planet, I’m afraid I’ll have no other choice.