Well, look, we’re trying to get out of here. But first we need to figure out where we want to go. Then Chuck needs to get a job. Then we need to sell our house. Then we need to break the news to my Hand-that-Rocks-the-Cradle mother (not necessarily in that order). Until then, we’re here.
In the meantime, I suppose I am going to keep trying to make it work. I was never good at breaking up with boyfriends, why should it be any different with a town? And what does that say about me if I admit defeat? There are hundreds of toothless rednecks who swear that at any moment Mulletville is going to experience a rebirth, and I’ll be damned if I miss it.
Mulletville, I won’t leave you to die alone!
Ok, I’m totally lying. I’ve given up on Mulletville. Right now, I’m just going through the motions. I’m having the equivalent of pity sex with my hometown. Or worse, I won’t admit that Mulletville has erectile dysfunction and that no matter how much Cialis or Viagra I shoot into its arm, it just won’t matter because it’s limp and lifeless and that’s just the way the franks and beans crumble.
How depressing is that?
Do you think this mother at the Mulletville park feels the same way?
Yah, that’s right, after I got done with the hillbilly fair yesterday, I dragged Chuck to the Mulletville park. I’m sick like that. Chuck got mad when I asked him to take this picture for my blog. He said, “You’re being immature. You should know better. I won’t have any part of it.”
In the end, I convinced him to take the picture. I told him I was compiling a list of Mulletville fashion don’ts, which I was going to submit to the Mulletville town council. It’s a public education campaign, you see. I will bring decency and common sense back to this wretched town! I will rescue the mulletheads and g-string jelly roll exhibitionists!
See? I told you I couldn’t break up with anyone.
(Glowing halo. Fade. Cut.)
