A satirical view of news from small town, America.
DISCLAIMER: Contents are fiction and intended for mature audiences.
"Satirical garbage, atrocious, obscene, and shameful." -local FOJ
"Anything but elegant" - Herald Palladium
"Contains some sophomoric content that many would find offensive" -Herald Palladium
Updated weakly, very weakly
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Monday, May 29, 2006
Turtle in Love with Army Helmet
Following news out of Berlin that a love sick swan has fallen for a swan shaped paddleboat, a local Broken Springs resident claims her pet turtle has fallen head over heels in love with her grandfather’s army helmet.
Gilda Goldsmith, proud parent of seven dogs, three cats, two goldfish, an iguana, and four painted turtles, claims that the oldest of her turtles is smitten with a relic that’s been in her family for decades.
“Samson is a lonely bachelor,” quips Goldsmith as she sits in her living room with two of her three cats sharing her lap. “He loves a nice swim in the pond and he used to love slow shell massages from his mommy… that’s me,” she giggles before sneering at the army helmet sitting on the end table. “But ever since I dug that old helmet out, that’s all he cares about. I believe he’s got a little crush,” she said, her voice breaking a bit. “But I’m sure when it’s passed, he’ll come back to Momma.”
Samson is four and a half years old, nearly a year older than the rest of his turtle family. According to Goldsmith, he’s never had intentions to expand the family until two days ago when she found him mounting the helmet, after she’d rummaged it out of her grandpa’s veteran materials. Acting on her first instinct, she put the helmet away until Samson started pouting and moping around the house like a heartsick teenager. Reluctantly she unpacked the helmet and let nature take its course.
“They’re inseparable,” she tells News from Broken Springs. “He won’t leave it alone for a second. He protects it, suns next to it, and even sleeps by its side. I just hope he isn’t honestly expecting it to lay his eggs.”
Goldsmith says she hasn’t seen anything this absurd since the time when her ex boyfriend fell in love with an inflatable doll. Thanks to Gilda’s PMS and a bottle of superglue, they were inseparable too.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Clock Fighting in BS?
After two badly damaged clocks were discovered in the garages of Broken Springs residents early this week, Police Chief Kingston issued a warning for villagers to be on the lookout for clock fighting operations, urging citizens to report any suspicious activity to local authorities, “any time of the day, day or night, around the uh… clock.”
The first of the two clocks was discovered as Wilma Jesper, of 311 East Carpenter Street, cleaned out her patio. She was rummaging through old household items for the community garage sale, she said, when she found the busted clock. “I didn’t think anything of it,” she told News from Broken Springs, “until I heard that Mrs. Lillywhite down the street had also found one of her clocks badly damaged. So after the two of us discussed it over coffee for an hour Wednesday morning, we decided to report it.”
“It took you an hour to discuss broken clocks?” we clarified.
“No, that part only took ten minutes. But we had to talk about the Finklesteins too. Did you hear that their daughter got pregnant by the preacher’s son? These kids today… they think safe sex is doing it with their seatbelt on.”
“So about the clocks…?” we asked.
Mrs. Lillywhite continues where Mrs. Jesper left off. “Jimmy came right over. After only glancing at our two clocks, he knew something was wrong. He took them down to the station to be autopsied. Then he told us to lock our doors at night and change our security codes on our house alarms. He also told us that the Finklestein girl was going to have an abortion, according to the church pianist.”
“So about the clocks…?” we asked again.
“Clock fighting is a very serious problem that threatens even small communities like ours,” explained the Chief “Let me warn you. The pictures you’re about to see are disturbing,“ he said as he displayed them across his evidence table. “As you can see, these clocks didn’t stand a chance. They didn’t have a hand to stand on. Their time had run out.”
“Are there other clocks in Broken Springs that have fallen victim to this sadistic practice?” we asked.
“I’m certain of it,” declared the Chief. “These criminals will tell you that what they do is harmless, that all they’re doing is killing time. But once I get my hands on them, they’ll be doing time instead of killing it.”
