Suspended: Mayor Jack (Post 1.10)
The city found out about my blog and immediately suspended me indefinitely. To put this into perspective, it’d be like if the Special Olympics kicked out a kid for being too retarded. It’s just plain low. All I wanted to do is voice my opinions about some old people that I happen to work with.
So what have I been doing in my free time? What does a college grad do when they have been “fired” for telling the truth? Writing all the shit down that he can think of that will be perfect for future blackmail. So, for everyone’s enjoyment, let’s go through each member of Kannapolis’ city council members. Starting with Mayor Jackson Meisheir… whom I will title as “Jack.”
Jack was born in 1924 in Norfolk, VA. He grew up with 13 brothers and sisters, all of whom are now dead. Thankfully because he is one hard prick. I tried to buy him lunch the first week of my tenure and he ordered the entire menu at Ruby Tuesdays.
His family is known around Virginia as the bootlegging family. They’re the poorer, more hick version of the Kennedy’s. That’s a reference that everyone should appreciate given that his siblings were just as experienced at flying planes into oceans or mountains. Oh, and two of his brothers were well versed in the art of using their head and stomach to catch bullets.
Jack went to William and Mary for college. He met his future wife and had their kid exactly one month after getting married. If that’s not true love, I don’t know what is. Jackson Meisheir Jr. grew up to be the DA of a local town.
Anyway, Jack had come back from the war and enrolled at W&M just a few months later. The GI bill kept him up and running throughout his college days. His mom passed away around the fall of his freshman year and his dad was incarcerated after being caught running a moonshine factory in Franklin, VA.
With no one to turn to, Jack eventually met and fell in love with Martha A. Grossnel, the only daughter of James Grossnel Texas oil tycoon. Seeing the opportunity to make bank, Jack impregnated Martha and sealed the deal with his future fortune. Fear of not being publicly humiliated forced Martha’s dad to pay whatever the amount to keep things hush, hush. So if you’re reading this Jack Jr. Your purpose in life was fulfilled the moment you mom stopped bleeding out her snatch.
Jack and Martha eventually moved to Rock Hill, South Carolina where he worked in the textile industry as a salesman. He did quite well, apart from the whole embezzling money. Over a period of 8 years, Jack managed to steal $100,000 from the Rock Hill Textiles. He has never admitted to it but around the same time the company realized it was missing money, Jack had already moved the funding into physical assets, untraced in the late 1950s. I heard about his embezzling scheme from a former secretary of his at the city. She had just been forced into retirement and a few drinks into her going away party resulted in some grand nuggets of Jack’s history.
In 1956, Jack cheated on his wife. He ended up having another child with the woman. Obviously, this was a disappointed to Martha. But it gets better, he had another child with a separate woman. This time it was a bit more devastating given that the woman Jack cheated on her with was actually Martha’s sister. If Jerry Springer had a 1950s TV show, this would be on the special about inter-family affairs. I felt sorry for Martha who ended up dieing of cancer in the late 1980s. Martha died in September of ’87. Jack remarried in October the same year.
Already you can see just how classy a man like Jack is. But we’re only in the 1960s. In 1961, Jack and Martha moved to Kannapolis to set up their new home and family. Jack got a job working for Cannon Mills selling yarn out of the back of his truck. On a sales trip to Dallas in 1963, Jack got in a bar fight with several of the locals. He pulled a gun and killed all three. You might not have heard about this incident because it happened the exact same day, November 22, as JFK’s assassination. Jack returned from the business trip without any legal repercussions.
In 1976, Jack bought a new house that he couldn’t afford. Luckily for him, the Realtor was a friend of his. A lady friend of his, at that. They had a several month affair that ended with her threatening to rat on him. She disappeared and hasn’t been seen since 1977.
In 1981, it was revealed that Jack had ties to the Greek mob. These stories made headlines but he was relatively unknown given the fact that the newspaper misspelled his name and actually put a picture up of his father instead of Jack. Only Martha, who had started to get sick, was aware of his associations. She kept her mouth shut and for good reason. He had threatened her several times that if she ratted, he would have her entire family put away.
By the 1990s, not a single one of Jack’s siblings remained. He was remarried and eventually changed his name to its current standing. In just 3 years he managed to rewrite his history and take political office. He was a self-titled war veteran with a Purple Heart and a Silver Star he had stolen from his deceased brother Gerald.
