Welcome to Whiskey Flat, turn around and flee while you still can!
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Angela Durrell
Special to the Sun
Once again, we have reached the apex of our year in the Valley known as Whiskey Flat Days, and once again, the Valley will be inundated with visitors eager to observe the “quaint” and “charming” activities of our native population.
We beseech you: Leave now. Turn around and run. Do NOT look back until you’ve at least crossed the county line. You are about to enter a dimension with no sense of time, space, honor, or dignity – what we laughably call “politics” around here.
If you think the health care debate, the bank bailouts, or Michelle Obama’s new hairstyle are the stuff of electoral legend, you’re in for a shock. Capitol Hill has nothing on us. Men of stalwart fortitude and women of staunch fiber have, in previous years, staggered away in dazed confusion, wishing only for their mommy’s arms and the binkie they had as babies. Our mayoral election is not for the faint of heart.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is the time of year when we, your humble hosts, lose our collective mind, particularly those of us either drunk, stupid, or insane enough to campaign for the ultimate title: Whiskey Flat Mayor.
You’d think the job is as coveted as it is because of perhaps a large salary, or a beautiful, sun-drenched office above the hardware store. But no. It doesn’t pay one thin dime. Whoever the sad individual is who claims victory has no base of operations, unless you count the corner barstool at the Brewery, and what can only laughably be called “staff” is pretty much whoever can be strong-armed, blackmailed, or bullied into the job.
Nevertheless, the competition is fierce, and our esteemed candidates annually do their best to claw, cheat, blaspheme, and bribe everyone in order to be named mayor.
That’s when everyone in the Valley goes berserk. In a nutshell, we simply devolve into a seething mass of gossip, innuendo, and flat-out backstabbing. No subject or action is forbidden or too taboo; there are no limits to the levels of chicanery and underhandedness that abound.
Candidates don’t shake hands and kiss babies for votes here; their methods are much more aggressive, used furtively in the hallowed halls of national politics, but blatantly employed with unashamed glee in this neck of the woods. Offers of food, booze, and numerous shady deals are rampant over six weeks. Bribes are accepted. Bribes are offered. Men of ill repute and dubious honor suddenly find themselves in high demand for certain services.
Whatever it takes – from feeding the masses to hurling insults and lies at their rivals, to fabricating rumors out of whole cloth, or exaggerating minor truths, they’ll do it. Scruples have no place and no use here.
As for the community – well, we’re just as bad. Maybe worse. Out of all of us, the newspaper writers take the prize for stirring the various simmering pots to boiling point.
Disabuse yourselves of the idea that facts are checked, or attribution is given for quotes. Researching and confirming leads are left in the dung heap of morals in favor of making up crap and creating the most lurid story possible in order to sell papers. Spelling, grammar, style and content – the whole of the English language, really – all of them are pitched robustly out the proverbial window. Nothing beats starting a fight with a few well-chosen adjectives and adverbs, and then sitting back to watch the resultant explosions. Not the stuff of Pulitzer caliber, but it doesn’t matter. If the story doesn’t exist, one is simply invented, and that’s much more fun.
If by now you haven’t turned tail and hied out of this crazy burg, and are silly enough to be intrigued – well, all right, but don’t say we didn’t warn you.
This is where things get really interesting. Go to the events once the bubbling pot of viciousness is stirred, and remind yourself that you asked for it. We’ve had candidates, campaign managers, press agents, and hapless bystanders be unceremoniously and obnoxiously hauled off in handcuffs. Some have been kidnapped and then ransomed. We’ve had the terror-filled and life-scarring horror of karaoke showdowns, where unfortunate patrons were barricaded inside bars, their ears bleeding, sobbing helplessly and piteously at the massacre of musical torture in the name of The Campaign.
There are no lengths to which this community won’t go, no level to which we won’t stoop. Visitors have returned to their homes, shell-shocked and with vacant stares, unable to fully grasp the vast corruption and profane use of the democratic ideal. Families, upon witnessing the damage to their loved ones, overload the switchboard with outraged vitriol, threatening lawsuits and demanding restitution.
Therefore, once again we must attempt – as we do every year – to forestall the inevitable complaints, requests for compensation, or demands for psychiatric treatment. We state plainly and baldly: We Are No Longer Responsible. Go forth if you must, but let it be said here and now that if you end up curled in the fetal position by the end of all this, you have only yourself to blame.
Do not expect logic. Do not expect reason. Do not expect courtesy. Do not expect us to act like adults. The best ways you can handle what you are about to witness – with relatively minor consequence is: A) Avoid, with unswerving dedication, anyone dressed in period costume or who offers you food and drink as a “friendly gesture.” B) Refuse to answer questions of any suspicious persons holding pen, notebook, or voice recorder. C) Tip your bartender and refrain from calling him “Smitty.” D) If you hear the word “donation” or “bribe,” you have only one chance to run. After that, they’ve seen your face and will find you again. E) Stay in your room.
We hope this small lesson in comportment helps you. If you are still within city limits and are dead-set on staying, then we have done all we can. If you are of some mental and emotional fortitude, have no issues with scandals and lies, you may disguise yourself as one of us and try to blend in. Advance at your own peril. You’re on your own!
