Assassination Vacation

I was driving down the west coast, seeing the sights, driving through Seattle and Portland, when I hit Salem. I was a bit disappointed. Growing up in Chicago, I didn't know much about either coast, east or west, and I thought that the Salem witch trials had occurred in Oregon. Sadly, this was not the case, and there were no museums or landmarks to commemorate those murders of innocent women.

I continued into California, stopping at Arcata. It was a beautiful, forested area, and I saw plenty of young people with Humboldt State sweatshirts on. As I was wandering around, I came across a bronze statue. A man was doing something to it, possibly cleaning it? I walked closer to get a better look.

"Are... are you putting cheese on that statue?"

"Yes ma'am. Only the best camembert for our late president."

"Who?"

"McKinley. He's been a little down lately, so I thought I'd cheer him up with our dairy's finest."

What was a dead president doing here, and why was he filling up on soft cheese? As if sensing my confusion, the man continued.

"Poor old guy was killed shaking hands at a fair. We don't really remember him, but so many people loved him at the time, the country was in mourning. I figure, that shot doesn't have to be the end. He's still here, and maybe he'll appreciate some gouda or aged cheddar. Our California dairy really is the best. Second only to our almonds, but almonds don't really stick on statues so well."

I stood there for a few seconds, absorbing what he said and unsure of what to do next.

"What kind of cheese was it, again?"

"Camembert."

"A good choice."

"As I said, only the finest."

"Mind if I help?"

And so I spent the next ten minutes filling up every crevasse of a dead president's statue with cheese.