He ran unopposed for political office in 1993. Since then, he has managed to employ his children in different positions throughout the city. He’s the old, white version of Detroit’s Kwame Kilpatrick. Except if the two ever met, Jack would wonder why Kwame was in a suit and not in a tree.
And that’s the story of Mayor Jack’s rise to power. He has more murders than Scott Peterson, more money stolen than Bonnie and Clyde, and more kids than most NBA players. With all that said, he still managed to become mayor of my hometown. He still manages, everyday, to run a political machine that 1920s Chicago would marvel at. And yet, no one seems to care. So here’s to you Mayor Jack. You’re the first to have your scandal uncovered and you certainly won’t be the last.
As long as I remained suspended, I will be doing research on the corrupted officials that plague the city’s board. Buckle up, bitches.
-Matt
Bus driver for a day. (Post 1.9)
I’ll keep this short.
I needed a second job because the city council position pays almost nothing. Thus, I became a bus driver for the new public transportation system in Kannapolis.
On my first day, I was dropping off a black woman. She exited the bus and then walked in front of the vehicle. I didn’t notice her, so I hit the gas and ended up running into the woman, knocking her on her back. I lost my job and she’s now threatening to sue the City.
I just don’t get it Ms. Parks. When it comes to buses, how far in front of the bus do you black women need to be?
11th Ward Councilman: Jon Snyder (Post 1.8)
What’s a gook? Before this morning, the word wasn’t in my vocabulary.
Jon Snyder has held his position as a city councilman since before I was born. At 68 years old, he has seen his fair share of interesting times. This morning, Jon got into a fight with two managers from the city’s IT department. The resulting controversy has left everyone feeling very uncomfortable.
First, let’s discuss Jon’s life. He was born in Chattanooga, TN. I’ve never been to Chattanooga, but I’ll just assume that they’re all pricks. Jon is a Grade-A asshole. His dad clearly never loved him and with good cause. I don’t care how much of an alcoholic you are, if your kid was Jon Snyder then it’s understandable why you’d punch him instead of hug him. This sort of parenting rubbed off on Jon’s only child, Mark.
Mark is 38 and gets bossed around by his own thirteen year old son. Here’s the bottom line with Mark: He should have been aborted. His first wife was a whore… and I mean really whore-y. She’s the kind of girl that when she makes breakfast, she scrambles her eggs with a coat-hanger. To say the least, Mark has been a failure and has spent his life feeling guilty for being born. Those of us who work with Jon feel the same way.
Jon’s first job was in sales for a local textile company. He was good. So good that the company fired every salesman on the East coast and gave the work over to Jon. He’s an incredibly hard-worker. Obviously this is his attempt to heal the wounds his dad left. Too bad for Jon that all the sales records in the world don’t cancel out the fact that Chris Benoit was a better father than your own. At least Benoit wised up.
By the end of his career, Jon was working for the Cannon Mills Corporation out of Kannapolis. He was forced into an early retirement after the company declared bankruptcy. Angry at the world, he joined the city council and has since served as the infected hemorrhoid that makes everyone on the board frustrated. He gets re-elected because his district has an astounding 33 voters. A lot more live there and while they can’t vote, they can build a pretty damn good house.
Anyway, Jon came into City Hall this morning, walked into his office, and noticed that there was a computer on his desk. Being an old dog and stuck in his semi-Amish ways, he had refused to switch to the computer format. That was until today, when two IT managers told him that if he didn’t learn how to operate a computer, he would be suspended until the task was completed.
Jon doesn’t take too kindly to taking orders from people. The first problem was that Jon doesn’t like computers and saw no reason for him to learn the device. The bigger mistake, and probably the most important, was that the two IT managers the city sent were Asian. This was clearly done by someone that hates both Asians and Jon.
Now Jon fought in Korea. Thus to Jon, if you’re Asian, whether Chinese, Taiwanese, or Japanese; you’re actually Korean. From my office I could clearly hear Jon yelling. I made out some of his unique slang. Props for the spectrum of terms, Jon.
This is where gook comes in. According to the Urban Dictionary, a gook is a slang for a Korean person. Used in a sentence, also courtesy of UD:
The grocery store, the dry cleaners, and the liquor shop are all owned by those damn Gooks.
