Residents of Smithereens sick of all the debris
Posted by oldancestor on August 22, 2010
“Where’s our telethon?” – Pinky Middleton, angry resident
By Eric J Baker
SMITHEREENS, IDAHO – Mary Jane Trouserpocket is like a lot of Americans. She lives in a ranch house in a small suburb. She drives a Honda. She has a husband and a crystal meth habit.
Unlike the rest of us, though, she has to live in constant fear of exploded debris falling on her head.
Mary Jane lives in Smithereens, Idaho, the destination of most ash and shrapnel produced by America’s biggest, least-expected explosions. She, like other residents of the town, has been forced to set up a canopy over her house and pay a local landscaping company to remove the gray powder from her driveway and yard once a week.
“It’s bad enough that the dusty bits get in my clothes,” she says, “but we’ve had some pretty big chunks come down. The people across the street lost two cars this year to falling metal. The insurance company won’t pay.”
After pausing to wipe away tears, Mary Jane adds, “We moved here from Timbuktu to get away from these kinds of problems.”
Scientists studying the phenomenon are at a loss to explain why so much detritus ends up in the town and surrounding hills. Steven Offal, a geologist from Detroit University Online, has been taking core samples for the past two weeks in the hopes of accomplishing something.
“These core samples are useless, as far as I can tell,” he says. “I have this cool core sampler thingamajig that the university paid a lot of money for, so I might as well use it.”
Offal is confident of one thing, however.
“There is going to be a massive explosion somewhere, and it is imminent. This town MUST be evacuated!”
Nonsense, says David Dross, the mayor of Smithereens and owner of the local saw mill. “The annual town fair is this weekend. Everyone is going to be there, and I will not cancel it. In fact, I’m going to have the sheriff, who’s also my brother, run that geologist out of town. Imagine, these fancy city folk coming in here and telling us how to manage our affairs.”
Will everyone in town really be at the fair? Don’t expect to see Mary Jane Trouserpocket there.
“I don’t want to be standing there eating cotton candy in the middle of a big, old field when all that flotsam comes raining down. I’m packing up the Honda tonight and clearing out.”
But where will she go? The nearest town, All Recognition, is 40 miles away, close enough to be considered the edge of the debris zone.
“No,” she says, “there’s another town beyond All Recognition. It’s called Burnt.”
Indeed, the people of Burnt seldom experience the bizarre phenomenon that regularly afflicts their neighbors in Smithereens, but records do show an inordinate amount of intense fires.
“I’ll take my chances,” says Mary Jane, as she loads two lidless, five-gallon containers of gasoline into the cargo area of her CRV and lights a cigarette. “I just don’t want run out of gas as I flee the falling debris.”