DEAREST CAMERON SMYTH, MOST HIGH HOLY & EXALTED MUCKY MUCK MAYOR OF THE CITY OF SCLARITA — Once again, I place digits to keyboard in a humble effort to lighten your municipal load. Heard you were short a city parks commissioner.
I’ve found your man. It’s me.
I’m sure you’ll be awash in managerial talent with yard-thick resumes, boasting how the applicant managed Yellowstone or was the darling of DEI and somehow conned three Eskimos into balancing Death Valley’s delicate human resources ethnic requirements. I’m sure there’s even local talent, say, over at the Placerita Nature Center, magically adept at stringing miles of yellow homicide tape to keep visitors off the trails. There’s probably some rising star who can pepper a presentation with the proper use of “mitigate” at every-other-Tuesday’s eye-wateringly boring City Council meetings.
No. Cam. I’m Your Commish — Who’s A Dish!
I have many swank ideas to help bring our city’s parks into a vision of what a park should be, be it transitioning into the upcoming Dark Ages should the Democrats keep getting elected, or, more hopefully, the conservative vision where there still exist running water, toilets and Happy Meals should Republicans assume their rightful and non-crazy positions of leadership.
Right off the bat, Cammy? I’d outlaw soccer at all our parks. World Cup. Illegal Alien. AYSO. All soccer, banned from public parks and relocated to Interstate 5 where it would be more interesting to watch. Soccer chews up the turf and is quite the danger, considering how many local senior citizens tend to picnic in the middle of these games (where, I suspect, drugs are being sold). I’d replace soccer with a monthly Oktoberfest, adding the historical aspect of recreating the Germanic tribes slaughtering of three Roman legions (25,000 troops) in Teutoburg Forest in 9 A.D. Having many close friends who are Italian, we wouldn’t use actual Italians, but rather draw from membership of the SCV Democratic Action Alliance, mime majors at College of the Canyons (Eric von Harnish, department chair) and the local chronically flatulent. (When the latter get pretend smashed in the tummy by a 24-pound pretend Germanic war hammer, in the excitement, chances are good the flatulent will provide a series of entertaining final noises.)
Cam. You and I can build — or rather, point from a safe distance and order to be built — 819 kinds of new restrooms for each of the city’s parks. We’d start with the traditional “Regular” and “Ethyl” for those who identify as men and women, then, add on restrooms for other genders, from “Coquettishly Ambidextrous” to, again, the “Chronically Flatulent” so Those People would have a place to change for the Oktoberfest historical reenactments. Whoops. Sorry, Mayor Cam. Small math error. We’re going to need — 1,638 — separate bathrooms at each park.
Forgot about the handicapped.
We’ll start charging admission at all the parks. Not in pesos. Or dollars. But in forints. That’s the monetary unit of Hungary. I figure we could aid the growth of city staff by creating a new useless department filled with Hungarian illegal aliens working tirelessly to change forints into quarters, then into savings bonds, then into cryptocurrency, then — back into dollars. Think of it as an FDR never-go-away “Make Work” government agency that puts people, not necessarily ours, to work.
I’ve oodles more ideas, Mr. Mayor. I’m sure the job comes with the typical large, six-figure salary. While Councilwoman Laurene Weste probably has her eyes on the Hart Mansion as her retirement home, I’d be happy to rough it and live on job site. I’d need upgrades. Like, cable. And a city-provided chef — no tofu-cooking monkey, either. So there’s no confusion where my mail goes, we’d have to change “Hart Park” to “JOHN BOSTON’S SCARED o’ BEARS RANCH PARK.”
I’d also like to ensure the integrity of the grounds by not allowing all those bothersome visitors and busloads of booger-eating fifth graders arriving on the quarter-hour. We could also save a ton of moolah by moving Our Annoying Yuppie Pretend Cowboy Fest from Hart Park over to Steve Arklin’s Rancho Deluxe in Sand Canyon. Schedule it on a weekend when Steve and the fam’s out of town. They don’t need to know.
I’d like to put us on the map, Cam, by breaking ground on the nation’s First Municipal Nude Beach. California is, after all, a liberal state. I’d call it, “The Jason Gibbs City of SClarita Nude Meet & Greet Shallow Lagoon,” complete with a cheap albeit giant knock-off statue of Lysippus’ butt-naked Hercules from the 4th Century B.C. Roman baths of Caracalla, because, frankly, Jason’s not mayor anymore and there’s not bloody much the guy can do about it, is there?
Just to avoid feelings being hurt, we probably should build, if not a park, then a small park bench, for the always hubba-hubba Councilwoman Marsha McLean. Install it on some distant perimeter with a wood-carved sign, “The Marsha McLean Smiling Out Of Context 3/4s of a Bench, Bench.” Tight budget? Again? We could add another bench-ette on a median along Soledad, for that other councilman, Whatzizname. Maybe give the illusion of serving the public, throw down an Astroturf tile and call it “Councilman Whatzizname’s Minimalist Putting Green.”
Well. Cam. Mayor Cameron. I think hiring me will add to our long and beautiful relationship of passing each other at rubber chicken events, scowling, nodding and saying, “Howya doin’?”/“Yeah how YOU doin’?” It’s what keeps a small town like ours so close …
Besides sleeping at the city’s parks (on a rotating basis to fool security patrols) John Boston is a SCV resident since almost the Pleistocene Epoch and Earth’s most prolific satirist. Visit johnbostonbooks.com, click on everything, then, buy it.