Members Funny Pictures 2 in 2023

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I asked ChatGPT to write a humorous short story in the style of Mark Twain...
Here it is:


Now, it ain’t every day a man wakes up to find his mule elected mayor, but that’s precisely what happened in Calico Bend in the spring of ’83—an event so peculiar it made the corn stop growin’ for a week out of pure confusion.

Our town was small enough to misplace. You could walk clean through it without ever losin’ your stride or your bad opinion of it. We had two saloons, three churches, and one man named Chester Frobish who ran all of ‘em, depending on whether it was Sunday or payday.

Now, the trouble started when Mayor Doodlebee choked on a peach pit mid-speech. He was goin’ on about paving Main Street with actual road, a radical idea at the time. Folks said it was the excitement that got him, but personally I think it was just the peach tryin’ to do the Lord’s work.

So we needed a new mayor. But as fate would have it, all our respectable candidates were either in jail, under investigation, or hiding from their wives. That left us with Slim Pickens (not the actor—ours was mostly spleen and suspicion) and one ornery mule named Jefferson.

Jefferson belonged to Widow Hattie Blunderfield, who swore the mule could read, write, and once filed his own taxes. She wore a bonnet made of newspaper and believed President Grant was a figment of the liberal imagination.

Now, most folks took it as a joke when Hattie wrote in Jefferson's name on the ballot. What we didn’t account for was three barrels of moonshine, a broken abacus, and the fact that Slim Pickens was deeply, cosmically unpopular.

When the votes were tallied (by which I mean shouted across the general store), Jefferson won by a landslide—a term here meaning six votes to one, with one vote mysteriously cast for "butter."

The mule took to office with all the grace and dignity of a sack of potatoes being dragged uphill. He refused to sign anything, mostly on account of not having thumbs, but his approval ratings soared. Folks said it was the best government we’d had in years.

He lowered taxes by not knowing what taxes were, fixed the potholes by falling into them, and banned Mondays altogether (though that may’ve just been a coincidence with a barn fire and some paperwork getting eaten).

The high point of Jefferson’s term came when a traveling politician came through town promising to bring the railroad. The mule kicked him clean into the river, and he floated all the way to Arkansas. The town held a parade in Jefferson’s honor and declared him Mayor for Life, or until oats ran out.

Eventually, he retired to a peaceful life chewing fence posts and ignoring the town budget. Slim Pickens moved to Kansas to become a professional conspiracy theorist, and Widow Hattie became the town historian, despite being allergic to facts.

And that, dear reader, is the story of how a mule did a better job governing than any man before or since—a truth that ought to make us all a little nervous come next election.
 
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