Hello blog kiddies!

This is your old friend Robert Wilkinson. I was dispatched by some politicos to come back to Eugene from my re-enforced bunker somewhere in north-north Dakota to cover the local elections. Due to my lack of a Garman I was diverted to San Louis Obispo where I was privy to a great election results party held on a small private beach filled with fire dancers, chainsaw jugglers, and one strip dancer who seemed far out of place.

After all that commotion I needed to get back to my assignment in the Emerald City we all know and love. I hopped a train and found my way to The Davis on Broadway. There I encountered a large group of what I assume were vehement supporters and constant volunteers, people who sacrificed their personal lives daily to make sure their candidate was the one waving the flag of victory. Of course I don’t know if any of this was true, they like me may have been freelance journalists who were lured here by the promise of free food and a large selection of beers on tap. Speaking of which somewhere in the middle of all the speeches, patting each other on the back and celebrating I developed a longing for a smoke break.
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