Ivermectin Smith rode into town on her trusty gelding, Shandy. As she rode down Main Street, the yokels left their shacks to ogle.
“What’s the name of this place?” Ivermectin asked.
“Albertaville.”
Ivermectin tied Shandy to the hitching post and gave him an apple. The Albertans were poking around the horse and came away amazed.
“You know this here horse has nary a worm?”
“Follow me, boys, and I’ll teach you why and many another thing.”
The townsfolk followed Ivermectin into the saloon. The barkeep came running. He had a hostile look.
“What’s that thing on your face, stranger?”
“It’s a bandit mask,” said Ivermectin. “I’m planning to drink and dash.”
“You’re darn lucky,” replied the barkeep. “I thought it was a COVID mask and was about to kick you out.”
Ivermectin drained her soda pop and slammed the bottle down.
“You got a sheriff or a mayor in this town?”
“We had both but he left in a snit.”
“How come?”
“He felt underappreciated and demanded a popularity contest. When he barely cleared 51 per cent, he was so insulted he took off.”
“How about I be your sheriff and mayor, then?”
The townsfolk looked at one another and shrugged. “Sure! Thanks!”
Next day, Ivermectin deputized the town—except for the doctor, who was giving out free medical exams. Ivermectin paid him a visit.
“Why don’t you charge, like a normal person?”
“I get paid by the town.”
“Got paid. You’re hereby fired.”
“Guess I’ll have to move to another town.”
Back at the saloon, the yokels looked concerned.
“What do we do if we get sick, Mayor Ivermectin?”
“I can cure most anything myself.”
“How are you at chronic obstructive pulmonary disease?”
“I prescribe Ivermectin for that. Followed by a course of Turkish children’s aspirin.”
“How are you at hemodialysis?”
“Don’t need it. Just Ivermectin followed by a course of Turkish children’s aspirin.”
“Is that how you got your name?”
“I don’t care for your snot and insinuation, sunshine. You’re blocked.”
And that’s how it all came to pass. Within a week, Mayor/Sheriff Ivermectin had blocked every second person in town and had notwithstood the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. She declared Albertaville free and sovereign.
Without a doctor or nurses in town, there was a great deal of illness and death that winter. A few people had the courage to complain.
“Federal government,” she explained. “Justin Trudeau sneaks in at night and puts viruses under your pillows.”
“Federal government,” the Mayor/Sheriff explained. “Justin Trudeau sneaks in at night and puts viruses under your pillows.”
“That low-down varmint!”
“Any other complaints?”
“Our wells are dry. There’s a bad smell. Vegetable prices are sky high. There’s a lot of toothlessness and scurvy.”
“Trudeau,” said Ivermectin, and the locals raged at the nerve of the man.
But one yokel persisted. “Sheriff Ivermectin, the reason for the smell is our outhouses are something terrible.”
Ivermectin removed the golden toothpick from her mouth and said, “Tell you what. I’m going to hire some boys to dig you new holes and move your outhouses.”
“Gee, thanks. But why don’t you pay us?”
“I’m tired of you yokels. I got bigger fish to fry. I’m currying favour with the drillers, ’cause I’m moving on to provincial politics and making it free and sovereign too. Reckon I’ll be king.”
“I thought the province had a premier.”
“They been thinkin’ small. When I’m done, they’ll have a king, and I’ll be her.”
“Won’t that make you a queen?” said one of them.
“Care to say that again, sonny?” she said, and he did not.
A bunch of folks with big rigs came and drilled new outhouse holes. They were paid by the foot, and the holes were very deep.
When the holes were drilled, and the rigs lined up to leave, Ivermectin Smith rode Shandy to the head of the line. “Let’s roll, boys and girls! Edmonton, here we come!”
“Thought we were going to Ottawa.”
“Patience, my friends.”
Fred Stenson’s novels include Who By Fire, The Trade, Lightning and The Great Karoo.
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