"Right to a Quiet Sunday —
Except Target Practice."
Berlin doesn't need another ladies' boutique, another dumbass mural with pictures of phony animals who are probably gay, and not a single damn more article in a glossy, girly magazine that people from D.C. read on the train. It needs a mayor who goes clamming barefoot, knows his way around a .30-06, who his neighbor's daddy was, and what time the fire siren blows.
We do not need another four-story building surrounded by blacktop. The marsh and critters were here first. The crabs were here first. Purnell's daddy was here first. Purnell likes crabs and beer and does not like Lexus drivers from Bethesda. The condos can go pound sand up in Delaware.
Ever since Gee committed voter fraud by hitting the reload button 20,000 times on that "cool town" website, Berlin keeps winning praise for being charming. Every new article in some big city paper lifestyle section brings another 250 come-heres with podcasts and instagram accounts. F*ck that. Purnell pledges to make Berlin boring again, on purpose, by Wednesday. Make Berlin Uncool Again.
Purnell's daddy knew every man who ever rode in a fire truck. He attends every controlled burn. The muskrat dinner is sacred. The bingo is sacred. The parade is sacred. Anything the Berlin Fire Company asks for, the answer is yes.
Purnell was born off Main Street, went to school here, got in one fight here he'll admit to, and has never once considered leaving for the wrong side of the Bay Bridge. His pickup is older than most of the people opening shops.
Read his story →Uncle Ned. The Odd Fellows. Mike from Roland's. Johnny Leger and John Howard Burbage. Bob Dennis. Eric Brittingham. That's a coalition. We'll put those guys up against a team of come here's grown up playing X-Box and eating advocado toast any day.
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