Another week down, another crazy news week over, and I believe that science has managed to achieve a earth-shattering discovery. No, not the megastructure in a distant galaxy resulting in enough fan artwork to power conspiracy theorists in perpetuity, or if a purported “Planet X” video shown during a NASA briefing is real. What I am referring to is something far more immediate, far more groundbreaking, and far more worthy of a Taylor Swift song.
I’m referring to the fact that science may have located a place in America which is similar enough to Pasco County, Florida to be considered a permanent natural disaster area. This particular place is Walker County, Georgia, home to what is widely considered one of the first American banana republics, within a republic, within a state, within a, well, you get the idea. An alert reader and fan of my work, and connected to a group of rugged, dangerous journalists working undercover as large rocks in the region, brought some of the goings-on of Walker County to my attention.
For those of you who are not aware, Walker County, Georgia is a county in Georgia, but not just anywhere in Georgia. It is located in northwest Georgia, which features a large amount of wildlife masquerading as humans, at least according to reports from residents who actually appear to have human DNA. According to more than one report, this county operates under the concept of “Unified Government,” which means that one commissioner runs the ship much the way Donald Trump promises to, if elected, run America, Earth, and parts of the New Republic. Technically, this sort of government runs counter to the democratic principles of government, but in this part of northwest Georgia, most people are more concerned about more important things, such as how fast they can move the hell out of Walker County to, say, North Korea.
The problem appears to stem from County Commissioner Bebe Heiskell who, in her natural habitat, is considered among the most fearful predators due to her sharp talons, razor sharp beak, and ability to dive at…crap, confused a politician for a falcon I was watching on Nova. We all know politicians don’t move that fast. Now, according to unconfirmed reports, Heiskell spends her weekends roasting copies of open records laws over an open dumpster fire. These reports also indicate that not only has the commissioner transferred ownership of several county-owned properties to the local development authority, but that said move was done with the purpose of taking out bonds to pay to keep the county afloat. Reports indicate that the county had $100 in the general fund in June, just enough throw a really snazzy pizza party in the commissioner’s office, but without the requisite alcohol to effect “responsible government.” You can save your head-explosion moment, however, for this gem; the county has a $10 million dollar loan to pay back to a “hedge fund” by mid-January, 2016, and something tells us this fund has nothing to do with hedges, but this Walker County, so we really can’t be that sure.
Of course, no self-respecting politician of Heiskell’s ilk will dare go out like a unnamed spokesman paying his victims big money for molesting them while eating allegedly healthy “sandwiches” while “walking.” No sir, this commissioner is doing what any good politico does; namely, going on local television and brag about what is being done with the county tax dollars in the name of all that is “good, moral and decent” (our quote, not hers…hers is likely far more comical and incriminating.) Of course, this doesn’t even begin to cover the sale of the goat to a local ambassador, who has been sleeping with the former owner’s brother’s half-sister, who is waiting for Kate to emerge from a coma while Stefano plots his revenge….wait! Dammit, another Days of Our Lives flashback again, but you can see where all this insanity would lead one to believe that this section of Georgia is actually part of a parallel universe or, at the very worst, Central New Jersey.
Contrast this to Pasco County, Florida, a county which has decided that the best way to fix the problem of urban blight, crime, unemployment and income inequality is to rename the local highway said issues are located on. An April 2015 article in The Suncoast News cites local real estate broker Greg Armstrong as saying (you simply can’t make something like this up!) “If we’re going to give it a new facelift, we have to give the ol’ gal a new name.” Bear in mind, this is also the county which suffered some of the worst rates of foreclosure during the Great Recession, as evidenced by the sheer number of people attempting to move out of Pasco, only to find out that – surprise – enough pain pill clinics had opened up that border patrol agents were diverted from the Mexican border to deal with the influx of Oxy to the area. But, as always, I digress. Today, Pasco County is a vibrant, beautiful county filled with lush fauna, chirping birds, and enough pain meds to power political denial well into the 22nd century.
Between Pasco and Walker counties, we are fairly confident that if their elected representatives were to ever meet, it would result in a butterfly being stepped on, which would ultimately result in Ted Cruz winning the Presidency, Russia assaulting the United States with nuclear weapons, and the world eventually being ruled by a group of solitary penguins worshipping a colony of feral, radiation enhanced supercats. Then again, the cats would actually eat the penguins, so that idea is shot to hell already.