From Satire to Solutions: Introducing Montgomery Fix

In 2023, when I launched The Montgonion (now Montgomery Leek), a satire and humor website focused on Montgomery County’s quirks and idiosyncrasies and loosely parodying The MocoShow, I wasn’t interested in serious writing. Decades of technical editing, business writing, and trade publishing had stifled creative impulses that needed release.

That changed in 2024, when I got tired of making fun of trashy Glenmont and began using The Montgonion to expose blight, call out elected officials ignoring the problems, and leverage my newfound publishing power to put pressure on the system. It worked, and Glenmont got scrubbed.

I enjoyed the accomplishment and began diversifying content. I added non-satirical tags in an attempt to distinguish serious from satire, but it was too late. The Montgonion had received nearly a quarter-million unique visitors, and community pranks like the infamous alligator warning signs had cemented its position as a very unserious site. I had important things to say, but I was Montgomery County’s boy who cried wolf.

Last year was ridiculous. The Montgonion was cranking out deep investigative reports, political analysis, and historical research, all mixed within the usual gags. The combination wasn’t working at all, and the decision was made to create a non-satirical spinoff site.

Welcome to Montgomery Fix, where the “Fix” is both a thing that satisfies and an action that rectifies.

This site will continue to explore the unexplored. If you already read about it in Bethesda Magazine or the Baltimore Banner, you won’t find us talking about it. And speaking of “us”... Montgomery Fix will feature several guest contributors and a few regular columnists, too. We have some great pieces lined up, covering topics like the local primary election, housing and affordability, retail trends, community spotlights, and more.

A half-million people have now visited The Montgonion. I am humbled, and I appreciate the encouragement for this new venture. Indulge me while I close with a favorite passage from a favorite book, Sexus by Henry Miller, that resonated three years ago and speaks to this moment as well:

“Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths.”

Reach out if you’ve got something to say and need a platform to share it: publisher@montgomeryfix.com.