This book is based on the hilarious true story, straight from the perspective of comedian Jeremy Nunes, of what happened when he accidentally got elected mayor of the small-town of Dawson, Illinois.
You Can’t Write City Hall shares the same humor as Parks and Recreation, Schitt’s Creek, Corner Gas, and Lake Wobegon Days. Best-selling author Jeremy Nunes is a Second City graduate, featured on Dry Bar Comedy and Amazon Prime, who simply wanted to do some good and help his hometown. Instead, he put himself right in the middle of a real-life comedy. You'll laugh as Jeremy tries to inspire the board room’s rustic characters, motivate quirky employees, and appease the complainers from his one-horse town. You'll find yourself rooting for Jeremy as he turns and starts firing back at adversaries like he would hecklers at a comedy club. Readers can't put this book down because they are laughing so hard!
Midwest Book Review says, “You Can’t Write City Hall cultivates a delightful blend of insights on political processes, memoir, and a comedian's unique perspective.”
The Epoch Times simply said, “Tremendous!”
Governor Mike Huckabee called it, “Absolutely hilarious!"
Get your copy now!
Related collections and offers
|Product dimensions:||5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x (d)|
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
I had finally completed a deal with Sheriff Wes Barr to help us launch the Neighborhood Watch program. Honestly, it was still largely to put more eyes on the Green family, especially Roman. The amount of break-ins to cars, sheds, and garages seemed to be increasing, and someone fitting Roman’s description seemed to always be noticed fleeing the scene. With the help of the sheriff, I thought we could slow things down a bit. And knowing that the media wouldn’t miss the opportunity to film the popular sheriff helping out this lowly little town, we were going to get more free press. Of course, Agnes Cobb didn’t see it that way.
“You think it’s a good idea to make it known to the public that my town doesn’t have cops?” she said.
“I think it’s a good idea to make it known to the public that the people of this town are watching,” I responded.
“Those late-night gangsters watch the news and look for places to rob!”
“You really think gangsters are watching the news to figure out where they can rob that night?”
“Oh yeah! That’s how they roll!”
I laughed out loud after a woman in her eighties used the phrase “That’s how they roll.”
Margie Baggio soon jumped in to help her friend, saying, “It’s no laughing matter. Those highway robbers will getcha! I don’t need John Dillinger in this town!”
I replied, “The watch is going to happen, whether you like it or not. Plus, there are enough guns hidden in houses around here to fight off a small army. The ghost of John Dillinger would have no chance.”
Kara Gregory chimed in, saying that the new security cameras at the park weren’t helping much with violent crime.
“Violent crime?!” I said concernedly to my old high school peer.
Kara said, “Some young girls were at the park, Cassie Green was one of them, and they were smoking the marijuana.”
Margie jumped in, “They’re smoking that mary jane at the park?!”
Rhonda yelled, “The devil’s lettuce!”
“The wacky tobaccy?!” said Agnes.
Margie said, “Well it’s happening! The gangs are taking us over!”
I calmed everyone by saying that smoking marijuana isn’t a violent crime, though I understood the concern that teenage girls were doing it at the park. Kara said that a mother and young boy happened to be at the park and noticed the teens, and the mother called the Village Hall to complain.
“I had no idea what to do or what to tell her,” said Kara.
“Did you call the police?” I asked.
“No. All I knew was that people were breaking the law! Who would you call when that happens? I told the lady to call you!”
I laughed and said, “Next time you’re aware of a crime, it’s best to call the police. This is an example of basic guidance that Neighborhood Watch training will give.”
I couldn’t believe someone in her mid-30s didn’t think to just call the police, and instead resorted to the same tactic as the older folks in the town: “Call the mayor. He’s supposed to fix it.” That lady did call me and leave a voicemail, but it was the day after the “violent” marijuana smoking took place.
I moved the discussion along, saying, “Speaking of the park, I think it’s time to fix up the baseball field a little bit.” The backstop, which is the fencing behind home plate, had gotten bad. It was quite rusty and curling up at the bottom. The fence along each baseline was doing the same. Coaches and parents were regularly telling us that it was a safety issue, with kids tripping and falling on the fence about every game.
“We better do something! They’ll get the tetanus!” Margie said.
Her lifelong friend Agnes added, “If a kid gets that lockjaw, they’ll be shutting down our field!”
And with that, the three in attendance agreed to spend a little less than $3,000 to replace the fencing. I then pitched the idea of putting yellow tubing across the top of the outfield fence.
“That way, we aren’t just fixing our problems, we are improving and beautifying the field,” I said.
Agnes and Margie voted to approve, but Johnny voted against it. I was surprised that someone who was still young enough that his kids played on that field wouldn’t want to spend the measly $500 to upgrade it. But nonetheless, with my vote, the bright yellow tubing was on the way. Johnny would later tell me he liked the idea, but voted against me again just because he still worried that it looked like he voted along with everything I wanted.
We talked a little more about getting that brand new sign at the town entrance.
Ron Butcher removed his oxygen hose briefly and shouted, “We need a sign so big they can see it from space!”
Everyone else laughed, but it was clear Ron was serious. The three board members weren’t quite sure if they wanted to spend the extra money for a big fancy LED sign or be conservative and have a basic, amber lit sign. We had time to sort it out.
Either way, I had recently talked to the local grain elevator operator about allowing us to put a new sign on their property at the main corridor. The operator told me that the town just put the flashing arrow there one day, without so much as asking.
He then said, “And a few days later, those jerks at Mr. Ribeye followed suit and dumped their junky arrow right next to it!” I told him I wanted to clean up the entrance and I needed his approval to make it happen. He agreed, saying the only condition was to fix “that,” as he pointed up. I looked, and an orange extension cord had been attached to the top of the street light, dangling down all the way to the arrow sign, as the duct taped wire dangled in the wind.
I laughed and said, “Yes, we’re going to fix that.”
I relayed this story to the board and mentioned the need to create an ordinance restricting flashing arrows to the property of that business. I was met with three nodding heads, but no real acknowledgment. I looked at the clock and it was already 10 p.m. We had been at it for three hours, so it was time to go. Meeting adjourned.