Clock fighting, which is illegal in 47 states including Michigan, is a form of entertainment not unlike dog fighting, where two clocks face off in a battle usually to the death. Hands often get busted, bells get rung, and eventually the loser’s guts spill out. Some fights take hours, others only minutes before one of the two clocks ticks its last tock.
If any BS resident suspects their neighbors of clock fighting, they’re encouraged to call the police immediately. Kingston especially warned residents to keep their ears open for desperate sounding alarms, and sickly cuckoos.
*no clocks were harmed in the writing of this article*
The first of the two clocks was discovered as Wilma Jesper, of 311 East Carpenter Street, cleaned out her patio. She was rummaging through old household items for the community garage sale, she said, when she found the busted clock. “I didn’t think anything of it,” she told News from Broken Springs, “until I heard that Mrs. Lillywhite down the street had also found one of her clocks badly damaged. So after the two of us discussed it over coffee for an hour Wednesday morning, we decided to report it.”
“It took you an hour to discuss broken clocks?” we clarified.
“No, that part only took ten minutes. But we had to talk about the Finklesteins too. Did you hear that their daughter got pregnant by the preacher’s son? These kids today… they think safe sex is doing it with their seatbelt on.”
“So about the clocks…?” we asked.
Mrs. Lillywhite continues where Mrs. Jesper left off. “Jimmy came right over. After only glancing at our two clocks, he knew something was wrong. He took them down to the station to be autopsied. Then he told us to lock our doors at night and change our security codes on our house alarms. He also told us that the Finklestein girl was going to have an abortion, according to the church pianist.”
“So about the clocks…?” we asked again.
“Clock fighting is a very serious problem that threatens even small communities like ours,” explained the Chief “Let me warn you. The pictures you’re about to see are disturbing,“ he said as he displayed them across his evidence table. “As you can see, these clocks didn’t stand a chance. They didn’t have a hand to stand on. Their time had run out.”
“Are there other clocks in Broken Springs that have fallen victim to this sadistic practice?” we asked.
“I’m certain of it,” declared the Chief. “These criminals will tell you that what they do is harmless, that all they’re doing is killing time. But once I get my hands on them, they’ll be doing time instead of killing it.”
Clock fighting, which is illegal in 47 states including Michigan, is a form of entertainment not unlike dog fighting, where two clocks face off in a battle usually to the death. Hands often get busted, bells get rung, and eventually the loser’s guts spill out. Some fights take hours, others only minutes before one of the two clocks ticks its last tock.
If any BS resident suspects their neighbors of clock fighting, they’re encouraged to call the police immediately. Kingston especially warned residents to keep their ears open for desperate sounding alarms, and sickly cuckoos.
*no clocks were harmed in the writing of this article*
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Reno 911
Pretty much everyone has seen the famous DUI video but here's another I've always liked:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7MwraIDP1k
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7MwraIDP1k
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Another Dick in Broken Springs
This is a blast from the past, from a time long, long ago… well okay, a year ago last October… when a certain political someone made a campaign stop in Broken Springs.
Sometime on Thursday, the 28th, I learned that Broken Springs, MI, Pickle Town itself was to be graced by a visit by none other than our nation's Republican V.P, Dick Cheney on Friday morning at approximately 9 AM. Not only that but a friend of mine, Sheriff Paul Bunian‘s brother, was to actually help serve the Cheneys at a restaurant called Floppers just out of town.
The Sheriff's brother asked me what I wanted him to ask Dick the next morning. I said he needn't ask him a thing... just spitting in his eggs would be good enough for me. Or perhaps he could accidentally spill his coffee down his lap so it looked like he wet himself. Either is fine, I said. I'm not picky. Well, it's no secret that I oppose Dick Cheney in nearly every way possible, and I saw the Friday morning visit much differently than most of my fellow Pickle Bourghers. I intended to protest his visit with every fiber of my being. There was only one problem. Nothing was organized in the way of an official protest. Even the Southern Democrats out of Puchanan wanted to 'leave this one alone' for who knows what reason, other than the small fact that Democrats have no balls.
