Very interesting week here at the epicenter of the Great Old Ones’ Realm in New England. I put out my Re-Elect First Selectman Cthulhu sign up on my lawn next to a slaughtered goat carcass ritually adorned with wheat germ. I watched the latest feed from my trail cam and noticed that the werewolves have all begun to wear skinny jeans and carry BPA-free water bottles on their belts. None of them look like they could take down a girl scout in a fair fight. Without a doubt, these are times that try men’s souls.
This week at the official induction ceremony I was named Deputy Election Reanimator. Now this a misnomer. The Reanimator doesn’t really have a deputy since only the primogeniture descendant of Herbert West has the moxy required to bring back the dead, especially during a rush-rush mass ceremony on election night. My job would probably be more accurately described as Deputy Election De-Reanimator. You see the reanimation procedure takes place at the graveyard and apparently is not selective by party affiliation. So, my part is to stand at the gate with the old voting records and stop the Democrat voters from leaving the graveyard. Or at least to make sure their heads don’t leave the graveyard. So, in addition to the lists, a sharpie and a flashlight I’ve got a reasonably sharp machete. This year they modernized my gear by getting me one of those headlights that you can strap to your forehead. That helps quit a bit. I don’t have to ask the deceased to hold my lists while I’m fumbling to cut his head off. Much more dignified and much more ergonomic.
I really hope I’m not asked to help clean up the grave yard on Wednesday morning. I think the volunteers should handle that. I mean, I’ve paid my dues and now I’d like to let the system do its thing, if you know what I mean. Of course, the volunteers do a pretty bad job. Every election night I see mismatched heads on the reanimated voters. It’s kind of an embarrassment. But still, I can’t be expected to do everything around here. At some point the kids just have to be allowed to sink or swim. ‘Nuff said.
In the real world I attended the latest meeting of our local Republican Town Committee and was surprised to hear that even in the cobalt blue New England state that Dunwich is embedded in the Stupid Party candidates have a fighting chance of winning for once! I could tell the rest of the folks there were almost shocked by the situation. I was quite amused. Maybe I’ve underestimated the people in this country. Could there be a limit to their willingness to endure progressive insanity? Even here? Well, we’ll see.
I will be working on Election Day in an official capacity which is interesting and annoying at the same time. I’ll have to figure out if I can bring my laptop and go on-line when I’m on my breaks. Not being able to follow this election on OCF would be unfortunate.
It should be fairly interesting to be involved in the election. I’ll finally see how the sausage is made. I suspect my town is one of the more boring and honest operations. And maybe the rough stuff happens higher up the ladder in the crooked states that we saw on tv in 2020. I remember those films in Philadelphia where they threw everyone out around midnight and all the skullduggery occurred behind closed doors and blacked out windows. It’s kind of sad to know that after all that went on in plain sight that nothing has been done in some of those states to prevent a replay this year. Well, as I’ve said this is the Day of Reckoning coming up. We’ll find out where we stand and that is valuable in and of itself. So, bring it on, bring it on, bring it on. And where did I put that sharpening stone?