Needless to say, Jon was escorted and thanks to his accepting comments, all city staff will now be spending next week in racial sensitivity seminars. So move on over black people, you’re not the only one that can get white people in trouble these days.
Finally, I do not approve of any sort of racial slurs. They’re demeaning and wrongfully empowering. So I apologize to all the gooks out there who took offense to Jon’s comments. He opened my eyes to the racism that still exists and I hope that one day you too can open yours.
-Matt
Haitian Relief Fund (Post 1.7)
It’s been a bit disgusting to see Wyclef Jean using the tragedy in Haiti for his own benefit. Luckily the city is just as clever and next weekend we will be hosting a Haitian cash-crop of our own. All donations will be unevenly split between the Haitian relief fund and the City of Kannapolis.
I’m working hand-in-hand with a few friends to make sure the activities maximize the amount we can obtain. Most of our activities will be child orientated as to attract families. I’m thrilled that we will be able to contribute to the efforts. The event will take place on Saturday on Main Street and will start around 10:00 AM.
The agenda looks as follows:
10:00 AM – 11:30 AM – Morning breakfast and all you can eat pancake/sausage contest. Winner takes home a $50 prize. All leftovers will be sent to Haiti.
11:30 AM- 12:00 PM – Jenga competition. Try not to knock down that tower! Winner gets a $100 gift card to fix up their house. Courtesy of the Home Depot.
12:00 PM – 1:00 PM – Work on your balance while the earth shakes below you! We’ll have a moonbounce and a mechanical bull, free of charge.
1:00 PM – 2:00 PM – Lunch. All you can eat, Haitian style. You’ll never complain about rations again!
2:00 PM – 3:00 PM – Auction block hour. We will be auctioning off volunteer Haitian citizens. Help turn back the clocks before this horrible event occurred and remind us all exactly how triangles, sugarcane, and global trade really work. Plus, they are great with gardens!
3:00 PM – Midnight – The Haitian Relief Rock Concert – Come stop by downtown to bring down the house! A U2 cover band will be shaking up the night.
Hopefully this event will raise enough money to help a few Haitians. Any food that you don’t want can be brought and shipped to them. Come stop by Main Street and help dig the Haitian’s out from under buildings while helping dig Kannapolis out of debt. Special thanks to Wyclef Jean for his audacity and originality.
-Matt
Public Transportation (Post 1.6)
Today we had our normal morning meeting. Good news for all the Kannapolis residents: our city will see 2,000 new jobs opened up by December 2010. This should come with an asterisk because while these jobs will now be available, it’s highly unlikely anyone in Kannapolis is actually qualified to be hired.
Also, Kannapolis will be introducing a new public transportation system. Charlotte Area Transport Systems (or CATS) will now be opening up 6 routes throughout the area. This means that you will be able to get from your house to the mall more easily. Or in the case of most local residents: the shelter to the Salvation Army.
I have personally requested that interior lights of the bus remain on 24/7. This is for both safety and humility. I know that most poor people think that their new ride will be an upgrade, but I want them to be on display so that our youth can see exactly where their GED will get them in life. Imagine it more like a traveling zoo where, instead of poor animals, spectators can see poor people.
For the record, I don’t dislike public transportation. But public transportation in Kannapolis isn’t public transportation in New York. If you ride the metro through Manhattan you’re surrounded by businessmen, lawyers, and hippie-queer NYU students. Yet, Kannapolis doesn’t have businesses. It doesn’t have law offices. And it for sure doesn’t have hippie-queers. Okay, maybe it has queers; but this is the South and being a queer usually translates into horrible things that Jon Rubner of the 7th Ward called “fag-drags.” I hate the use of that word and was appalled when he compared the activity to cow tipping. Obviously he’s wrong because everyone knows that queers aren’t fat. Except Rosie. But she’s not a human being.
On the bright side, the city will now need bus drivers. Requirements for this are quite simple: active drivers license, less than 4 points on your record, and a Saturday morning class on driving buses. Shifts will be 4 hours long and the pay will start at $10 an hour. Email the Kannapolis CATS director.