So Friday morning rolls around, and I awake at 6:30, fresh off an unusual entire night's sleep. I take my ritualistic shower, stumble around the house like a zombie until I wake up, let the dogs out, feed the fish, check CNN to see if the world's still here. Then I pondered going back to bed, but at the last minute decided against it.
It's not often that the Veep of America visits obscure Broken Springs, after all. In fact, the last big name politician to visit was President Carter looking for a good place to start another peanut farm. If I had gone back to bed and slept through Dick‘s visit, I would've hated myself for the missed opportunity. I knew nothing big would go down - after all, nothing big ever does in Pickle Town - but something told me - dammit, you didn't wake up early for nothing, you whiny little ball-less liberal.
So a little after eight in the morning, I headed out to Dick’s campaign location by foot. I decided to walk only because I didn't want to fight the traffic, and also because I figured the John Kerry sticker on the bumper of my Mazda would target me as a possible terrorist. My strategy was to attend as an ordinary American, curious about all the hoopla. I was undercover, in a ‘plain sight‘ sort of way. I would not protest unless I saw others protesting. Floppers Family Restaurant wasn't all that far a walk, but I did underestimate the distance by a bit. I started off at a brisk pace, moving quickly on the cold wet morning so I didn't miss all the excitement. But as I traveled through town, I spotted one of BS's finest cutting through the back alley behind our most troublesome bar. I figured he'd spotted me headed to the far end of town and would pull out behind me on Carpenter street, only he didn't. So I continued down the hill and towards the bridge, trying not to draw attention to myself in any way. Once on the bridge, the squad car reappears, drives by me slowly, and then turns into Clover Campground just ahead past the bridge. Inside the park, he pulled onto a dirt road leading down to the river, in clear sight of me on the bridge. Then he sat there pointed at me, waiting. I started to get slightly paranoid. But this morning, I was bound and determined that no matter how much the cops seemed to be watching me (and they were watching me) I would make it to my potential protest. Once I crossed the bridge, the cop drove back up that dirt road slowly, keeping in line with me, and I figured by the time I made it to the driveway of Clover Campground, he'd be there to greet me with a nice shiny gun sparkling out of his holster, encouraging me to return home before any trouble was caused. Either that or he might've tried to arrest me for intent to protest, which isn't a crime, but they could call it - intent to incite rioting or whatever bs they could come up with in their tiny little bald heads. My paranoia increases and I almost turned back. Almost. Especially when I saw Broken Springs’s GREEN squad car drive down into the park and start chatting up the other squad car. Everyone knows that Jimmy Kingston himself drives that green car, and Kingston himself once read me my rights over satire.
But like Bush in Iraq, I 'stayed the course' and kept briskly walking to my destination, too scared to see if they were following me, too bull headed to care. I galloped across the drive of Cloverleaf Campground and didn't look back for a long while. When I did, the fuzz was all gone and I breathed a fresh sigh of relief.
Approaching Floppers just a short time later, I saw a crowd of people gathered, carrying dark blue signs that, once I got close enough, I recognized as signs of the devil. There didn't seem to be any protestors, only supporters, waving those signs as if the Cheney bus wouldn't know where to stop without their guidance. A cop was leading a sniffing dog from car to car parked on the side of the road, then from mailbox to mailbox. Upon seeing this, I was happy I didn't drive, because I'm nearly certain that dog would've gotten a whiff of a smelly sock in my glove box or some old pizza in my truck and I'd probably still be in jail instead of here writing this all out.
It was 8:34 and I was early, but I didn't necessarily want to hang around with a bunch of cavemen, so when the county cop asked me in that typical midwestern drawl, 'where ya headed?' I said only, "Through," and pointed up ahead like it was the wild west or something and I had business in the next town over. The county guy seemed a little puzzled and I half expected him to question me further - 'where to exactly, ma'm?' And if so I had a couple half truths lined up in my head. My boyfriend lives on a side street from the main drag. Also, much further up the road is a cemetery I've often visited. I could've said I was going to either place. But nothing further was inquired, as the county cop just told me to walk on the other side of the road and continue 'through.' So I did, making sure to glance over the crowd for possible undercover democrats. A democrat undercover would not be holding a BUSH CHENEY sign, or getting out of a gas guzzling SUV with bumper stickers about prayer in school. I looked for anyone resembling a hippie. Anyone wearing sandels or tie dyes, braids or beads. Nada. I looked for what I consider to be smart looking women, most likely not traveling with a pack of bratty kids. Zip. Senior citizens with airhorns and peace signs taped to their walkers? Zero. The only protestor I saw was this dark haired young boy wearing dark thick rimmed specs and a biker's jacket, silently holding a sign that read: I don't want my friends to die for your war, which I thought was very brave of him.
