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The contents of the “Weekly Feature” page are provided
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Here you may find articles of interest, pictures, historical information
on the Club, or whatever shuffles to the top of the pile on our
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Of Groundhogs and Government
Like old farmers do, many of the employees here at the MMOGTA Publishing
Complex tend to mark time more by seasons than by the hours that most
folks see. We
recognize such things as Springtime, haying season, harvest season, etc.
It’s
a more practical application of the rigid, defined art of time keeping that
seems to serve us better as we chronicle our passage through life. Given that
fact, it would follow that there are going to be certain markers, certain landmark
moments by which we all can gauge our progress. Prominent among them would
have to be one of the pivotal turning points of the Winter Season known as
Groundhogs Day. We felt we would be remiss if we allowed that moment to pass
without resurrecting this excerpt from the February 2001 MMOGTA Newsletter.
Then, if time allows, we’ll dig through the archives and find another
piece that will remind us that the current Presidential campaign is certainly
no sillier than the previous one.
February 2001 Greetings fellow members, from mid-Winter Fergus, where the crowds
once again gathered in the Town Square in hopeful anticipation of an
optimistic report
from the all-seeing, all-knowing, prognosticator of meteorological phenomena,
Phergus
Phil, the Groundhog. The parka clad citizens clutched their steaming cups
of coffee, and an occasional flask was seen tilting in the early morning
sunlight
as the shivering citizens sought to stave off the bitter cold. In due time
the sluggish rodent poked his bewhiskered head out of his earthen lair
just as the
sun broke over the peak of the City Hall. The bright light and the sudden
appearance of his shadow gave the beast such a start that he leapt
some 3 feet straight
up above his hole. Just as his fattened body neared the apex of it’s
moment aloft, several shots rang out, seeming to come from a grassy knoll
at the edge
of the Fergus Municipal Park. In mid-air, and surrounded by tufts of flying
fur, Phergus Phil turned nose to the hole and dove, with a speed and precision
seldom
associated with his species, to the depths of his den, never to be seen again.
Needless to say, conspiracy theories sprung up almost immediately. Most locals
assume that a citizen, having grown weary of the winter, simply snapped and
sought to forestall the “Bad News Beaver” from giving his annual
report. Others see a more sinister scenario, such as a rogue sniper from
the “Wehrmacht” arm
of the Cider House Fools in Westphalia. Some feel there may have been a second
shooter, perhaps training his sights from the upper levels of the MMOGTA
Publishing Center. The investigation continues.
SEMINOLE SERIAL
by Frank Young
When all of the votes were counted and in
"
Not enough" said Al, "Go count 'em again"
The machines they clicked and they buzzed and they whirred
But Gore's not a man who can be deterred
From claiming the prize that he
felt should be his
There must be a trick, like the definition of "is"
That he learned from his mentor, the famous "Slick Willie
That could help him prevail, without looking silly
So he brought in some
help, but that's not the worst of it
Hr sought it from people like lawyer Al Dershowitz
Now Florida's captive of his legal type
The old folks can now be plucked 'cause they're ripe
To have someone
tell them they didn't want Pat
They needed that lockbox where their pension is at
They were just a bit puzzled by those butterfly pages
It should have been over, but because of their ages
They misunderstood
that political lingo
If only the voting had been more like Bingo
They'd have known what to do, and Mr. Vice President
Would soon have become the new White House resident
Who'd lead us so
boldly where all could be free
To throw down our guns and hug us some trees
And agree to reject those contraptions infernal
Our cars with the engines, where combustion's internal
Like the ones
that they drove as far South as they could
When the circulation's bad, the warm weather's good
At the end of the freeway, the Southernmost junction
That now seems afflicted with Electile Dysfunction
A problem whose symptoms,
more mental than penile
Have to do with the failings of minds that are senile
Compassionate Gore, I know, feels their pain
But let's go count those votes, and then do it again
While the world
still awaits, and the lawyers say "Trust us"
Till the final word comes from a Supreme Court Justice
And Hillary suggests, when there's an election to pillage
We now know "It takes a Retirement Village" |