Greg finishes his mug of ice creme, “That’s some tastey frozen dessert there,” then he takes a look at the Mug, “Sort of takes no imagination to see that you have Judge Patrick decorating the side of this Mug here.”
“Um, might I ask, why?’ I ask in survival instinct.
“It is an election year you know,” Greg remarks, “And Judge Patrick is on the Ballot.”
“So, he is every year,’ Ernie shrugs.
“Says he is going to crack down on negative propaganda,” Greg goes on, “Like anybody who draws funny snglasses and moustaches on campaign posters.”
We all sort of look ceiling-wards and whislte.
‘You didn’t heat this from me, but the Judge commented that he was going to come down really hard on any miscreants implicated in such negative propaganda,” Greg recalls, “those are his words, not mine.’
HM shurgs, “We already picked up the Township Roads for this month.”
“And if he sits us in the Township hall all Saturday afternoon, I can catch up on sleep and watch TV,” Ernie decides.
Greg turns to look at us in some disbeleif, “I’m warning you, the Judge is real Serious this time, he is talking about Excercise,” we all gulp involutarily, Greg finishes, “As in Calesthentics.”
“B-but, that’s Unconstitutional,” I object.
“Go tell it to the Judge,” Greg McIntyre shrugs as he walks off.
The Weenerman rifles through the cigar box, pulls out a little black book and starts looking though it despearately.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Trying to find the number of my travel agent,” the Weenerman says quickly,” Maybe she can get me tickets on Flying Monkey AirLines, I hear the Rain Forest is pretty interesting this time of year.”
“Sure the Judge doesn’t have pull down that far?” I ask.
“You mean to the Jungles of the Amazon?” Ernie blurts out, “Wow, I bet he does.”
The Weenerman frowns and stuffs the adress book back into the bottom of the cigar box, ‘All right, we need a new plan.”