I continued on, figuring the county guys were making sure I made it to 'through' wherever the hell 'through' was. I walked another half mile up the road and decided to buy a pop at the Strange Line gas station. It was the perfect excuse to turn around, having figured out where 'through' was after all. And so I headed back, on the side of the street where the crowd had gathered to see our infamous president... er, I mean vice prez. It was ten to nine when I was passing back 'through' and a different county cop stopped me, asked me that succinct yet familiar question - where ya headed? 'Through' I said, but added, 'Back to town.' Only he said I had to wait, as the road was blocked off and I had to wait with the others. But he assured me it'd only be about a 30 minute wait.
Secretly I was elated. Of course that was exactly what I wanted to do... wait with the others, observe and study the weird species of human being I’m surrounded by in Broken County, AKA the Republican Voter. Also I was dead tired. I figure I’d walked probably 2 miles by then. I stood next to the sign boy and gave him hints that I was one of his kind through small talk. But I carried on the impression - by telling anyone who'd listen - I just wanted to pass through but they (AKA the Fascists) wouldn't let me, so I don't really want to be here. Plus, it had started to rain harder and I was getting to look like a drowned rat.
Nothing much happens. Dick shows up, in a motorcade of two dozen cop cars and four buses either with no windows or tinted windows. The first two buses say Bush Cheney on the side, the next two are just regular looking buses. I guess they do the mystery act for security reasons. “Wow, cool, there he is,” everyone was saying. “Big hairy deal,” is what I was saying.
So sometime in between all of this, a group of young boys showed up, all chatty like young boys are. There were some young girls too, but they didn't seem nearly as rebellious. I figured they might've been from Anthony’s University but couldn't be sure. They stand around and talk for a bit, and then the boys take out this cloth they had rolled up. Unveiled it read “Quagmire Accomplished,” a mock of George's Mission Accomplished sign on the boat deck when he wore that too tight flight suit last May. So inside I'm going YAY, finally some protestors, finally some action. And of course it causes a stir among the Bush pod people, who all try to hide the huge sign (at least 15 feet long, 4 feet high) with their tiny little 18x12 Bush Cheney signs. Several small arguments break out. Nothing major, unfortunately. No punches thrown. But I mosey on nearby and notice the dark skinned boy holding one end of the sign being interrogated by a Bushie. She was asking him where he was from, assuming by the color of his skin he was, at worst, a terrorist and at best, an illegal immigrant. He said, "I was born here." He started to get a little unnerved by all the questions and his buddy said something to him about needing to go back to school. So I tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Do you need someone to hold your sign?"
So there I was holding one end of this huge sign, and the other end was held by this women so far away I couldn't barely see what she was wearing. I began to talk to the other people around me, who'd come with the small group. There was a lovely man by the name of Flore with a British accent, actually from London who reminded me of Tony Blair, only smart. He was holding two signs with all his might... one a Kerry Edwards sign and the other a copy of a sign he said was erected in London, which he was sure to give me a better look at. Tony Blair's head was photo-shopped on the head of a poodle and he was being led around by a leash held by the cowboy Bush. The sign read: Drop Bush, Not Bombs.
Turns out this group of people was from North Bend, which is across the state line, in the very red state of Indiana (which always votes Republican and would do so even if Adolph Hitler had the nomination). The lady holding the other end of the sign was Flore's wife, also with an adorable British accent. There was also a man with them who seemed to pronounce everything with a Z, originally from Norway. Well, needless to say, I just fell in love with these people right away. I kept on saying, 'I love your accent' which is probably a very Yankee thing to say, isn't it? But I couldn't help it. You'd think I'd never met a British person before. But I have watched quite a bit of BBC. The protest people were so grateful that I'd helped them out, but disappointed that they were the only protestors. They figured that since BS is technically a college town, it'd be more liberal. Ha! I had to straighten them out there. People whose beliefs and practices include vegetarianism partly inspired by a belief that meat makes you horny are by no means liberal.
