SELECTMENTALS “NOT QUITE GUILTY” – Oh, my goodness, all of you faithfully-reading type personables, has Your Very Own Miss Gutthwacker got excitable news for you! Like, we always got our ear on the ground next to the grinding stone to hear things, you know, and WHAT should we of HEARD but that nasty old Attorney Generable, Wee Willie Scarewell, what was prostituting our poor selectmentals, sended a retort what said they DIDN’T OF DONE IT (almost)! WELL! This were extreme goodly-type news for the three selectmentals who escape from the chain gang when Wee Willie got all tangleup with the po-leece roadblock and escape to the woods (the selectmentals went woods-wise in a freedom-type direction, not Wee Willie, who went in a jailwise direction until the Grand Jurrier getted him out).

YVOMG gots friends in low places, so she were able to get a copy of the retort. What it say is, on account of the Statue of Lamentations run out (whatever THAT is!), Wee Willie could of not prosticute the selectmentals if he would of want to, since they was too long from the Act of Errant-Stupidity-and-Rampant- Dumbness-Bordering-on-Semi- Criminality, that it would of not worth-while of his time (also it would make him look not too smart to the voters, and heaven know, no politician-type personable would of want to look dumb to a voter!). So, Wee Willie say, and here is where we are being quotationable, “Although the activities of the Bored of Selectmentals was dumb, it was not, ipso facto, stupid by the legal definition, and while the selectmentals did not exactly lie, they did not exactly tell the truth neither, and therefore, your beloved Attorney Generable finds no reason to disturb their slumber.”

SO! Isn’t that goodly-type news, reader-persons? YVOMG think so, and so do at least three people she survey off of the back stoop of the Mayonnaise Building after she finish reading the retort. Three say yes, 97 say no, 146 gots no pinion, and one dirty bugger try to steal our typewriter!

GRAND JURRIER IS ON THE TRAIL! – Howsomever some persons (three) think the selectmentals should of not be prostituted no more, the Grand Jurrier, Smedley Hackham, is being contrary-wise-minded. Our informer-type-person tell us he seen the Grand Jurrier get up a posse to go hunt the three selectmentals (who should of not be too hard to see on account of they is wearing neontype yellow cover-alls what say PRISONER OF THE ATTORNEY GENERABLE OF THE GREAT STATE OF VERMONT, REMEMBER ME AT THE POLLS, on the back, right across their butts). What we hear is that the Grand Jurrier standed in front of the Mayonnaise Building and drag people in off of the street for his posse. He got Third Constable Gulliver Waffleblaster, Fire Chief Nylon, das Kapitan Schmecklefenger of the Imperial German Navy sub-type marine U-38 (who were buying a supplies for his crew), two drunks, three nuns and a costermonger, and Coach Naugahyde and his football team.

Miss Gutthwacker is thinking that Coach Naugahyde and his young football-type men will be the best ones of the posse on account of that they is all young and strong for climbing up and down hill, jumping over streams, and so forth. The three nuns and the two drunks prolly got to be carry on the back of some football players. Of course, Constable Waffleblaster know a clue when he see one, so he prolly good, too. Unfortunably, when the Grand Jurrier go to the doghouse in the town office to get the bloodhound, he find the dog were on vacation, so he got to do something else. He talk it over with the posse, see what they think, you know, they all scratch they heads for a while before Chief Nylon say HE go a idea, and go running off. Pretty soon he come back with a animal carrier and off they go to the woodsy-type area where the selectmentals disappear. Chief Nylon put the carrier down, open the door, bend over and whisper into it; he hold down a copy of the minute of the notlegal meeting where the selectmentals vote to fire the Municipal Catcatcher so to give the critter inside a good smell of something stinky, and say, “Go gettem!” and off it go, much to the amazableness of all and everyone, on account of it were the Chief’s bob-tail cat, Bob. When someone axt him, what was the deal with the cat, the Chief say, Bob good at catching rats, so he figure Bob would of not had no trouble finding the selectmentals, so the posse follow Bob. By the time we had to of give our copy to the grumpy editor, they was not back, so you will have to wait to find out!