by Mike Itaya
Letters to the Editor: Bad News from Ezekiel
By The Mayor of Ezekiel
Life was on the skeevy in Ezekiel, Mississippi. Whatever the gross goss was, it all came out in the Sunday wash. Usually during Pastor Douglas’ non-secular soup group, tentatively titled, Seminal Hymnals.
I know why they don’t let us leave here. Normal people don’t live in places like this.
Op-Ed: Sensible Applications of the Interrobang
By The Mayor of Ezekiel
If life was one big-ass question, nobody in Ezekiel knew the answer. My Grans got drunk once in 1979 and never sobered up. Coach R.T. called audible on Webelo’s fart (even though he was in the stands) during the last play of the last-of-season peewee game. Driving around town in my grad school junker (even though I was the goddamned mayor), I suspected none of us were livin’ right. My Daewoo Tico looked like a clown car of the kidnapping variety. Not that I’d mind some garden-grade abduction, provided somebody’d take me and flee for parts far from here.
Cartoon: The Mayor of Ezekiel and Dick Stax Fight Fascism
By The Mayor of Ezekiel
Box 1. Per usual, Dick Stax and I were nuts up in a Buddy Cop Caper. Smooth as silk, I pulled a surprise split and junk-punched my nemesis, Von Hustle, in his privates.
Box 2. “Mein biscuits,” he screeched.
Box 3. Webelo could read the writing on the techno-fascistic wall, sprang on his customized Huffy.
Box 4. I clotheslined that little bastard, and Webelo wiped out in slow motion (while several anonymous ninjas exploded.)
Box 5. R.T. jammed the Top Gun theme on his Yamaha. Dick Stax embraced me and we consummated the caper with an All-American high fiver.
Mike Itaya is the editor-in-chief of DIRTBAG and writes about dirtbags, always. @DirtbagWriting