Here in Dunwich the Evil Party and the Stupid Party cooperate. Typically, First Selectman Cthulhu represents the Evil Party and negotiates with the Stupid Party to determine whom he’ll eat first and whom he’ll leave for last. In between these two cases the order of the other meals can be a surprise both for Cthulhu and the ingestees. Basically, they’re all living in the moment. If the First Selectman happens to be feeling a might peckish then even without any provocation from the various entrees, he may decide to indulge in a snack. And conversely, if the partisan antics of the Stupid Party are indulged in too strenuously, then even a sated or even a queasy Cthulhu may be forced to quiet the proceedings by the process of elimination.
But after those discussions were done, we got down to the business of making the Great Old Ones great again. Apparently, Dunwich has a four hundredth anniversary this year. On that day in 1622 Cthulhu ate his first Englishman and really, really liked it. For that reason, he signed in blood (someone else’s) the official charter allowing Puritans the exclusive right to colonize what would come to be known as Dunwich. Although back then it was known as New Dunwich. In exchange, the inhabitants agreed to forfeit their immortal souls and pay an eight percent sales and real estate tax in perpetuity. That Cthulhu really is evil. Anyway, the anniversary committee gave its report and recommended fire works and a school pageant. Blah, blah, blah.
At the meeting I was held forth as a candidate for the office of Keeper of the Condiments. This is a high honor and comes with the additional perk that as the purveyor of barbecue sauce for the First Selectman I would be very unlikely to be eaten. Of course, it is a highly demanding job and some folks think it slightly cruel. Before every meeting of the selectmen, I am charged with slathering them with barbecue sauce from head to foot. Most nights it’s just a formality but then again you never know. It would also be my job to keep on hand a thousand-yard spool of nylon rope to be available for use as dental floss as needed. But of course, replenishing the supply is only a very occasional chore.
I must confess that I have my qualms about accepting the nomination. I mean, it’s not that I don’t despise all of the members of the Stupid Party. After all, they are invertebrates of the first water with no hint of courage or even conscience. As cocktail hors d’oeuvres for a squid headed dragon they would enjoy their finest hour. But wasting that much barbecue sauce on these slugs just rankles. If it was just ketchup or mustard, I think I’d be okay with it but my upbringing was always “waste not want not.”
But what the hell. I need the cash. Things have gotten expensive and the job comes with a pension and a tax exemption and eight percent is eight percent after all. And all things considered it’s not the worst position in the town hall. I’ve heard being the First Selectman’s Keeper of the Bicarbonate is a lot worse. I don’t like to think about that one.