By Ashley Toland Editor

Editor’s Note: I awoke in a cold sweat the other night after having a terrible nightmare about what I guess was the Mobile City Council’s Christmas party. As dreams go, I think I was merging things that typically happen at the Lagniappe holiday soirée with what I guess my subconscious imagines the city council’s shindig would be like. For whatever reason it was at Veet’s and there was a lot of heavy drinking going on. Yeah, it’s more like the Lagniappe party.

“Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas” said a Santa-suit clad Fred Richardson as he siddled up to the bar at Veet’s. “Give me another round of Jagermeister for my fellow councilpersons here.”

“Fred, are you sure? This will make the fifth one,” the always-lovelyVeet’s bartenderess Gina Previto questioned. “Your council attorney, what’s his name, um, um, Jim Rossler looks like he’s going to puke.”

“Oh, J-Ro is fine,” Freddie D assured. “He may throw up, but like I always say, ‘that’s just making room for more’ Woo-hooooo!”

“OK, then. Here you go,” Miss Previto said with trepidation as she handed over enough shots for all the councilpeeps and the mayor and his executive staff.

OK, Who’s ready to play some Dirty Santa?” chief of staff Al Stokes asked.

“Let’s do it,” said Clinton Johnson, imitating Ton Loc.

“OK. Everybody knows how this works,” Al said. You all brought a wrapped present and you can either keep it or steal one from someone else, but a present can only be stolen three times. Who drew number one?”

Connie stood up and headed toward the gift table, giving a piece of legal paper with the number one scribbled on it to Al. She looked over the mound of presents and surprisingly chose one wrapped in a green Hefty bag with red bows stuck on it. She tore into it and pulled out a piece of paper.

“What is it? What is it?” asked fellow councilchick Gina Gregory.

“It’s the new litter ordinance,” Connie said with a half smile. She was happy to have the new ordinance, but she really was hoping for something else.

“That was my idea, Connie poo! Woo hoo!” screamed Mayor Jones. “You like it baby girl?”

“Oh it’s great,” Connie said in a mom-getting-a-vacuum-cleaner-kind-of-tone.

“Well what does it say?” a drunken patron asked.

“Basically it just says that now if you litter or keep your yard full of junk you will be fined a minimum of $250. In more severe cases, you can be fined up to $500 or even be sentenced to up to six months in jail.”

Next it was Fred’s turn. “I’m stealing this litter ordinance from you, Connie. You know I hate blight. It just ain’t right.”

“Connie, you get to pick again,” Al instructed.

This time she chose a package wrapped in old newspapers. She opened it up and said with great sincerity “Hell yeah. This is exactly what I wanted.”

“What is it?” asked city clerk Glenda Morgan.

“Oh, Just a regional senior center, complete with a pool and fitness room.”

“You chose your own present didn’t you. You can’t do that!” William Carroll screamed.

“Actually you can, though it’s a little tacky,’ Al clarified. “But you’re up next, Mr. Carroll.”

The council jock went and snatched the senior center from Connie, popping her on her butt with a towel, while saying “I think this would be better as the East Mobile Regional Senior Center anyway.”

“Give me that back, William. You already have the Mary Abbie Berg Senior Center in your district, butt wipe.”

“Yeah. Well maybe I want a bigger one with a pool. It’s mine, sister,” Carroll taunted.

“No fair!” Connie sulked.

“You get to pick again, Ms. Hudson,” Al reminded.

The councilwoman grabbed a gift in a huff. When she opened it up she did a little dance and said, “Well, well, well, look what I have here. I’ve been wanting a land bank.”

“That’s my land bank, damnit. That was tabled at the meeting last week. It’s not even supposed to be up there yet,” William scowled.

“I love my new land bank, William,” Hudson sneered. “It’ s going to be so great for the city to be able to seize these derelict properties that have tons of liens on them and are all overgrown with weeds and be able to sell them or build affordable homes on the property. I can’t wait.”

“I want my land bank!” William cried like a baby.

“Well I want my senior center,” Connie countered.

“Why don’t you two just trade,” Al suggested.

“That sounds good to me,” William said.

“Sure, babe. Let’s do another shot to seal the deal, Willie C,” Hudson suggested.

“You’re speaking my language, Connie Poo,” William said as he ordered two shots of Cuervo.

“OK. So Fred, Connie and William have presents. That leaves Clinton, Gina and Reggie. Reggie’s up. Where is he?” Al asked.

“He’s playing with the Family Jewels,” councilwoman Gregory offered.

“He’s doing what!? This is not that kind of party,” Al said in shock.

“No, Al. He’s playing with Doug Previto and the Family Jewels – the band.”

“Wheew, that’s a relief. I didn’t know Reggie could play the guitar.”

“He can’t. We’re just all in Ashley’s dream,” Gina reminded.

“Oh yeah.”

After Reggie finished helping Doug and the rest of the Jewels finish singing their classic, “Tugging on my Johnson,” he made his way to the gift table.

“This is really something special,” he said holding up the Reggie Copeland Mobile Sports Museum.

” I didn’t know that was in the works,” Gina Gregory said.

“It’s not, that I know of, but don’t you think Reggie should get that when he leaves office,” I said.

“Ashley, I didn’t know you were here.”

“Oh, I just got here. Remember this is my dream. I think it’s your turn, Gina.”

Gina went up to the table and grabbed a nicely wrapped box, hoping it could be money for Municipal Park or funds for more Habitat for Humanity homes in Hillsdale.

“Oh great. It’s a singing Billy Bass Mouth plaque. Great,” she said with a fake laugh.

“Hahahaha. I brought that. I got it as a Dirty Santa present a few years ago. I’ve been waiting to regift it,” Clinton Johnson said. “And I do believe it’s my turn.”

Clinton grabbed the last present on the table and said, “this better be good.”

He opened it up and began sobbing. “Who did this? This is a Christmas miracle. Almost as special as a virgin birth.”

“What is it, Clint?” I asked.

“A new back pillow for my council meeting chair,” he said as tears streamed down his face.

A choir of angels then came and sang “Allelujah-Allelujah!” Then me, Santa Claus, Jesus (adult, not baby), Mayor Jones and city clerks Glenda Morgan and Lisa Lambert spent the rest of the evening doing the electric slide. Oh, and then J-Ro puked.

Ashley Toland is Lagniappe editor. Contact her at ashleytoland@lagniappemobile.com.

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