“We gonna have us a vote.”
Sammy’s bullhorn tones split the air.
“What we gonna vote about?”
“We gonna elect us a leader.”
“But ain’t you him?”
“I is, but I ain’t been democratically elected.”
“Oh…”
“We needs another candidate. Who’s gonna stand agin me?”
Sammy’s Glock discouraged pretension so nobody came forward.
Then Hoppy’s grandmother’s billy goat got nominated.
Being as how most people couldn’t read, a vote was a pebble in a bucket. White for Sammy. Black for the goat.
Somebody must have misunderstood. Badly.
The Slashers’ new leader had yellow eyes and made Sammy look kinda nice.
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