I will make one note about this job. If I got on this bus, and Heaven knows I wouldn’t because I don’t have a chain on my wallet, I want to see a pleasing individual that I can trust my life to. So be appealing. Look like a safe person. Do you get on a plane and see a guy that is most likely named Osama? No. I’m not saying you can’t be a Muslim to work this job. I’m just saying that I’ve seen The Siege and that alone is reason for me to be worried. Be a good-Muslim and please leave the hat at home.
Expanding on this point, if you’re a white fellow that hates black people, you are not welcome to this job either. Racism is not tolerated in city jobs.
Finally, the city is looking for ideas on this spring’s public events. If you have any ideas, shoot me an email.
-Matt
Somehow, I got a porn virus on the city’s server. (Post 1.5)
The first lesson that anyone should take when assuming an office of political power is that anytime you try to become sexually active, someone gets in trouble. Kennedy and Clinton used their position of power to get sexual favors from random women. Kennedy topped out with Marylin Monroe while Clinton missed the memo on attractive women.
Clinton managed to mingle with some of the most disgusting women I have ever seen. Were those women working in the White House or the barn? I mean, Lewinsky wouldn’t get taken home if she spent her entire day on the Jersey shore. And yet, people got mad at Clinton for lying about that situation. But I don’t think he was lying because he was scared for his marriage or career, he was lying because no one brags about banging the fat chick.
Recently, John Edwards played a trump card when he not only had an affair, but also got the woman pregnant. I wouldn’t say that’s a good thing, I just hung his portrait in my office. Move on over white Jesus painting, this guy earned my Idol of the Year.
So the basic underlying theme here is that politicians can get laid, without problem. So why am I still downloading porn? This morning, a warning went out via email that there was a virus on the city’s network. Everyone’s computer will randomly open to “porno.org.” Unfortunately, and I truly mean unfortunately, the network technicians (visitors from our neighboring Concord; because Kannapolis doesn’t have computer nerds) can track the origins of the virus.
At around 8:12 AM on this bright and lovely winter morning, I got a knock on my door. Two pricks dressed in gray shirts walked in and informed me that my stash of porn was now circulating through every department of Kannapolis’ network. And, thankfully for me, Salisbury and Concord have both gotten hints of my hard-fought-for collection.
When porno.org opens, it automatically locks down the user’s computer, plays an audio recording of an old man moaning while a dog barks and howls in the background, and then flashes my porn collection in a lightning sequence meant only for a dramatic Hollywood thriller. To top it all off, my name (yes, my full name) is on the header. So thank you to the Malaysian asshole that managed to compile such a delightful virus.
I spent about ten minutes denying it until I saw my name on the site. So now, I’m under suspension and can only use the internet under strict supervision of two technicians named Stan and Robert.
On the bright side, after talking with Stan for an hour or so, it turns out that he too loves porn. At first Robert denied it. But about ten minutes before writing this, he showed us his top five favorite sites. I never knew people saw horses in that kind of way.
On the whole, I believe the city has managed to clean up the network. I’m on probation for three months and every woman in the office treats me like the plague. If anything, I made my mark. Sure, Clinton did it by ejaculating on a woman’s dress and I did it by clicking on an icon of Barbara Walters blowing a mule, but now people know me. Steps in the right direction.
-Matt
Business zoning for the lunatic. (Post 1.4)
In the great city of Kannapolis, zoning is a big issue for the historic downtown community. Most businesses don’t realize this when they purchase one of the dusty, rundown offices — but they soon learn… boy do they learn.
Last Wednesday, a guy (we’ll call him Chip) came to us in search of an office in the mentioned district. He had his business proposal in hand along with his plans for expansion in our city. Everything looked fine. On the surface, at least.
Chip owns a painting company that specializes in tacky. That’s not a typo. His work is hideous, to say the least. For instance, he painted a Mexican pawn shop lime green with a neon-pink roof. I guess the shop’s target market consists of 10 year old girls that are trying to pawn mommy’s jewelery to feed their insatiable appetite for Airhead candies and fresh cocaine.
This blend of colors, meant only for a red-light district, is what Chip plans to bring to downtown Kannapolis. First mistake Chip, this is a family town and unless those hookers are under the age of 12, you better keep your LSD ideas capped inside your skull.
