A nasty turn in the Gubernatorial race

Black Dog McFarland

Rye Police are investigating a number of strange incidents which allegedly center around Herona Bittern, gubernatorial candidate for the Mowaspoe party and founder of FOBB [friends of biting bugs].

On the Saturday before Labor Day, pictures of Ms. Bittern holding a fly swatter were placed in several strategic locations around town. Under the picture was scrawled in crude handwriting: ”HYPOCRITE”

These pictures were found in such diverse locations as the library, the town hall, the rest rooms at the state beach, and the bulletin board at the Carriage House Restaurant. One was even found in a cemetery in New Castle. Police say they have an intensive investigation of this incident underway but as of now there are no known suspects. They do admit, however, that anyone proficient in the use of Adobe Photosmart could be considered a person of interest.

Only three days earlier, Ms. Bittern was the recipient of some possible hate mail. She received a package which when opened revealed a hand sewn replica of a mosquito with a screw driven through its body. The word “HYPOCRITE” was crudely scribbled on the underside of the box which contained the mosquito.

September 9 marked another odd event. Hundreds of dead insects were found dumped in a pile on the steps of the library. According to the person who found them, Ms. Irma Manic, the only item which accompanied the pile of dead insects was the word “HYPOCRITE” which had been scrawled in chalk beneath the decomposing bodies.
Police are investigating all three incidents and attempting to find common ground among them. According to Chief Kevin Walsh, the pile of dead insects has been turned over to a forensic lab with the intent of finding out the cause and time of their demise. The chief pledged to bring the investigation to a successful conclusion since, as he put it, what has seemingly begun as harmless pranks has the potential to somehow turn into violence.

Recently Ms. Bittern accepted your reporter’s invitation to meet at Rye Reflections' plush offices for an in-person interview.

Rye Reflections: Ms. Bittern, you seem to be at the center of attention in the Seacoast area. We have learned of three separate incidents in the last few days which are rather provocative in nature. Are you worried about your well-being?”

Ms. Bittern: “Not in the slightest. Anyone wants to tangle with me, they’ll find out what kind of trouble I can bring on.”

Rye Reflections: “Do you think your aggressive campaign tactics have made enemies in the community?”

Ms. Bittern: “Damn right they have, and that’s just the way it should be. People don’t want no mamby pamby governor. They want someone who will stick to their guns, who will speak their mind, who will walk the walk and talk the talk, who will call a spade a spade, so to speak.”

Rye Reflections: “Wow! That’s a mouthful. Don’t you think that calling one of your opponents a “woose” was going a bit too far?”

Ms. Bittern: “Now, see, you’ve picked up on me just when I developed a soft spot. The term “woose” is far and away too gentle a term to describe my not-so-worthy opponent who resides on the wrong side of the right issues.  Wait, perhaps that sentence should read that he resides on the right side of the wrong issues.

Rye Reflections: “Have it your way, would you like to try it again?”

Ms. Bittern: “Yes, let’s just say that my opponent is on the wrong side of the wrong issues.”
Rye Reflections: “We understand that the police have concluded that in all the incidents of the last few days there was a common thread. In each case the word “HYPOCRITE” was found at the scene. Is there any truth to the idea that your support of bugs, and of underdogs of all kinds, is mere political posturing? Is it possible that you are a closet bug crusher?”

Ms. Bittern’s face contorted into a terrible grimace, her nostrils flared, and her eyes glared at your reporter. “Are you accusing me of being two-faced?” She lept from her overstuffed easy chair and headed for the door.

Rye Reflections: “Ms. Bittern, Ms. Bittern, come back!”

Her pace never slowed, and the slamming of the door reverberated throughout the building. A Rye Reflections' journalism award, jarred by the slamming of the door, fell from its position on the oak mantle and crashed to the floor. And then there was silence.

(To be continued at a later date.)

In a parallel universe, September, 2009