Wednesday, June 16, 2010


The Brentwood City Council meeting was to start at seven p.m. Chief Councilman Dennis Frank checked his watch. Six fifty-nine and the house was barely half-full. He took a sip of vodka from his Diet Mountain Dew bottle and stared at the folding chairs in front of him. At least Darlene had shown up. Chief Councilman Dennis Frank had something to stare at for the next minute.

“Well, it looks like this is going to be it. Thank you all for coming.”
There were ten. Most were staring at their cell phones. One guy in the back looked new. Maybe thirty years old, with glasses and a briefcase. His shirt was ruffled out of his belt and his hair was a mess.

“Let’s get down to it, okay? First order of business is to approve the names of the three new neighborhood developments off Vine Street. Richman Developers have proposed the following names. Please state any objections. They are Crestview, Holly Oaks, and Nutsack Harbor.”

Darlene’s hand shot up. She drawled, “I’m sorry, what was that last one? Did I hear you right?”

Dennis Frank squinted at his notes. “Nutsack Harbor. The third one was Nutsack Harbor.”

“Absolutely not! We cannot have such ribald slang filth naming our neighborhoods.”

“Okay, one objection for Nutsack Harbor. Do you propose an alternative?”

“How about something nice and actually named for something in that area? There’s not even a harbor over there. Something like Finley Creek?”

“Okay, noted. Thanks, Darlene. Anyone else?”

The young man in the back raised his sweaty hand. “Yeah, I’ve got some.”

“I believe you’re new. Would you mind standing and introducing yourself?”

“Sure. Hi, I’m Alan Green, new resident. I have a problem with the first two names. There are subdivisions named Crestview and Holly Oaks in Sussex, only twenty minutes away.”

“Good point, Mr. Green. Do you propose alternatives?”

“Yes, sir. I think the names Dicklickers Alley and Fart-Shit Breeze would be welcome.”

“Dicklickers Alley and Fart-Shit Breeze?”

“Yes sir. I believe they are a welcome twist to the mundane neighborhood names we’ve come to accept. Why have more of the same when we can bring something new to the world?”

Darlene was not pleased. “But there isn’t a dicklickers alley or a fart-shit breeze over there.”

“Not yet. Once we name the subdivisions, they will be magnets for dicklickers and fart-shits, respectively. I’m certain, and I have the figures to prove it in my briefcase, that within one fiscal year, there will be no only a half-mile alley packed with dicklickers ready and willing to do their business, but also a pungent, northerly fart-shit breeze daily at 6p.m. And if we stick to the original plan and also approve Nutsack Harbor, in less than eight months there will be a beautiful harbor packed full of good-looking, taut nutsacks. We can build a boardwalk, open up some restaurants, and make it a family entertainment destination.”

The council members looked to each other with raised eyebrows. One elderly woman wearing a World’s Coolest Grandma t-shirt she bought for herself nodded and shrugged her shoulders. That echoed over to Don Henry, a fat man with no feet. Then over to Bernard Fitz and Susan Thirlby. Soon everyone was nodding in agreement, then standing on their chairs, whooping and applauding, ripping their shirts off and dancing. They agreed with what this man proposed. It was time for a change. It was time to mix things up a little bit. To break free from their routines and everyday lives for once.

Darlene crossed her arms and shook her head.

Chief Councilman Dennis Frank stared at Darlene’s chest.

Six months later Dicklickers Alley, Fart-Shit Breeze, and Nutsack Harbor were built. They were not popular with home buyers.

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