The grass is mowed, the flags are flown, and every neighbor is just one passive-aggressive remark away from filing an official complaint. You can’t buy a bag of mulch without someone inquiring – warmly, helpfully – whether you’ve cleared that with code enforcement. Religion is the social adhesive, and it sticks best if applied liberally to children before they develop the muscle tone necessary to roll their eyes.

Here, the “Golden Rule” is interpreted less as “treat others as you’d like to be treated” and more as “treat others exactly the way you’ve always been treated, even if that way was objectively terrible.”

Small-town life, after all, is about tradition. And nothing says tradition like tattling, sanctimony, and a robust appetite for legislation that affects other people’s habits. Want to paint your house teal? Sorry, that’s not “historically appropriate.” Thinking about starting a backyard chicken coop? Hope you enjoy a surprise visit from someone wielding both a clipboard and moral authority.

Junction City Stories II: Small-Town Boogaloo isn’t about cartoonish supervillains twirling their mustaches. It’s about the well-meaning, casserole-baking foot soldiers of everyday authoritarianism. The ones who believe a functioning community is one where everyone thinks the same, dresses the same, and grills their hamburgers exactly five minutes per side, no exceptions.

This prequel to Junction City Stories takes us back to the days before the Regime. Before armored patrols, before curfews, before dissidents had a nasty habit of vanishing mid-sentence. Back when the creeping rot didn’t wear jackboots, it wore khakis, a golf visor, and an “I Voted” sticker.

Within these pages, you’ll visit the church potluck where Sister Bethany warns the youth group about the spiritual dangers of yoga. You’ll attend the city council meeting where the most heated debate concerns banning yard sales on Sundays. You’ll witness the neighborly art of policing lawn height with the precision of a military sniper.

They’ll tell you they’re doing it for your own good, and in a way, they are. Because here’s the thing about creeping authoritarianism: it doesn’t creep. It ambles over with a plate of cookies, compliments your begonias, and then hands you a list of new rules you didn’t know you’d broken.

Small-Town Boogaloo is a comedy, a tragedy, and a cautionary tale in which every friendly wave might be the prelude to a zoning complaint. It’s a reminder that the road to hell isn’t just paved with good intentions, it’s freshly seal-coated, features new lane striping, and was paid for by a modest increase in property taxes that nobody voted for.

Because in Junction City, the revolution won’t be televised.
It’ll be on the community bulletin board, between the church bake sale flyer and the notice about leash laws.