Conservative Indiana Residents Establish New Dream Town of “RonPaulville”
By Thomas Moore
RONPAULVILLE, IN — In the heart of the MidWest, a town has dedicted itself to the spirit of Ron Paul’s campaign and political life.
RonPaulville, Indiana is difficult to find for outsiders, but is a slice of pure Americana. ”There used to be a forest over here,” says elderly resident Emmitt Cobbs, “but it burned down last year – think it was a campfire gone wrong. They wanted to send FEMA and a bunch of out of state firefighters, but we didn’t need all that mess. We just got some boys from town to fight the fire; we didn’t have no truck or hose or nothin’ and we ended up getting drunk behind the Piggly Wiggly and peeing in people’s mailboxes, but you know, we kept the government out of it all.”
In fact, this strong independent streak is demonstrated all throughout the small town of less than 5,000. Despite its population size, RonPaulville has a clearly defined downtown with a doctor’s office, post office, butcher’s shop, and so on.
“Good Christian people here,” says local sawbones Junior Akins. “You see a wide range of ailments, but the biggest medical problem, in my estimation, is that most of these people simply are carrying too much blood. Between that and imbalances in the humors, that’s 75% of all problems right there. You’d be surprised how relaxed people get after you drain two, three pints of blood.”
Akins doesn’t have the trouble of keeping up with any medical standards, nor does he need insurance. Prior to becoming a doctor, he worked at a fish hatchery. He wanted to continue the conversation, but he said he was suffering from a bad patch of possum milk.
The local butcher shop offers a savory sausage that can’t be made elsewhere; that’s because it’s from a 150 year old recipe that incorporates roadkill, which would have been illegal had the USDA been involved.
“Its the weasel meat that gives it flavor,” said butcher Jenkins VanSant. “You get that weasel meat and then a side of possum milk and that’s good eating. It’s the last meal my daddy had, because it killed him.”
On the street corner, was a small, sickly teenaged girl. She had a hat with about thirty dollars in it. ”I got cancer and I need chemo,” she said. “We don’t have the money, but around here we rely on the kindness of our neighbors to pitch in. I can only afford chemo once every five months, but at least I’m not a socialist on Obamacare.”
The sun set slowly, but it was not entirely visible, as there was a thick, sulfurous smoke coming from several local power plants. All was good in RonPaulville.