DJ TownA P&M Fanfic by Virgil(with apologies to DJ and Paul
)
Once upon an evening clear, beneath the summer's heat,
a mighty gale and tempest rose to sweep me off my feet,
I sailed for days upon the wind and when at last set down,
t'was before a wooden sign: "Beyond lies DJ Town."
The sign went on: "A magic town, though not with gnome or elf.
The only town where 'self-rely' means on
another's self.
A town where freedom means 'to work', and 'working' means 'enslaved'
...but not if men are paid in cats
...unless those cats are shaved.
"At any rate," the sign declared, "relax and come on down.
We're sure you'll have a splendid time while touring DJ Town."
And so with nothing else to do, into that town I trode,
and gazed upon the busts of Kant that lined the dusty road.
I came across an idle man, his stature bent and stout,
and asked him, "Sir, if I may ask, who's leader hereabout?"
"That's the mayor," he grunted back, "a tyrant through and through.
I'd mind my words and not complain and smile if I were you.
Say nothing ill of 'liberals', and here's how they're defined:
they're any men who seek new rights... unless the major minds,
hence drugs are in and NAMBLA's out; I'm hoping you're not dense,
since many fools just scratch their heads and say 'That makes no sense.'"
"The man sounds awfully tough," I said, "can you not vote him out?"
"Of course we can," the peasant laughed, "that power's
ours no doubt.
We never have, for all of time, nor will we ever rise,
but to
think we might someday, that's where our power lies."
"Forgive me, sir," I told him then, "that sounds a tad insane."
"Another fool," he shook his head, "Complain, complain, COMPLAIN!
I'll tell you what, you simple man, since dreaming's not for you,
pack your bags and board a plane and settle somewhere new.
"Or you could stay in DJ Town and live as though you're free."
"I can't do that," I sighed aloud, "Big men will come for me.
They'll wave their guns and cite the law and make me pay my share.
I have no choice. No place is safe. It doesn't matter where."
"What balderdash!" the peasant laughed, "That isn't how it's done.
To think," he scoffed, "in DJ Town, being threatened with a gun!
No, my friend, though we pay tax, if you decide to shirk,
you'll still be free, I give my word; here's how our system works:
"They'll ask you first, then threats come next; they'll say you're not exempt,
then summon you to court post haste, then find you in contempt,
then beat you, cuff you, sentence you, and lock you up to rot.
Did I say 'guns' in all of that? You see that I did not!"
"All the same," I bit my lip, "perhaps I'll look abroad.
Is there a place you know of that might diff'rently be lawed?"
"Of course," he said, "there's Deejayda, just over yonder bluffs,
they'll beat you there quite differently, and
after donning cuffs.
And Dijon Ville, that has no tax, they call it "taxe" instead,
And Dejaystan, that has no jails, the cops just shoot you dead.
And Dejiraq, and Deutchjayland, so ob'viously you see:
there's nothing but a world of choice for men who would be free."
"I see," I said, my spirits low, and gave the man a frown,
"Perhaps returning home is best. I'm leaving DJ Town."
"Impossible," my new friend sighed, "for no one can depart."
But then I saw his eyes shut tight and open with a start.
"There is a way," he told me then, "the mayor used to use.
It has to do with several sites that all report the news.
He claims there's six; there's ninety-one. I once peeked at his list:
the names of sites that publish news he'd rather not exist.
"At any rate, this trick of his is easy to surmise:
anything these news sites claim must doubtlessly be lies.
Hence think of what the sites might be, and choose one of renown,
and with this trick the mayor made, perhaps you'll leave our town."
And so I thought, then cleared my throat, then crossed my eyes for luck,
and shouted out with all my might, "Brietbart says I'm stuck!"
And sure enough that gale returned amid a boist'rous thrum,
and swept me off my feet again to bring whence I'd come.
I waved goodbye as I sailed off, and dared once more look down,
and saw a second sign fly by: "Now leaving DJ Town."
Again I soared for many days, the dark clouds billo'ed round,
but fin'ly from the skies I fell and set upon the ground.
The air was damp and chilly now, the seas a roiling black,
before me stood stood a monolith and chiseled marble plaque,
I hugged myself and shivered then, quite sure I wasn't home,
I scanned the plaque and found its words. The first was "Paul-o-drome".