The next red-flag about Chip is his car. Imagine a 1960′s Ford Pinto that used to be a healthy yellow but has aged into a dirty version of Courtney Love. I would best describe the color as that of the substance in public restrooms at a local night club. Vomit, diarrhea, and rust — all combined into the same slosh that is on my ex-girlfriend’s knees because she decided that she could handle those 4 extra shots of Jager. Apparently her tolerance wasn’t on the same level has her lifetime AA member father.
To up the value of Chip’s car, he created his own bumper-stickers in permanent marker. Directly onto the paint. Most have to do with his dieing support for President Bush and the outcast of illegal aliens; who ironically make up his primary customer group.
The last straw was Chip’s tendency to protest my group, the Kannapolis government. In short, he had enough time on his hands to stand in the city square downtown and scream that he had been racially discriminated against by the police department. Chip is a white Conservative. If he was racially discriminated against in this town, it was because a black officer asked him to remove his KKK uniform while standing in line at the local ABC store.
It goes without saying that Chip didn’t receive our blessings to own the property downtown. Thus, if you have a company that is somewhat sane, can cure my herpes, and need a place to rent; please shoot me an email.
-Matt
First Morning meeting. (Post 1.3)
I sat down in the 8 AM meeting and felt like a woman at Augusta, a Jew at Mass, or dare I say it? Helen Keller at a rock concert. No one at the table was under the age of 70. You could spin a bottle and whoever it landed on would be a grandfather, retired, and a few years shy of death. The room wreaked of moth balls and old people. It’s like Wal-Mart began bottling that stench and the first 10,000 orders went directly to Kannapolis’ city council members.
The Mayor was sitting at the head of the table while the 8 council members sat along the sides. I was on the very end, seeing as though more than 400 people liked me… I was still not a weathered politician.
The first topic these men brought up was, no joke, Viagra. 8 grandfathers talking to one another about their sex life. I didn’t think people had sex after 65. It’s almost like a retirement. What’s worse, is that it was with their wives. I am all for monogamy, or monogamy with a hint of adultery to make the ends meet, but these men are having sex with their equally old, equally smelly, and probably more than equal rags-of-skin wives. That’s dedication.
Once the men had put away their sex jokes and I had cleared the image in my head of my grandfather bending my grandmother over the table I bought him last Christmas, we began to discuss basic house keeping tasks. First up: meeting times and procedures. To stick with the theme of old people being old, all meetings start at 6:00 PM and end at 7:00 PM. Every single one of those men made a comment about getting to bed by 8:00. At first I believed them, but not I’m pretty sure most of them just need time to bone their rags. Wives.**
The only thing that really stood out to me was the ability for councilmen to recommend anything that our district needs. Then it will be voted on by the entire board.
To break the ice, I threw a joke out there. After all, a good laughter helps build friendships. I suggested that we make Viagra tax free to all member’s of the city. They didn’t laugh because apparently I can still get hard without the aid of a pill. Racism still exists, kids.
For some odd reason, I got the urge to say the following… this was more of a counter to justify my joke: “Geez, It’s not like I’m asking you guys to celebrate the Holocaust.”
Two things I forgot. First, most of these guys were old enough to actually remember the Holocaust. I can bet you that at least one or two fought in Europe. Second, and by far more crucial: the assistant to the Mayor and city councilman from the 2nd Ward is named Zingerman. Clearly Jewish. Basic rule of thumb when it comes to Jews: never lend him money and never joke about the Holocaust.
But, I guess this is a learning experience. One that doesn’t require concentration or camps.
-Matt
Just minutes after writing my thank you post, I looked up online how much I get paid. Let’s just say that I plan on picking up a second job.
When I signed up for this gig, I was under the impression that politicians make the big-bucks. At the minimum, I was thinking $50,000 a year. The unfortunate truth is that as a new, local politician, my monthly paycheck is just under $120. Taco Bell employees make more than that in a week.
Okay, I get it Kannapolis. You’re poor, you have 25% unemployment and 33% underemployment, and most of the people that DO work in your town live in nicer suburbs. But seriously? $1,440 a year?
This explains why there are so many old people in local governments. They have retirement money and while financial status isn’t an issue (thanks to my dad who was brutally murdered by his third wife) I feel like my services are worth more. Do I know what I’ll be doing? No. Do I have any experience? No. But I’m clearly not from Nicaragua. I demand fair pay or I plan on striking.
