Atlantis City Senators statement

“We, the hard-working Senators of Atlantis City, along with the Acting Admiral, would like to thank the Auditor for his recent visit. We apologize for some of the remarks which, upon reflection, may have been inappropriate. We never meant to question your manhood, and/or motivating factors. We realize you have a job to do, and would like to express our deep regret over ‘the incident.’
“Also, we are doing our best to find those missing ledgers. We’ve been having some internal problems, and it’s possible that an intern who no longer works here inadvertently shredded them.”

SandBox Killer at large

Atlantis City police are on the lookout tonight for the so-called “SandBox Killer.” According to a police spokesperson, the SBK is “armed with choking devices and should be considered extremely dangerous. And rude.”

Occupie A.C.: The end?

In a pre-dawn raid, Atlantic City Police used the element of surprise in thick fog as they tore down tents, pepper sprayed and Tazed ‘demonstrators’ and threw backpacks, blankets, clothing items etc. into a giant bonfire, raiding and destroying the ‘Occupie Atlantis City’ movement.

Or so they thought . . .

“We’re totally shocked – and since we were Tazed, I mean that literally!” howled Angelo Barbee, owner of Sleepy Time Senior Campground.

Occupie Atlantis City

The floating City Hall (dubbed “City Hull”) of Atlantis City was once a floating bar, low-rent motel and gentleman’s club (to stretch a euphemism until it’s just about to break). Luigi Marscapone, a local cook,  Danny “The Claw” Pincer, a local crab fisherman, and Billy “The Conductor” Ionne, an electrician, apparently didn’t get the memo.

On the first night of August, all three ended up in front of their ol’ watering hole,  sleeping bags slung over shoulders (the owners of the old floating motel were not generous with blankets); they arrived within 20 minutes of each other, and each could only stare in a mixture of bemusement and disgust at the “City Hall’ sign.

“Why would throw water in boiling oil like this?” pondered Luigi.

“We’re sunk,” groaned Danny.

“I’m shocked,” was all Billy could say. “Just shocked . . .”

Mr. A.C. and Occupy Atlantis City mishap

Atlantis City briefly was in the news around the country, with a photo of an elderly woman who was reportedly pepper-sprayed by police at the Occupy Atlantis City event. The story quickly became dubious, when Atlantis City Police Chief Will Toxin insisted “we don’t even have pepper spray” (which proved to be true, as the money budgeted for “supplies” was spent at the annual Police Party). So what was it, and who did it?

The story became murkier, as the identity of the woman was released: Tamara Tapshoe, a.k.a. “Mrs. Atlantis City.” The former silent movie chorus girl is the

Excerpt: The Ambulance Rally

From Atlantis City II: Death in the Dunes

The latest local drama to hit Atlantis City: The Great Ambulance Debate.

The Admiral and the Senators wanted three more ambulances, but the General Budget was tapped out.

The idea they struck on: A vote, with Locals agreeing to pay a percentage of their property values to fund the new ambulances. The Editor was trying to go right down the middle on this one, but even he had to admit, it was pretty sad, to have that great big fantastic multi-million dollar Fire Station, with the crew driving around in converted hearses.

Atlantis City II excerpt: Revenge of the deer

Snow Trap

Four or five times a year, Atlantis Citians awoke to a layer of snow, which made all beautiful. The little old sad motels suddenly looked like chalets. The clam huts became cute little igloos. And the big modern houses now were castles in the white.

The rule: when it’s clear, it’s cold. After the snow would dump down, the punishing black clouds would blow away, and the push-down sky was suddenly limitless.

Even the grumpiest of old-timers suddenly had a bounce in their limps. Oh, they still complained about it: “Gawd, it’s cold!” and “Almost slipped into a ditch!” But there was a glow about them, they couldn’t hide it, as the sun and moon radiated off the extreme whiteness and puffed up their chests. They took care of their kind, visiting their mates they knew were sick or depressed or too broke to buy food, just making sure they were ok, and, if not, tidying things up and burying them.

The snow brought out the best in Atlantis City. And the worst.

The Poachers, slinking around like meth-fueled coyotes, came out of their little windowless cement cabins and tattered trailers, looking for meat.

Obama visits A.C.

In hasty press conference, announces plans for federal stimulus funds to be used for Atlantis City (which he alternately called “Atlantic City” and “Atlanta City”) parking meters, before being whisked away on Air Force One Helicopter. The President did spend 7 minutes and 43 seconds on Atlantis City soil, which is believed to be a record. (Although no one is quite sure what the record is.)

“Endless Recession” special

In honor of the never-ending Recession, Atlantis City II: Death in the Dunes, the comic adventures of life in a twisted little beach town, is available at Flying Cats for just $9.99.  Also at  amazon ($14.95). Download for $3.99 at lulu.com. Atlantis City, the first book, is also available at amazon, with downloads at lulu.

“Just plutonic” with Miss Atlantis City, insists Mr. A.C.

When last we left Mr. Atlantis City, he was at the Hole World’s Best Pub & Grill & Bar & Tavern. Having completed a karaoke version of “There He Is, Mr. Atlantis City!” (over “There She Is, Miss America!”), M.A.C. was wooing the wealthy widow Eunice Buttercrabb. We pick up the action with:

. . . Mr. A.C. had dropped to one knee, taking Mrs. Buttercrabb’s right hand in his right, with his left hand on her walker for balance. “Eunice,” he said softly, “there’s been something I’ve been burning to ask you . . .”

“Pump the brakes, pudge,” the widow Buttercrabb snapped; M.A.C. reflexively sucked in his gut, wounded by the well-placed blow and cursing himself for all those midnight snacks. “There’s not going to be any taking it to the next level you’ve been hinting at, what with all these rumors about you and you-know-who.”

“Who?” demanded Mr. A.C., shifting his weight around to relieve his aching knee, and feeling his silk jumpsuit sticking to the beer-stained floor.

Mrs. Buttercrabb let out a knowing sniff and snapped her head away from him. “I don’t even want to say that little tramp’s name.  All I’ll say is she dresses like a hooker from a Baretta re-run and claims some title but the only contest she ever entered was the karaoke slam right here at the Hole, and she came in dead last! And to think you’d take up with that little strip-club Lolita.”