This isn’t like my typical writings; this is a continuation of the obviously fictional NostradAmish Cinematic Universe. Enjoy!
***
News of the mighty superhero NostradAmish has spread, in no small part due to his heroic feats. Reporters have flocked to marvel in wonder and amazement at the superhero capable of predicting the moves and habits of bad guys with a shockingly high accuracy rate. In a way, NostradAmish had become something of a celebrity, his bearded face regularly adorning billboards, glossy magazine covers, televised interviews on 60 minutes, social media feeds and the like. The limelight certainly had its perks; hordes of attractive women had thrown themselves at NostradAmish, free meals and lucrative endorsement deals found their way to him as well. There was even talks about a $200 million Marvel movie being made about his life, and given Disney’s recent track record, they could certainly use a highly-marketable new hero.
However, the limelight wasn’t all positive. NostradAmish’s overwhelming presence made him a target for the criminal underworld. Petty street crime and small-scale organized crime in Danielville had fallen to an all-time low, thanks to the facial-haired folk hero. NostradAmish had foiled numerous crimes in progress by showing up to the scene, quickly assessing the situation, and use the habits and tendencies of the future inmates against them. The criminal elements of the city may not have gotten along with each other (after all, no honor among thieves and whatnot), but they all shared one thing in common; their hatred of NostradAmish.
***
It was dusk as the sun had begun to set, the orange hue of the late-evening sun had penetrated the general population halls of a correctional facility located a few hours outside of Danielville. This particular wing of the prison had found itself to be at capacity (and sadly, they weren’t pirates) thanks to the heroics of NostradAmish. It was dinner time, so all of the drains-on-society were sitting, eating their government-provided handouts and conversing when the most ruthless inmate noticed that the local Danielville news was running yet another story on NostradAmish.
The large breasted female reporter wore a short skirt and a low-cut top as she interviewed the peer-less superhero. Ever since the mostly unnecessary waste of tax dollars called the FCC was deeply gutted, she was able to dress a lot spicier, as her network had a different competition model now. She stood intentionally close to the hero as she asked him questions regarding the latest crime that he had just foiled.
“So, NostradAmish, what’s next for you?” she asked as she stared longingly into his eyes, twirling her bleach-blonde hair.
“Well, now that I actually have some accomplishments under my belt and I’m not just some know-nothing pundit, I think I’m going to run for Mayor!” the hero proclaims.
“Mayor? Wow! So, what’s your platform going to be?” the flirtatious reporter asked, giddy that she landed a breaking news story.
“Well first, I’m going to privatize the police force because I keep doing their jobs for them, and they should be subject to market forces” the hairy hero starts “then, sweeping spending cuts across the board!” The hero then takes his gaze off of the eye-candy and looks directly into the lens of the camera “Who’s ready for lower taxes?” Glass explodes everywhere as a shoe collides into the tv screen in the dinner hall of the prison.
The thrower of the shoe, Marshall, yelled out “Who here is sick of NostradAmish?” only to be met with a raging cheer of mass agreement. “Arrogant prick thinks he’s better than everyone else just because he can see what you’re going to do. Fuck him!” Marshall was met again with the cheer of mass approval.
A nasal-voiced inmate piped up “I bet he can’t predict all of us together at the same time! Vladimir’s bots can’t even do that!” the convicted pipsqueak was met with mass cheers.
“You’re onto something!” Marshall acknowledged before proclaiming “That’s it, we are breaking out of this hell hole.” He grabbed his tray and smashed a prison guard in the face; a riot soon broke out after a brief retaliation from the other guards.
***
NostradAmish’s announcement as a mayoral candidate sent shockwaves through the city of Danielville. The high-testosterone hero had overwhelming public support. However, not all were thrilled. Of course, the incumbent mayor seeking re-election lost a few nights of sleep as he fretted over the nearly insurmountable task of having to run against such a beloved icon.
However, he wasn’t the only government bureaucrat that shuttered at the thought of the of a NostradAmish mayorship. Chief Travis Wiggum stood at a podium for a press conference that he had called for. He notified the press that there would be a major announcement, though nobody had any clue as to what it could be. The obese administrator opened the media spectacle by politely thanking the media for showing up and broadcasting the event live (he might as well have thanked a corporate sponsor at that point, for all the TV brownie points he was getting). He then began to read from a prepared statement.
