This was a fun little romp I had trading off silliness with my good friend Mark formerly of Madison, Wisc, and presently located in Minneapolis??? Don't ask me why, I think he acts out of an attunement to chaos, not any sort of practical decision making process (I'm poking you Mark, don't get mad!). It made me laugh a lot and it ended too soon for me, but that's always my story. (we witness here once again Mark's curious fascination with Millard Fillmore)

City Limits

South Grafton made its mark on history with the Great Plastic Vomit
Factory Explosion of 1904, in which 433 people (including then-mayor
GustavBedelia Buttfersonn) were killed by shards of vomit-like plastic.

A memorial was erected on the spot where the factory once stood. A
large copper fountain in the form of an emu, a bird reknown for its
regurgatory prowess, now tarnished to a sickly green.

Indeed the emu who modeled for that fountain, Otis IV (1924-39), was
quite beloved in South Grafton. He once digested and later regurgitated
a cinder block garnished with a light curry sauce and a parsley sprig. The
whole town rejoiced at the sight of crumbled part-masticated gravel being
forcibly ejected from dear Otis's beak. Indeed, South Grafton's finest
restaurant "L'Emu Froid" (The Cold Emu), still serves an entree based on
Otis's regurgitated cinder block. It is said that this entree -- "L'Blocque
Cindre d'Otis" -- can "destroy your table faster than the waiter counts
his tip."

Yes vomit was a focal point for the folks in South Grafton. They lived
and breathed vomit, the fake plastic stuff, the Emu regurgitate, even
small
white
curdled chunks of infant vomit were known to raise an ecstatic response
when presented in a formation on the dark lapel of then mayor Gustav B.
Buttfersonn

One of the most popular destinations for tourists in South Grafton is
the Buttfersonn Memorial Vomitorium -- a museum dedicated that the town's curious fancy for vomit. Their weekly Bulemia Training Session draws a loyal coterie of gorgeous trainees, and provides a liberal supply of vomit for refueling the vomitorium's tanks. Curator Lucius Peptum Cepacol originated the famous exhibit "Praying to the Porcelain Goddess: Vomit
in History," which effected a paradigm shift among historians throughout
the world. It is said that Millard Fillmore approved the Compromise of
1850 while noisily overcoming a case of the dry heaves. Queen Victoria
once vomited an entire peasant family, later to become a dominant force of
the Sheffield Steel industry. As Queen Victoria later said of them "the peasantry lines our stomach."

Despite South Grafton's apparent international recognition it has never
blossomed beyond a stable population of approximately 14,000. The
inhabitants of South Grafton are fond of their image as being folksy and down to
earth, not beyond belching chunks in public. There are four significant bodies of
water in South Grafton, only one of which is suitable for public use, the
remaining three have been contaminated in the aforementioned plastic vomit explosion.
These three ponds were within spitting distance of the vomit factory and have
never quite recovered from this ecological blow. Any attempt at restoring
them to a more natural state has been met with protest by the locals. Banners
reading
"Let the puke fall where it may" and "Viva la Vomit!" have been spotted
amongst crowds of civic minded residents. Some, the more radical of the bunch,
even chained themselves to the mammoth bags of sawdust and pine scented
disinfectant
that had bee procured for the task at hand. There is also the case of young
MacWilliam Hoon who floated himself out over the largest of these lakes
in a large rubber raft with supplies enough for three months of
vomit-sitting. Unfortunatley the acids that are used in the creation of fake plastic
vomit act similarly to actual stomach acids, and the raft was digested along with
the boy about seven and a half minutes after the launch.

But should America be proud of such a unique community as South Grafton? In
a society based on ruthless consumption, can a town that thrives on nausea
be a sign of hope? As Professor Peptum Cepacol carefully checks the tanks
at his beloved vomitorium, he has only this to say "wait. . . wait. . . hold
on. . . I think I'm about to blow some chunks dude. . .
blaaaaaarrrrrghhhhhhhHhccharrrrrrrkkkkhhhhh!!"

Blowing some chunks. Perhaps America has a thing or two to learn from South
Grafton.

But you live in North Grafton.