From the first day I lived here there was something oddly familiar about Bako. I couldn't put my finger on it, but the people, the places... I felt like I already knew this town. How is that possible? Where have I seen this all before?
Ah yes... "The Simpsons".
Bakersfield IS Springfield!
Of course! How didn't I get this before? The clueless citizens, the corrupt politicians, the venal corporate overlords... it's clear as the fog in your face. The local news anchors are all channeling Kent Brockman. My two next door neighbors are dead ringers for Marge's sisters, Patty and Selma. All the locals I've met are variations of Ned Flanders. We even have Apu around the corner at the local liquor store. The only thing missing is the nuclear power plant, and don't think they wouldn't jump at that chance if only Chevron would let them.
Driving around Bako, the neighborhoods are the same...Rats Nest, Bum Town, Crackton, Junkyville, Little Newark, Ethnictown, Pressboard Estates, Recluse Ranch Estates and the flammable district. Oh sure, the names are different, but that's probably just a legal formality.
It was slightly comforting, knowing someone, somewhere knew our pain and had escaped to chronicle it all for posterity. But that doesn't change the fact that we're still stuck here.
In the words of Bart Simpson, “I never thought it was humanly possible, but this both sucks and blows.”