“It has come to our attention that NostradAmish has announced his plans to run for mayor. He has made this announcement based on the premise that he can do our law enforcement jobs better than we can. Many insecure police chiefs would immediately call for the arrest of such a hero, under the guise of stamping out vigilantism. However, I am not going to do that.”
Chief Wiggum continued “Instead, my department will take a different approach. Effective immediately, the Danielville Police Department will be on-strike until NostradAmish recants his statements. Let’s see how effective he truly is. Of course, many of you will have questions. Chief among them is that, yes, the officers will be paid time-and-a-half for their time spent on strike. Oh, and to hell with public safety” a large ruckus among the media ensued as Chief Wiggum finished his address by looking straight into the camera “and to my wife Cheryl, and three kids, I have this to say” before he briefly paused “We’re going to Disney!” Chief Wiggum walks off stage, revealing that he was wearing swim trunks instead of his police trousers the entire time.
***
Richard Brunson was walking towards his car late at night. He had parked in a dimly lit area of the faculty parking lot at Regional University, a powerhouse research school located roughly an hour outside of Danielville. Brunson was an associate professor in the nuclear physics department, which was one of the specialties that Regional U was known for. R.U. had spent the last several decades acting as a feeder school to the nuclear power industry; whether it was technicians, engineers, venture capitalists, and even the guy who invented the backyard nuclear reactor all seemed to come from Regional U.
Brunson had heard of the riot that had broken out at the local prison a few days prior. There was a brief newscast about it, shoehorned in between weather and sports at the back half of the 30-minute segment. He had paid no attention to the story, that’ll never affect me, Brunson thought, they’ll all be caught in the end.
The bigger story was the insecure police chief declaring a police strike. It had been a few days since then, and although crime had taken a noticeable uptick, the situation had been kept pretty much under control, thanks to the heroics of NostradAmish. I sure am glad that I’ll have a long and villain-free life ahead of me Brunson thought as he looked forward to going home.
Brunson dropped his keys onto the ground as he fumbled them in the biting cold air of the night. He squatted down to pick them up, however he felt a cold steel press against the back of his head.
“Sit still, and shut the fuck up” the growling voice behind him ordered.
“Do you want my wallet? Take whatever you want” Brunson offered, clearly willing to exchange the paper bills and near-expiring government IDs in exchange for his life. His offer was met with a pistol whip to the back of the head, rendering him unconscious.
His captor picked him up and replied to the motionless academic; “No, but we’re going for a ride”.
***
Fresh off his break from prison and his kidnapping of Brunson, Marshall and four of his cronies soon armed themselves with guns that fell off the back of a truck. Marshall and his goons soon dragged the professor to the nuclear power plant that powered Danielville. The security guard at the power stations saw the armed gaggle of scumbags and shone a spotlight on them. He then began to radio for backup but was gunned down by Marshall before he could finish his lengthy radio sequence.
The gunshot pierced the quiet sound of the night, which quickly garnered the attention of the facility. Soon, poorly-trained security lackeys swarmed the area, and just as quickly were gunned down by Marshall and his gang of lowlifes. Within minutes, Marshall and his four lackeys had completely taken over the relatively defenseless power station, rendering Brunson and the nuclear power station employees as hostages.
Marshall and his crew had spent the night preparing for an eventual police retaliation that never came. More of Marshall’s cronies descended upon the power station, and they raided every supply closet of the power plant to find whatever weapons they could. Marshall stumbled upon some old firefighting equipment and found his look; a firefighter’s helmet, intended for the 24/7 on-site firefighting team that the plant was mandated to have at all times Marshall donned the hard hat, he had finally arrived.
Morning broke, and a news chopper approached the power station There were no police birds in the air, as those government lackeys were more than happy to be paid to not work; the average taxpayer-funded cop in Danielville was not any more motivated or any smarter than Chief Wiggum. Seeing that the eyes of Danielville were now on him, Marshall made his move.
Marshall got on the site-wide intercom system that was used to quickly warn employees of an impending catastrophe. However, now he was using it to communicate with the news chopper. “Danielville, This is Firehose Marshall. I have taken control of the nuclear power plant, I have all of the employees held hostage, as well as Dr. Richard Brunson, the only man with the know-how of shutting down the reactor, and he is nestled safely away from police protection” Marshall started. “My demand is simple; NostradAmish has 24 hours to show himself to the front entrance of the power plant, or Danielville will suffer the consequences. Firehose Marshall out”. Marshal hung up the headset of the intercom system.
