Friends For Fullerton's Future

They're baaaack!

Well, you didn’t think they could do it, did you? Well we didn’t either. But the boys in the White Van overcame their three-month peyote and grapefruit juice-induced haze and picked up an audio recording of a conversation that  we think you will enjoy. It seems that one night a few weeks ago they were parked in the neighborhood of the brick veenered and mansarded ranch house of Col. F. Dick Jones, USAF(Ret.), MD.

The transcription from the audio recording that you are about to read is so true to life that you might almost accept it as something that really happened.

(sound of a telephone ringing)

Dick Jones: Hella, this here’s Dick Jones. Doctah Dick Jones.

Dick Ackerman: (grunting noises) Dick, Dick. I got Ellis with me.

Jones: (wheezing noises) Dick Dick? What the Hell you talkin’ ’bout boy? What the Hell’s Elliswithme? Ah say, speak up, boy!

Ackerman: It’s Ackerman and Ellis. We’re running the campaign against Bushala. Protect Fullerton, remember?

Dave Ellis: Hi, Dick. Dick. Just got the check. Thanks a bundle.

Jones: Dick Dick? Aw, coll-sarn it y’all r’ a-startin’ that agin’. Whatcha boys talkin’ ’bout?

Ackerman: (more indecipherable short guttural sounds) Okay, shut up. Who else is there?

Jones: Me ‘n Don and Pat. We been a-waitin’ on yer call.

Ackerman: Okay. We on speaker? Good (three more staccato grunts). Everything’s going great. Got Bushala and those high school doper drop-outs on the run. Heh heh. Dave, give ‘em an update.

Ellis: (a distinct sound of ice cubes rattling in a cocktail glass followed by a loud slurping sound. Karaoke in background ) Recission cards are pouring in – thousands, hundreds,  millions of ‘em. Our mailers are working great. Worth every penny. Bieber’s the best. Haha. Bushala slum lord, Bushala jailbird. Hahaha. Bushala dope-head. This is like taking candy from a baby. Hey, that sounds like fun, too! Haha.

Don Bankhead: (muffled sounds followed by a few snorts) Quite frankly…(indecipherable sounds that appear to be snoring).

Jones: Hey Pat, a-jiggle joggle that boy awake fer me, will ya? ‘Tamnation ah wish’d ah’d just a-quit. That damn Royce.

Ackerman: (a loud bark followed by a protracted low snarl) Goddamit stay focused. We got ‘em on the run. The people of Fullerton know their city’s not for sale. This is my city.

Jones: It ain’t fer sale? But we’s open fer bidness! Ye-haw!

Pat McKinley: Pat here, Dick. I’m ready to deploy. Just give me some nun-chucks and some tear gas. Tasers. They enjoy pain. My boys’ll do anything for me. Did I mention that somebody punctured my Kevlar® gas tank? Freaks and hippies. Terrorists. She Bear, oh yeah!

Ackerman: Jesus Christ, you’re all nuts.

Jones: (a phlegmy wheeze followed by a disctinct sound of expectoration)  Ah’m a doctah ‘n a kernel. I ain’t a-gonna stand fo’ no mo’ ana-key. Ah’m a fomah Mayuh!

Ellis: We need more money for the next mailing.

Jones: Whuzza? How much we in fer so fah?

Ackerman: Um, er, Dave?

Ellis: About fifty-five.

McKinley: Fifty-five hundred? That’s not bad. I make three times that each month for my pension! Not counting my She Bear royalties for all those books I sold at the Chamber.

Ackerman: (a bark) I wish you’d quit reminding people about that stuff you idiot. No. Fifty-five thousand.

Jones: Sweet Blubberin’ Baby Jebus! Oh Gawd, ah think ah’m a-havin’ a conniption!

Ackerman: (an unmistakable snarl) Settle down, Dick. This is about more than just you. If this recall goes through I’m finished in Fullerton. No more kickbacks, no more fake residences.

Jones: Aww Lawdy, ah’m a-comin’ home! Fiddy-five thousand? (A series of choking sounds followed by a low moan). Aw-w-w-w-w-w-w.

Ackerman: Look, we’re in the home stretch. Do you want to lose your jobs or worry about a few grand? Jesus, most of it came from the cops anyway. Let’s talk about Phase Two.

Jones: Mah repa-tay-shun. Tarnation, MuhKinlay, a-joggle jiggle that boy awake agin’. We gotta get hard, n’ tough and  n’ mean!

(muffled noises, coughing and assorted grunts)

Bankhead: Uh, really and truly. Uh. What? What was Phase One, again?

Ackerman: (a grunt) Phase One was where we softened ‘em up with body blows. They’re about ready to quit.

Jones: But they got all them signa’ters anyway. Fiddy-five thousand.

Ackerman: Shut up and listen. Phase Two. Dave?

Ellis: Phase Two is to alert the media that all those signatures are going to be invalidated. We’re gonna need another five thou, give or take. We need another mailer

Jones: Fiddy-five thousand. Aw Lawd ‘a Mercy! What we need another mailer fer?

Ellis: We’re going on the offensive, take ‘em down. Fullerton’s Not For Sale. Bushala the Terrorist. Haha.

McKinley: People keep asking me about the police department and that damn Kelly Thomas video. Jesus, you can’t even blouse up a bum anymore. And that She Bear talk in Brea. Now they keep asking me about Rincon. What do I tell em?

Ackerman: Tell ‘em Bushala keeps chickens in his backyard. Heh, heh. Damn Norby’s behind all this (more low growling).

Jones: Whaddabout that watah fee Hitlah thing?

Ellis: Bushala wants to buy your city!

Bankhead: Things of that nature…(snoring resumes).

Ackerman: Okay, just raise more money. Everybody whose ever got a dime off of Redevelopement chips in. And I mean everybody, got it? Hey, what’s that van doing out there? What the? How long…

At this point the conversation was terminated.