GRATON APOLOGIZES FOR ATROCITIES

c 2011, Tristan Winter

 

The first annual celebration of World Atrocity Day was marred by faulty sound equipment and poor sightlines, according to Graton’s newly-appointed Gauleiter, me.

Almost from the start of the festivities, the highway was pancaked with panicked Gratonucks, whose embroidered sombreros -none larger than a Starbucks cup- had burst into flames from the little ‘Apple Blossom’ electric trains running ’round the brims.

The food was grim. “A town famous for its total obsession with peristalsis cannot afford to alienate the rubes or the tubes,” complained Les Maddox, the 70s-generation genius behind the downtown Devil May Care child center. The War Victims Buffet was dead cold by the time the president of Yemen hurtled down to the town square. There was a very short speech by someone on Assisted Suicide (universally cheered), but it was nearly four o’ clock (that’s Irish time), before Sarah Palin and her youngest daughter, Adolf, finally arrived seeking medical attention.

Despite my best efforts to mitigate what could have become a tense situation, the discovery of a mass grave while forcing the Realtor Class to dig a barbecue pit/latrine caught me short (I fell into the pit), and I realized I could no longer protect these people behind a veil of secretions. I was forced to admit that a day ideally meant to swell the local fixation on gluttony had instead ripped raw the vile nature of humanity.

I still smell cinders. It’s hard to see just what the hell everyone wants from me down in this cellar. Last I heard from the European Parliament, they were proud that I had turned this fleabag town into a showcase for modern fleece, but, most importantly, I listen to my townsfolk as they wail and shriek, overwhelmed by the tunefull German schlager idol, Heino der Albino.

Jo, We Shall!
-Tristan Winter
Graton Gauleiter, BMMD