***
It was roughly 9am when NostradAmish first woke up, he yawned and reached for the sky in an attempt to regain his awareness. He felt extra groggy this morning as he had been putting in a lot of overtime lately due to the police strike. But never mind that right now; NostradAmish needed some calories badly.
NostradAmish got to work making his breakfast. As he sat down to eat in the breakfast nook of his kitchen, he flipped on the TV to the local Danielville news. What he saw hit him like a ton of bricks; Firehose Marshall’s hostage situation was the leading story, as was his callout of NostradAmish. The newscast then cut to some local cops who were still on strike. They sat around in a circle, feet up on upside down milkcrates.
The reporter asks the off-duty cops- “With Chief Wiggum on vacation and the strike still on, what do you make of the situation at the power station?”
One cop replied- “Sorry lady, not my shift, not my problem” as he takes a bite out of a strawberry frosted donut. His response garnered some chuckles out of his cohort.
“Well, will there be a police response to Firehose Marshall, given the high threat to public safety?”- the reporter asks
The government bureaucrats erupt with laughter. When they partially regain their senses, one cop replies – “What’s next? Are you going to ask us to confront school shooters too?” the group once again lost their composure due to the sheer amount of belly-laughing as the cops fist bump each other. The screen goes black as NostradAmish shuts off the TV.
If you want something done right, looks like you’ll have to do it yourself thought the bearded hero.
***
NostradAmish walks up to the nuclear power plant outside of the city and approached the front entrance. He had to shoulder his way through a crowd of cameramen and journalists in order to do so; the situation was every station’s top story. He immediately noticed that there was a lowlife standing in the tower, rifle at the ready. NostradAmish used FutureSense to predict that the lackey would not shoot; after all, his boss Firehose Marshall had boisterously announced his current situation to the world. Therefore, having a goon kill NostradAmish would hence rob Firehose Marshall of the big spectacle that he was clearly looking for.
Firehose Marshall eagerly gets on the intercom and starts grandstanding. “Ahh, the mighty NostradAmish has arrived!” he then addresses the guards in the tower. “Come down from the tower and give our guest a proper welcome!”
The scum-of-the-earth climbs down from the watch tower with the rifle strapped to his back. Upon reaching the ground, he shoulders the rifle again and slowly approaches the bearded wonder. FutureSense was still telling NostradAmish that the drain-on-society still wouldn’t pull the trigger; after all, such an ending would be anti-climactic, and that’s not what his boss wanted.
The walking shit-stain got to within arm’s length of the hero before he unshouldered his rifle. Instead, he grabbed the rifle by the barrel and the mid way point, and raised the gun above his head at an angle. FutureSense was going off, NostradAmish knew that the ex-inmate was going to hit him with the butt of the rifle. When the criminal put his force into the attack, NostradAmish slid backwards out of the way, using his front leg to trip the human garbage. In one fluid motion, NostradAmish grabbed the waste-of-biomass by the back of the head and then slammed him face-first into the pavement. The force of the impact rendered the scoundrel unconscious, and was met with the roar of the journalistic audience (because reporters are totally neutral!).
Firehose Marshall picked up the headset “The master of prediction has struck again. I knew that you’d predict his moves”. Firehose Marshall continued “You’re capable of predicting nearly anyone. But see, your strength is also your weakness”.
Firehose Marshall pressed a button and opened a large gate as sirens started blaring. He continued preaching “You can predict any one’s moves, “but let’s see how you great you supposedly are when you get flooded with input data!”. The gate fully opens to reveal a large gaggle of thugs, they all rush out towards the front entrance at once. FutureSense goes haywire, some have baseball bats, some have chains, some have grout wires, and so on.
For the first few moments of the gang-up, NostradAmish held his ground, the guy with the baseball swings and NostradAmish ducks after the transfer of his weight and then kicks his weight-bearing knee inwards. The guy with the chain swings his chain, though FutureSense told NostradAmish to sidestep and let the chain hit a thug behind him. However, no matter how many attacks NostrdAmish would avoid, FutureSense kept going off, there were too many threats that needed to be responded to. Suddenly, blows started landing against the bearded icon. NostradAmish was no longer able to react to the predictions he saw, but had to do enough merely to stay on his feet.
Ultimately, the crowd of criminals was too much for NostradAmish. He was taken to the ground, and several lowlifes started swinging baseball bats, stomping, and kicking NostradAmish. Each blow that landed hurt more than the last. NostradAmish couldn’t fight back anymore. When he went unresponsive, the gang relented. Firehose Marshall picked up the intercom headset once more and maniacally laughed “You just got” before he paused briefly “Firehosed!” as NostradAmish fades into unconsciousness.