Once Cheney had his three pounds of bacon and double scoop of scrambled eggs (only kidding, he only ordered water) his bus hooked a right and he made his way through the grand metropolis that is Broken Springs, MI. If he blinked, he might've missed it.
I wonder now if they served him genuine tap water, straight from the flows of the filthy St. Joe River? There isn’t a Broken Springer alive who hasn’t at least once taken a whiz in that water. So if the Veep drank some tap water, there’s a chance that he’s taken a little of each of us back to Washington with him whether he knows it or not. I’ll drink to that.
When everything that was to happen happened, I said goodbye to all my accented friends and started towards home. While walking back I had the privilege of seeing two military men dressed in full camouflage pop out of the woods. It was like walking down a street in Vietnam. I heard someone say there were about 20 of them total, hiding in plain sight but no one knew they were there. On my way back to town, my mother drove by in her van and beeped the horn at me. She rescued me from the rain and gave me a lift into town, wanting to know all about everything. And I wanted to tell her so we decided to go to breakfast at the other breakfast place in town, Dickie‘s. I seriously had to pee too, and had walked up quite an appetite. So we sit, and she starts explaining how she was trying to get through to join me but they had the road blocked off and wouldn‘t let her in. Isn‘t that funny, I told her. They wouldn‘t let me out. I started telling her all about everything and just then, you'll never guess who walks through the door.
No, not Cheney. Someone far far worse.
Police Chief James 'Jimmy' Kingston. He approaches me and in almost a confrontational way asks, "So how far didja get? Did you see him?" like he was God or something. Cheney, I mean, not Kingston. I said no, that I only saw the buses, and Jimmy made a comment about seeing me 'huffin' down there, across the bridge. And I thought of saying, 'You could've given me a ride, ya prick,' but think better of it, as my mom's sitting there and all.
Kingston had sat down, and three other Broken Springs officers join him. And my mom keeps on spouting anti-Bush rhetoric quite loud enough for all of them to hear. I keep trying to hush her down, worried that her mouth will land us both in the clink. Having any political opinions left of Pat Buchanan was dangerous in Broken Springs that day, or come to think of it, any day. I tell her everything, watching my words carefully because the cops were sitting just ten feet away. It was just a few minutes past eleven when she jokingly made the comment, "Boy, today would've been a good day to rob a bank," because all our boys in blue were busy protecting a Dick. I don't think the cops heard, but I hush her up anyway and not more than ten minutes later, a call comes over their police radios announcing a robbery in progress at Three Fifths Bank, just a block away. The cops jump from their chairs and out the door, abandoning toast, waffles, and coffee. My mom exclaims, all excited, 'Didja hear that? The bank's being robbed!' I hadn't heard the words on the radios so I figured she was just foolin', but sure enough, the bank was really being robbed as Cheney was making his way out of Broken Springs. Then my mom says about the cops, "Hey, they didn't leave a tip!" Nor did they pay for their breakfasts before they left. Talk about highway robbery!
So... they didn't catch the bank robber until several months later in Wisconsin. We were all over the news for a few days. You gotta love a town that writes the satire itself, eh? I could’ve never came up with an idea as clever as “Bank gets nicked when V.P. visits.” You should’ve heard people talking about it around town. I heard the term Keystone Kop mentioned more than I care to count.
Rumor was that Bush was also thinking of paying Broken Springs a visit. But lucky for us (and our IRAs) he decided against it.
In retrospect, I’m grateful the Veep didn’t do any hunting while he was here. I would've hated to see him crowd in on Daniel Shame’s territory.
Sometime on Thursday, the 28th, I learned that Broken Springs, MI, Pickle Town itself was to be graced by a visit by none other than our nation's Republican V.P, Dick Cheney on Friday morning at approximately 9 AM. Not only that but a friend of mine, Sheriff Paul Bunian‘s brother, was to actually help serve the Cheneys at a restaurant called Floppers just out of town.
