Standing in the cold yet humid auditorium at Lubbock High School, Mayor Martin Pissmouth stands at a podium addressing a small crowd of fat hicks. A homeless man sits on a bucket in front of him, staring into the gathering of diabetic hillbillies, white supremacists, and divorced suburban dads.
“In a world where hard work is increasingly undervalued, I, Martin Pissmouth, am here to show you what hard work can do. That’s why for the next two weeks, I will be living out on the street right here in the beautiful of Lubbock. And what I will show all those in this city and across the country is that homeless people are a product of their own surroundings and that with a little effort, some thick skin, and a good white Texan bloodline, you can accomplish anything. And that starts today! I will be removing my personal possessions and surviving in my in only my Brooks Brothers dress shirt and slacks. I look forward to seeing you all in two weeks.”
The crowd roared with a demented rage, “Pissmouth, get them out!”
“Fucking lazy liberal fuck!” a toothless neo-nazi spat. “Get a fucking job!”
“Let’s kill them in the fucking streets!” a buttoned-up suburban dad screamed. “Show them who’s in charge, Pissmouth!”
4 Days Later
“At 3:45 am on Thursday, Mayor Pissmouth was admitted to the intensive care unit from apparent internal bleeding,” Dr. Robert S. Richard announced in front of a small crowd of local news crews in front of Lubbock Memorial Hospital. “upon returning, the Mayor to stable condition, we found a large amount of glass and feces inside his stomach. This resulted in irreparable internal cuts that would become internal scarring, weakening his stomach lining. His blood was septic from the fecal matter that may forever be in his veins. Both overshadow the Mayor’s campaign poster that was rolled up and shoved up his rectum. Although he is alive, he will never truly recover.”
The physician turns to walk away from the microphone when a portly lawyer in gold jewelry and a tight soon slides over.
“Also, we want to mention that anyone who tries to release this information to the public is violating the privacy of a government official and will be sued. Thank you.”
10 Days Later
Over 100 supporters filled the parking lot of Dixie Dave’s Confederate Cookout, waving signage and waiting for the full report of how the mayor survived the streets and owned the libs. Before long, cheers begin to rise as Mayor Pissmouth, hunched over at nearly a 90-degree angle and using a walker, slowly limps his way to the stage. Seeing his condition, the crowd goes silent.
Finally making his way to the mic, a faint voice speaks, “Over the last two weeks, I’ve been beaten, bloodied, and buttfucked, by every hobo within a seven-mile radius,” May Pissmouth said. “I ate trash and dead animals. Slept in the cold in another man’s piss. And potentially have HIV. But, you know what? I’m a hell of a lot stronger for it. As long as I’m Mayor, not a single dollar of your hard-earned money will go to helping those that are more than capable of helping themselves. And if they can’t, they should die on the street just like they earned.”
The crowd goes absolutely insane.
“Take that, you fucking, libs,” Pissmouth whispers to himself, creeping away off stage and into an ambulance to return to the hospital.