Please do not hesitate to contact me if my office can be of assistance to you on any issue of importance.
Someone poisoned me.
Repeatedly, secretly, deliberately, and over a twenty year period.
Worse, I know who did it, a guy named Chester Stranczek ...
...and why ...
The poison: vinyl chloride, a colorless organic gas known to cause cancer and which is unsafe at any level.
Chester Stranczek was a small town mayor... wait, I'll call him Chester, no, Chet, because though I never met the man personally, I might as well be on a first name basis with him because he personally affected my health with his slimy little plot.
Here's the story. Crestwood Illinois is a small village near Chicago. A staunch Republican, Chet became its mayor in 1969 promising low taxes, continuously posting personal, hokey political messages for the town to read on a changeable sign in front of the hall. Any money saved on spending would be refunded to the townspeople, in person, by a grinning mayor who shook their hands as they came to pick up their money. Seriously, they had to pick it up personally from the mayor in a fantastic public relations ploy.
And they loved it, and him - at least the seniors did. The village and seniors thrived, though his penny pinching ways doomed the village's children to small, barely sustained libraries, schools and play areas. But that didn't matter to Chet, because kids can't vote and don't pay taxes. Read this article someone wrote gushing about Chet. Then read on.
Yep, people loved their Republican mayor, and no one bothered to run against him at re-election time. And Chet continued to take care of the elderly with a miserly nod to the young of the town.
Anyway, Chet discovered a great new way to save money. The water the village was bringing in from Lake Michigan was a bit pricy, so why not supplement the water with water from an old well that had been closed down by the EPA due to its unsafe drinking water? Who'd notice, huh? The well had been contaminated by vinyl chloride leached into its system from an old dry-cleaning operation. I mean, sure, the water wasn't safe, but it was free. And if they noticed, so what, they were saving money, right?
So Chet started feeding this contaminated water into Crestwood's drinking water, saving the citizens hundreds of dollars in water bills. And no, he didn't tell anyone, and they trusted him, because after all, he was Chester, their wonderful mayor. This went on for twenty years.
People started getting sick. Bad stuff. Cancers, leukemia, nasty stuff. And as the numbers of people with cancer starting reaching alarming levels, the EPA took notice, investigated, and discovered Chet's little plot.
Of course, by the time they discovered this, Chet had already gone off to Florida to enjoy his retirement, having handled the reins to his son who was mayor now. So the son was run out of town, the well closed and sealed and Chet's off drinking pina coladas in Florida while I, who drank eighty cups of Crestwood contaminated coffee every day, examine my bald spot to try and determine if my hair loss is genetic or something that vinyl chloride had a hand in.
See, the moral of this story is we need the Environmental Protection Agency. I know a certain party is doing its best to convince people we don't need 'Big Government,' but for me, I need to know there's someone out there watching over the Chets of the world. The ones who will knowingly poison someone for a buck.
I don't trust corporations to take care of their own emissions. I believe the polar bears are swimming where there used to be ice. I don't trust Big Oil to drill responsibly in a a manner that won't wipe out wildlife. I don't trust politicians who take money and then vote the way they are paid. I want regulators watching Wall Street. See what happened to our economy when regulations were relaxed? We crashed. They're trying to put their greedy little paws into our retirement income now. They aren't trying to save us anything, they just want to siphon billions in fees and administrative costs off the top.
But that's another story.
In the meantime, I'll keep checking out my stool samples for signs of blood.
Oh, and Chet? Enjoy your retirement, you SOB.