The Sheriff's brother asked me what I wanted him to ask Dick the next morning. I said he needn't ask him a thing... just spitting in his eggs would be good enough for me. Or perhaps he could accidentally spill his coffee down his lap so it looked like he wet himself. Either is fine, I said. I'm not picky. Well, it's no secret that I oppose Dick Cheney in nearly every way possible, and I saw the Friday morning visit much differently than most of my fellow Pickle Bourghers. I intended to protest his visit with every fiber of my being. There was only one problem. Nothing was organized in the way of an official protest. Even the Southern Democrats out of Puchanan wanted to 'leave this one alone' for who knows what reason, other than the small fact that Democrats have no balls.
So Friday morning rolls around, and I awake at 6:30, fresh off an unusual entire night's sleep. I take my ritualistic shower, stumble around the house like a zombie until I wake up, let the dogs out, feed the fish, check CNN to see if the world's still here. Then I pondered going back to bed, but at the last minute decided against it.
It's not often that the Veep of America visits obscure Broken Springs, after all. In fact, the last big name politician to visit was President Carter looking for a good place to start another peanut farm. If I had gone back to bed and slept through Dick‘s visit, I would've hated myself for the missed opportunity. I knew nothing big would go down - after all, nothing big ever does in Pickle Town - but something told me - dammit, you didn't wake up early for nothing, you whiny little ball-less liberal.
So a little after eight in the morning, I headed out to Dick’s campaign location by foot. I decided to walk only because I didn't want to fight the traffic, and also because I figured the John Kerry sticker on the bumper of my Mazda would target me as a possible terrorist. My strategy was to attend as an ordinary American, curious about all the hoopla. I was undercover, in a ‘plain sight‘ sort of way. I would not protest unless I saw others protesting. Floppers Family Restaurant wasn't all that far a walk, but I did underestimate the distance by a bit. I started off at a brisk pace, moving quickly on the cold wet morning so I didn't miss all the excitement. But as I traveled through town, I spotted one of BS's finest cutting through the back alley behind our most troublesome bar. I figured he'd spotted me headed to the far end of town and would pull out behind me on Carpenter street, only he didn't. So I continued down the hill and towards the bridge, trying not to draw attention to myself in any way. Once on the bridge, the squad car reappears, drives by me slowly, and then turns into Clover Campground just ahead past the bridge. Inside the park, he pulled onto a dirt road leading down to the river, in clear sight of me on the bridge. Then he sat there pointed at me, waiting. I started to get slightly paranoid. But this morning, I was bound and determined that no matter how much the cops seemed to be watching me (and they were watching me) I would make it to my potential protest. Once I crossed the bridge, the cop drove back up that dirt road slowly, keeping in line with me, and I figured by the time I made it to the driveway of Clover Campground, he'd be there to greet me with a nice shiny gun sparkling out of his holster, encouraging me to return home before any trouble was caused. Either that or he might've tried to arrest me for intent to protest, which isn't a crime, but they could call it - intent to incite rioting or whatever bs they could come up with in their tiny little bald heads. My paranoia increases and I almost turned back. Almost. Especially when I saw Broken Springs’s GREEN squad car drive down into the park and start chatting up the other squad car. Everyone knows that Jimmy Kingston himself drives that green car, and Kingston himself once read me my rights over satire.
But like Bush in Iraq, I 'stayed the course' and kept briskly walking to my destination, too scared to see if they were following me, too bull headed to care. I galloped across the drive of Cloverleaf Campground and didn't look back for a long while. When I did, the fuzz was all gone and I breathed a fresh sigh of relief.
Approaching Floppers just a short time later, I saw a crowd of people gathered, carrying dark blue signs that, once I got close enough, I recognized as signs of the devil. There didn't seem to be any protestors, only supporters, waving those signs as if the Cheney bus wouldn't know where to stop without their guidance. A cop was leading a sniffing dog from car to car parked on the side of the road, then from mailbox to mailbox. Upon seeing this, I was happy I didn't drive, because I'm nearly certain that dog would've gotten a whiff of a smelly sock in my glove box or some old pizza in my truck and I'd probably still be in jail instead of here writing this all out.