***
NostradAmish wakes up, unsure of how much time has passed. He finds himself in a hospital gown, on a flimsy bed and inside a poorly lit room. He sees up in the corner a TV is playing the news. The news anchor begins his segment “It’s now been three days since NostradAmish has fallen. Since then, Firehose Marshall and his cronies have run amok on the city of Danielville, there is no end in sight to the looting, riots and sheer chaos of the city”. Three days?!?!? The bearded Adam Driver thinks to himself I’ve been out for three days?
“Joining me now in studio is Dr. Richard Donuthin, a pundit here to discuss the state of heroes in our modern era. Good morning, Dr. Donuthin” the anchor politely offered. “Now tell us, what does this say about the state of heroic deeds for our society at large, given that NostradAmish was unsuccessful this one time?”
“Pleasure to be here Bob, and long live Firehose Marshall” the obese pundit started. It was clear from his studio makeup, coke-rimmed glasses and callous-free hands that Dr.Donuthin had never foiled a crime before, or hardly exercised, a day in his life. “Well, being a hero is an all-or-nothing endeavor. You’re either completely perfect or you shouldn’t do it at all. One needs to have a fixed mindset in this line of work.” The underachiever continued “NostradAmish is dead, or if that loser is still alive, he might as well be dead. His career will never bounce back from this! Kids, this is what happens when you disappoint your parents”
“Well, that’s all we have time for, thanks for joining us in studio, Dr. Donuthin” the news anchor concludes as the pair exchange pleasantries. NostradAmish turned off the TV and disconnected the IV bag from his arm, there wasn’t a nurse in sight to stop him anyways.
NostradAmish stumbled outside of the hospital to see the Detroit-esque hellscape that his city had become; cars flipped over, dumpsters lit on fire, shops looted. NostradAmish wandered the streets aimlessly, taking scope of the carnage. It was as if all of the citizens had disappeared. He walked past various heinous messages spray-painted on the walls of once-thriving municipal buildings.
Suddenly, FutureSense went off as a criminal lunged at the hero with a sharp knife. NostradAmish pivoted on his back foot as he grabbed the assailant’s wrist. Using the scumbag’s forward momentum, NostradAmish slammed the evil-doer into the brick wall head first, loud enough to create an audible smack before the future inmate fell lifelessly to the ground. Suddenly, the bearded hero had heard voices in the distance.
“Holy shit, that was awesome!” one teenager cried out.
“Hey, you think it’s…him?” the other asked his friend. With his curiosity sufficiently piqued, NostradAmish approached the group of youngsters as he crossed the street. The two teenagers were in utter shock “Holy fuck, it’s him, he’s got the beard and everything!”
NostradAmish didn’t sense any ill-will coming from the young duo. “Do you kids have any idea how unsafe it is outside right now?” The masculine hero begins. “What would’ve happened had I not been there to dispatch that lowlife?” he lectured.
The teenagers, stammered “D-d-dude, uhh, I mean, Mr.NostradAmish, s-sir” as he straightened his posture. “We we’re hoping you’d come back!” he stated as he nervously nodded his head.
The other teen interjected “Y-yeah, in fact, s-since Firehose Marshall and his gang took over the city, we’ve been holed up in an old subway station underground, preparing our plan to take Danielville back!” the teen offered. “You should swing by”.
NostradAmish scanned the two boys; it was a possibility that this was a trap, although if they wanted to end his life, they already had ample opportunity to do so. Some predictors of crime are opportunity, means of committing the crime, and a motive. They obviously had the first two since there was no law enforcement in sight, and they had a recent hospital escapee outnumbered. Yet, they hadn’t acted maliciously.
“Fine, take me to your hideout” NostradAmish agreed. The two teens rejoiced and they guided the wounded hero to their hideout as they zig-zagged through a broken city full of shattered glass, wild dogs, dirty needles and boarded windows. They eventually get to a subway station on the outskirts of the city; the end of the service line. The trio headed underground and into the depth of the abandoned public transit line. What NostradAmish saw amazed him; young men between the ages of 16 and 30, many of them reading books, working out, and playing video games. However, these youths weren’t just lounging around.