Yet, as any good politician must do, I have a back-up plan in case my petition is overlooked by city Mayor, Dale “the whale” Griffin. (He’s not really called “the whale.” This would imply he’s overweight, a good swimmer, or possibly a loud hummer. But he’s actually a very short and scrawny guy with the nastiest mustache this side of I-85. A more appropriate name is just Dale. Or Mayor Griffin.)
Back to the back-up plan: I will need to get a second job to fill my schedule. Something with the bourgeois would be ideal. Yet what about something with the common man? A garbage man? Not sure I have the skin for that kind of work. Construction? My Spanish might be too good for that job.
Throughout the next few days I’ll have to start looking for a second job. Hopefully something that limits my interaction with high school girls. A politician, such as myself, would only be in danger around that kind of fresh meat. I’ll cross YMCA councilor off my list.
-Matt
Thank you all! (Post 1.1)
I found out just about a half hour ago that I was elected to serve on the city council board. I beat my opponent, Jim Gripp, by 8 points. He called me and wished me good luck. At 84, he was the oldest member on the council and had served for 48 years. When Jim first joined, he was a a pro-segregationist Southern Democrat. He’ll be leaving office with the same set of beliefs just with a different party affiliation.
He still owns a gas station with the words “Whites Only” spray painted above the water fountain. (For the record, the paint is old and hasn’t been redone since 1994.) I made a racist joke relating black people to dogs. He laughed and from the sound of it, had a stroke. I hope they ship him away to a retirement home that only has black nurses. If anything, it’ll give him some perspective on life before he spends eternity in Hell.
Unlike Jim, I’m only 23. I’m actually the youngest to ever get this position. I grew up in this town, went to college down the road, and was unemployed for several months. Apparently getting a job is hard when, on any given night, your BAC higher than your GPA. Luckily the city needed to replace some old dogs.
I go by Matt, or sometimes Cohen. Only my grandmother, may she rest in peace, called me Matthew. My middle name is Walker. It’s not a family name. In fact, my biological mom was in love with the infamous Chuck Norris character from “Texas Walker Ranger.” I’m sure she was coked out of her mind when the doctor handed her the birth forms. Thankfully she spelled Walker right. Then again, Oprah’s mom couldn’t spell Orpah; and look how that turned out.
I never had a close relationship with my mother. She left me to fend for myself at the age of four. Her justification for this, as written in a note she mailed to me years later, was that she had seen a documentary on lion cubs. At one-years-old, they are on their own. She gave me a loaf of bread and said, “You’re three years over due.” Thanks mom. For once you could have put down the needle and made me a bowl of Easy Mac. For this reason, she doesn’t deserve a thanks.
Fortunately for me, my father was wealthy. I’m a trust-fund baby. He was able to sustain my mom’s drug habit while also paying for her HIV screening tests throughout the 80′s. He was also able to afford a few extra mistresses. Recently people seem to be really upset about the whole Tiger Woods scandal. My dad makes Tiger Woods look like the Pope. And no, not the one that raped your younger brother and told him that God will only love him if he filled his mouth with the holiest genital on Earth. Thus, for the money, I thank my dad.
On the other hand, my dad failed to raise me into any sort of resemblance of a man. Rae Carruth would have made a better father. I remember my first tee-ball game when I was just 6 years-old. He showed up in a Mercedes with my step-mom in the front seat and two hookers in the back seat. Needless to say, my step-mom wised up and murdered my dad in 1999. She pleaded self-defense. But in all honesty, unless my dad was running backwards, away from his car, there’s no way that shotgun should have blown the back of his skull off. I wasn’t at all scared or sad. I just moved in with my grandmother. I collected the money from my father and waited until 18 to head off to college.
So now, at 23, I find out that I will be serving as an alderman for my hometown’s government. So thank you to the 435 people who showed up and voted. To the 23,044 people who are either illiterate, drunk, can’t speak English (though technically this group is most likely drunk, illiterate, and Mexican), or unaware of the elections: Your lack of participation is what will take me to the top. I’m young, I’m hip, and if anything — I just need the black vote.
Tomorrow’s a new day, Kannapolis. Tighten your boots and grab your ankles because at 9 AM tomorrow, I’m going to be doing some hardcore sav pounding on the front steps of City Hall. Pucker up.
-Matt
