Plunger Gulch

Plunger is a funny word. It’s funny without even thinking about what it is. If you say plunger enough times it sounds like you’re talking a foreign language.

I’ve never heard of a town called Plunger Gulch, but there should be one. It’s the place where all roads come together. It’s the place where everyone who is someone lives.

The weekly farm market is attended by people who drive from places like Dobroville and Hankston.

The mayor of Plunger Gulch has terrible allergies and vehemently dislikes frozen dessert toppings.

Not only is Plunger Gulch known for its farm market, it is also the birthplace of Harkord Klagmerthel. Colonel Klagmerthel, as he is lovingly referred to even though he was never in the military, claims to have invented the nasal reamer.

Colonel K now sits on the corner of Larsh and Dorlic Streets in Plunger Gulch every Saturday morning selling his nasal reamers. He is happy to demonstrate them for anyone who asks.

As marketing goes, Colonel K’s nasal reamer, which he named “The Miner”, has been a complete flop. In the seventeen years since designing the reamer in his workshop on the farm, he has sold exactly five, all to people related to him in one way or another.

Plunger Gulch doesn’t have any other noteworthy claims to fame. Although a big-city news crew came to town once when Lola Talsinker claimed to have a chicken egg with an image of the Virgin Mary on it. Turned out to be a smudge.

All in all, Plunger Gulch has been misunderstood. Townsfolk don’t try to explain. They prefer to be left alone, for the most part.

If Colonel K doesn’t show up some Saturday, then maybe neighbors will really have something to talk about.

Maybe it’s the word plunger that makes people feel uncomfortable. Everyone has one or two of them.

Maybe saying plunger a bunch of times would make folks more willing to visit Plunger Gulch.

Maybe not.

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