One of the teens calls out “YO! The Man is in the house!”. The underground clubhouse slows their activity, almost as if they don’t believe their compadre. “I ain’t playing, NostradAmish is here, motherfuckers!” with a forceful yet pleading tone in his voice. The other young men look up and catch a glimpse of the hero. The hall filled with a symphony of oh shit and it’s actually him as everyone rose to attention.
NostradAmish composed himself for a silent moment before addressing the crowd. “So, what is this? The Official NostradAmish Fan Club or something?”.
One sheepish resistance fighter spoke up “Uhm, actually, yeah. We kinda are”. He gulped his throat before continuing. “We’re all avid readers of espinola.blog”, the young freedom fighter stated.
Another, more boisterous one spoke up “Hell yeah we are! Especially the article NostradAmish Has No Real Powers, and Why That’s a Good Thing. That article is what inspired us to come together and start this group. We are all working on FutureSense!” the young man proclaimed, to a sea of audible hell yeah and fucking right we are affirmations from his cohorts.
NostradAmish was visibly moved. The glitz and glamor had come with the position of being the number one hero in Danielville. Amidst the potential $200 million Marvel movie, the groupies, the merchandise deals, NostradAmish momentarily forgot that he had positively touched the lives of so many during his tenure. NostradAmish found his valor “How about you guys give me a hand; ten days from now, we re-take the city!” The underground crowd erupted in agreement, as if Ray Lewis had just delivered the speech. “All right my FutureSense Fanatics, it’s time to get to work!”.
Over the next ten days, NostradAmish lived in the underground railway station along with the avid followers. In a long blur reminiscent of a training montage (take a hint, future movie producers!), the hero and his rabid fans spent their time practicing some martial arts against dummy weapons and working out. Time not spent working out was spent reading and having deeply practical exams regarding incentives and zero-sum games. Pattern recognition was ruthlessly drilled via playing Kingdom Hearts and Metal Gear Solid. All of this came as they could hear the chaos unfolding on the city streets above them, which served to further motivate the hero and his followers. NostradAmish made sure to catch up on all the pressing news events that occurred during his hospital stay, as well as to strategize carefully.
NostradAmish could see the progress that his crew was making. “We’re ready…we’re ready”.
***
The orange hue of the rising sun had glistened off of the golden dome of Danielville’s City Hall, the dome was seemingly one of the few polished structures remaining in the city. Firehose Marshall walked out onto the steps to admire the broken landscape; the city was his. The news crews, what few who remained, kept a healthy distance from him and his goonies for fear of safety, yet the camera’s kept rolling.
Suddenly, A large 18-wheeler truck approached City Hall, with someone sitting on top of the truck aas it slowly pulled up. Firehose Marshall could barely make out who was clownish enough to sit on top of a moving truck so carelessly, and would be stupid enough to approach his City Hall. As the truck drew nearer and nearer, he made out the figure on top; NostradAmish. He was holding what appeared to be a large blunderbuss pistol in his hand. The truck stopped just short of the staircase. Firehose Marshall saw that it was not a ridiculous gun that he was holding, but rather just a megaphone.
The bearded hero stepped off of the roof of the truck, onto the cabin, then the hood before stepping to the pavement as the driver cut the engine. He spoke into the megaphone “Firehose Marshall, enjoy this sunrise, because it’s the last Danielville will ever see under your reign of terror”.
Firehose Marshall and his cronies started to laugh at the absurdity of that statement. “Looks like someone has forgotten what it was like to” Marshall paused “get firehosed”. His cronies once again start laughing. Marshall turns to his scumbag affiliates “Mount up, boys!”. The lowlifes grab their weapons; chains, baseball bats, ski poles, and whatever else they could get their hands on as they get ready for Round 2.
NostradAmish pulls up the megaphone and barks WE are taking the city back!. Suddenly, the back door of the 18-wheeler opens, and a seemingly endless mass of fired-up young men started to pour out of the truck, all armed with knives, spiked baseball bats, lead pipes and other sort of blunt objects. Before the criminals recognized the situation, the brave freedom fighters had charged up the stairs towards City Hall. They had taken the fight to the escapees.
Admist the chaos, NostradAmish fixated his gaze towards Firehose Marshall. Now that his attention was freed from the requirement of having to predict the actions of those around him, his FutureSense was free to hone in on the mastermind terrorist. NostradAmish ran to his left, as he predicted that Firehose Marshall would run to his right. The bearded hero took a wider angle, thus making it easier to cut inwards towards the side entrance of City Hall; people tend to retreat towards higher ground and secure buildings in times of distress, and NostradAmish was going to exploit that.
