This week during yet another online firestorm about a country singer, Bart O’Toole, a Pasco resident and self-proclaimed “common sense enthusiast”, took time away from fishing in a retention pond to defend his hero in a Facebook spat. The subject of debate? One ginger wildebeest named Oliver Anthony who had yodeled a meandering melody from amidst the trees about how he didn’t much like politicians. A sentiment he was shocked to learn many people shared.
Just this week, Anthony, the man we’re all assured was not simply created in a lab by laying an acoustic guitar with a Gadsden flag bumper sticker on top of a red Brillo pad and cursing it with an inexplicable career, canceled a show in Knoxville, Tennessee.
The stated reason for the cancellation was that the $120,000 fee requested by his friend, an entertainment expert by night and full-time plumber by day, would require tickets to not somehow basically be free. Having never attempted to multiply numbers together because that’s some “big city voodoo BS”, Anthony took to social media to blame the company and let people know he’d instead be doing his anti-government single and some other songs no one gives a shit about at the Knoxville Convention Center, a government building paid for with taxpayer dollars.
Despite not being able to identify Knoxville or even Tennessee on a map within 3 attempts, O’Toole took to the internet to defend his champion for standing by his principles.
It didn’t take long for O’Toole to scroll to a post by Cathy Gruenberg, a woman whose oil he changed once in an attempt to “get some ass”, where she lightly joked about how Anthony was hypocritical. After typing out one 1,600 word block of text full of typos blaming everyone but the man who canceled the show, O’Toole noticed himself changing.
Where once he had hands, he now had bricks and mortar. His eyes became windows, and his insides became tents, kayaks, and hunting rifles. His head burst through the roof of his rented villa, retaining only the mirrored Oakleys attached to a nylon string. It wasn’t long before O’Toole had transformed fully into a functional Bass Pro Shop.
“Honestly, this is just the shot in the arm this neighborhood needed,” said Nicky “Spits” Ernst, as he passed a Camel Crush to his 8 year old daughter in her oversized stroller. “And it dang sure weren’t gonna happen without that crimson Jesus what come from Virginia to rally behind.”
It remains to be seen whether the county will allow for this new business to operate in a residential zone. But Ernst said, “That’s just like them Washington elites what’s in Pasco, trying to tell us we can’t buy bait from inside our neighbor. Look, if that old boy got some nightcrawlers up in his lungs, I’ll throw an 8 spot on the counter and walk out with a cooler of ‘em.”
When asked what “an 8 spot” was, Ernst pulled out his homemade currency, printed on the back of CVS receipts with Crayola crayons and mouse blood.