In a move that even his staunchest critics describe as “audaciously whimsical,” local man and self-proclaimed “Treasure Valley Visionary” Grant Thompson has officially launched his campaign for City Council. The central plank of his platform? A solemn, unwavering promise to convert the town’s derelict Blockbuster into a fully operational portal to Narnia.
Thompson, a 38-year-old pet therapist turned armchair cosmologist, addressed a rapturous crowd of under a dozen potential voters outside the crumbling façade of the once-thriving video rental store. “Too long have we languished in monotonous reality,” Thompson declared, energetically gesturing towards the building’s faded “Be Kind, Rewind” sign. “Our children deserve more. Our community deserves more. Our snowmen deserve conversations with senile lions.”
Campaign insiders reveal that Thompson’s visionary plan hinges on repurposing not only the obsolete racks lined with redundant copies of “Weekend at Bernie’s,” but also an extensive inventory of Malbec. The wine, according to Thompson, is an essential conduit “to loosen the fabric of space-time and the tightly knit cardigans of skepticism.”
Despite a complete lack of scientific, magical, or logistical support for his proposal, Thompson has gained a small but eclectic following. His innovative campaign has been further buoyed by endorsements from the local chapter of Unicorns Everlasting and renowned conspiracy enthusiast Karen from Facebook, whose internet fame stems from the “Ban C.S. Lewis from Libraries” initiative.
Political analysts have rushed to criticize Thompson’s campaign as frivolous, but locals have found themselves entranced by the idea. Property values near the Blockbuster site have reportedly fluctuated wildly, with astute investors betting heavily on the town’s potential elevation to interdimensional tourism capital.
“This is the sort of out-of-the-box thinking that our city council needs,” enthused local resident and renaissance fair cashier, Mabel Jenkins, while sewing authentic chainmail. “Plus, it’s about time the homeless raccoons around here got a taste of Turkish Delight.”
Thompson’s opponents have struggled to counter his compelling narrative. Council incumbent George Pritchett has mounted his own defense, heavily publicizing his plan to introduce an authentic Renaissance Faire downtown, complete with actual jousting championships and recurring plague simulations. However, some argue his strategic focus lacks the allure of alternate realities.
Thompson’s team promises transparency, asserting that once elected, the journey into the magical realm will be accessible to all on Tuesday afternoons and every other weekend, scheduling to avoid conflicting with the full moon.
At press time, Thompson has announced the next phase of his campaign, which involves collaborating with the local HVAC company to solidify his otherworldly designs. Meanwhile, skepticism remains, as longtime store manager and noted realist Doug Halvorson laments the loss of a communal treasure where “everyone knew where to find antiquated VHS tapes and dubious advice on sports movies.”
Quite whether an abandoned Blockbuster could indeed become a gateway to imaginary wonderlands remains to be seen, but Thompson remains undeterred. “In a world where we could all use a little more magic,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “why settle for anything less than the impossible?”
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