As predicted, Marshall ran around the building and frantically turned inside towards the government building. NostradAmish, thanks to his knowledge of angles during chase, caught up to him and tackled him like an NFL linebacker. Firehose Marshall scrambled to his feet and was eager to create some distance as the fear had started to set in. NostradAmish bobbed his head out of the way since he was able to predict the scurried overhand-right that Marshall would throw; it’s the punch that every amateur in a street fight throws. NostradAmish then immediately predicted the next punch, a left hook, as it was the second most common punch thrown by a dude-bro with little experience. Marshall was frustrated that his punches didn’t land. NostradAmish kicked the shit-stain in the upper abdomen hard enough to cause the filthy criminal to buckle.
Firehose Marshall gave up on the hand-to-hand combat and opted to continue running, this time knocking over whatever object that lined the walls of City Hall in an effort to trip up NostradAmish, historical value be damned. NostradAmish saw all of these ploys coming and reacted with perfectly timed hurdling; NostradAmish was no Olympic sprinter, though one didn’t need to be in order to clear a tipped over grandfather clock. NostradAmish again took a wider angle as the convict rounded the corner; he knew that Marshall would run upstairs and run into the mayor’s office.
The 75-IQ lawbreaker behaved exactly as the hero knew he would, and made a bee-line up the stairs, with NostradAmish not far behind. Firehose Marshall ran into the mayor’s office before realizing that he had nowhere left to run. NostradAmish ducked his head in alternating directions, as Firehose Marshall was throwing any random object he could at the hero. NostradAmish walked closer towards the lowlife as this projectile-base assault dragged on. The hero moved his head and forearms in progressively faster intervals; his reaction time didn’t get any faster, he just knew that Marshall would throw objects with more force and higher frequency as the majestic crusader closed the gap. NostradAmish grabbed the wrist of the drain-on-society and kicked his knee, thus rendering him unable to resist the muscular bearded hero’s control.
“Give me the remote” NostradAmish ordered.
“W-what the fuck are you talking about” Firehose Marshall feigned as he tried to play dumb. However, NostradAmish was having none of it, as he smashed the criminal’s forehead into a bookcase.
“The explosive you rigged to the nuclear reactor. It was your trump card.” Firehose Marshall’s eyes widened with utter shock. “Do you think I’m stupid?” NostradAmish barked before continuing. “I knew you’d have a Plan B. Now give me the remote before I take it from you anyways.” After some squirming and pleading to let him go, the facial-haired hero hip threw the societal leech, ensuring that he landed face first with all of his weight onto the floor of the luxurious office. NostadAmish searched the unconscious terrorist’s pockets as he found the remote.
NostradAmish had pulled a small communicator out of his back pocket. He pressed a button and radioed in “Hey, NostradAmish here. Remote is in hand, move in on the professor so he can return the reactor to a safe state.” NostradAmish had sent a small force to the nuclear power plant to take the station back from Firehose Marshall as the ruckus at City Hall was occurring. After a tense few seconds, there was an audible Doctor is secured. NostradAmish looked out the large immaculate window to the situation below; there was hardly any resistance left from Marshall’s cronies. The FutureSense Fanatics had yielded an overwhelming victory!
After receiving an audible all clear here at the station from the power plant, NostradAmish picked up the unconscious terrorist from the floor, and thew him out of the window, the loud smack of his now lifeless body now hitting the pavement clearly sending a message: Danielville was back under the control of law and order.
Epilogue
It had been three months since the takeover, and the city was well on the way to recovery. There were no more boarded-up windows, no more broken glass or overt crime in the street, and Dr. Brunson was reunited with his family. Making good on his original promise; NostradAmish ran for mayor and won in a massive landslide. Dr.Donuthin had even claimed to be a lifelong supporter of NostradAmish.
Two days after he was sworn in as Mayor of Danielville, NostradAmish had signed a new city contract with a private policing corporation. The private policing corporation employees had taken over ordinary patrol duty for the day as Mayor NostradAmish had announced a mandatory all-hands meeting for the original police department. With everyone present, he made the announcement. you’re all fired. Sheer pandemonium broke out cries of what about my bloated taxpayer-funded pension and what about my cushy government job filled the halls as the now-unemployed strikers were given cardboard boxes and twenty minutes to clear their personal belongings out of the building or be charged with trespassing.
NostradAmish smiled; ahh, the private sector!
***
So who will offer me an eight-figure check first; Tim Cook or Bob Iger?
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