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’ve dropped by Tuna, Texas, a half dozen times in the past two decades, and on each visit Patsy Cline is still on the radio, Aunt Pearl Burras is still snuffing dogs with strychnine-laced "bitter pills," and Hank Bumiller is still sighting UFOs shaped like giant chalupas after too many drinks down by the bridge. 

And Judge Buckner’s lifeless body is discovered in a Dale Evans swim suit. 

What is Tuna? For those who’ve been blind to theatrical phenomena for the past 20 years, it’s the "third smallest town" in the Lone Star State, though you won’t find it on any map because its dusty streets and off-the-wall denizens spring to life only on stage. 

Celebrating its 20th anniversary, Greater Tuna is resting easy at the Curran Theater in San Francisco right now. 

All its inhabitants are played by just two actors, Joe Sears and Jaston Williams. Tuna’s cozy corner of quirky conservatism was invented in 1981 by Sears, Williams and Ed Howard for a small cabaret in Austin, Texas. They called their show Greater Tuna, because its imaginary radio station, OKKK, broadcasts “to the greater Tuna area.” Not surprisingly, that station features public service announcements from the local Klan branch, as well ads for Didi Snavely’s Used Weapon Shop, where every weapon is “guaranteed to kill.” As chain-smoking Didi puts it between cigarettes, “If one of my guns won’t finish it off, it’s immortal.” 

A satire of small town Texas attitudes, Greater Tuna remains hilariously bright and fresh due largely to Sears and Williams’ relaxed, tongue-in-cheek acting. The pair has brought their invention to life more than 3,000 times, yet the 20 or so characters they inhabit – from screechy teens to bullying cops to whining dogs – don’t feel stale. They include the slow-talking radio guys, Thurston Wheelis and Arvis Struvie, who’re never quite sure if they’re on the air. Then there’s the dysfunctional Bumiller clan, headed by Bertha Bumiller [Joe Sears in a lime-green pants suit], whose daughter Charlene [Jaston Williams, sporting pink pompons in a blonde wig] longs to become high school cheerleader next year, even though she’s a senior. We meet animal lover, Petey Fisk, who hopes a deaf person will adopt "a small, shrill dog," and lumbering Aunt Pearl, who crows over a corpse in a coffin, “I said I’d sing over your dead body, and I feel a song coming on!” 

Tuna’s enlightened township features a “Committee for Fewer Blacks in Literature,” and “The Smut Snatchers Society,” which seeks to ban words like “clap,” “knocker,” and “nuts” from dictionaries. Kids at Tuna camp study “Christian biology,” and the annual school essay award winner is, “Human Rights: Why Bother?” 

Could the inventors of Greater Tuna have guessed 20 years ago that it would become a national institution? Evidence that it has strutted the theater lobby opening night, where a cowboy-hatted fan bragged that he’d seen the show 47 times. That may be a tad too many for most people, but you ought to stop by at least once. As Arlis Struvie says at the end of the show, “If you can’t find something you like about Tuna, move!”