It was 8:34 and I was early, but I didn't necessarily want to hang around with a bunch of cavemen, so when the county cop asked me in that typical midwestern drawl, 'where ya headed?' I said only, "Through," and pointed up ahead like it was the wild west or something and I had business in the next town over. The county guy seemed a little puzzled and I half expected him to question me further - 'where to exactly, ma'm?' And if so I had a couple half truths lined up in my head. My boyfriend lives on a side street from the main drag. Also, much further up the road is a cemetery I've often visited. I could've said I was going to either place. But nothing further was inquired, as the county cop just told me to walk on the other side of the road and continue 'through.' So I did, making sure to glance over the crowd for possible undercover democrats. A democrat undercover would not be holding a BUSH CHENEY sign, or getting out of a gas guzzling SUV with bumper stickers about prayer in school. I looked for anyone resembling a hippie. Anyone wearing sandels or tie dyes, braids or beads. Nada. I looked for what I consider to be smart looking women, most likely not traveling with a pack of bratty kids. Zip. Senior citizens with airhorns and peace signs taped to their walkers? Zero. The only protestor I saw was this dark haired young boy wearing dark thick rimmed specs and a biker's jacket, silently holding a sign that read: I don't want my friends to die for your war, which I thought was very brave of him.
I continued on, figuring the county guys were making sure I made it to 'through' wherever the hell 'through' was. I walked another half mile up the road and decided to buy a pop at the Strange Line gas station. It was the perfect excuse to turn around, having figured out where 'through' was after all. And so I headed back, on the side of the street where the crowd had gathered to see our infamous president... er, I mean vice prez. It was ten to nine when I was passing back 'through' and a different county cop stopped me, asked me that succinct yet familiar question - where ya headed? 'Through' I said, but added, 'Back to town.' Only he said I had to wait, as the road was blocked off and I had to wait with the others. But he assured me it'd only be about a 30 minute wait.
Secretly I was elated. Of course that was exactly what I wanted to do... wait with the others, observe and study the weird species of human being I’m surrounded by in Broken County, AKA the Republican Voter. Also I was dead tired. I figure I’d walked probably 2 miles by then. I stood next to the sign boy and gave him hints that I was one of his kind through small talk. But I carried on the impression - by telling anyone who'd listen - I just wanted to pass through but they (AKA the Fascists) wouldn't let me, so I don't really want to be here. Plus, it had started to rain harder and I was getting to look like a drowned rat.
Nothing much happens. Dick shows up, in a motorcade of two dozen cop cars and four buses either with no windows or tinted windows. The first two buses say Bush Cheney on the side, the next two are just regular looking buses. I guess they do the mystery act for security reasons. “Wow, cool, there he is,” everyone was saying. “Big hairy deal,” is what I was saying.
So sometime in between all of this, a group of young boys showed up, all chatty like young boys are. There were some young girls too, but they didn't seem nearly as rebellious. I figured they might've been from Anthony’s University but couldn't be sure. They stand around and talk for a bit, and then the boys take out this cloth they had rolled up. Unveiled it read “Quagmire Accomplished,” a mock of George's Mission Accomplished sign on the boat deck when he wore that too tight flight suit last May. So inside I'm going YAY, finally some protestors, finally some action. And of course it causes a stir among the Bush pod people, who all try to hide the huge sign (at least 15 feet long, 4 feet high) with their tiny little 18x12 Bush Cheney signs. Several small arguments break out. Nothing major, unfortunately. No punches thrown. But I mosey on nearby and notice the dark skinned boy holding one end of the sign being interrogated by a Bushie. She was asking him where he was from, assuming by the color of his skin he was, at worst, a terrorist and at best, an illegal immigrant. He said, "I was born here." He started to get a little unnerved by all the questions and his buddy said something to him about needing to go back to school. So I tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Do you need someone to hold your sign?"
So there I was holding one end of this huge sign, and the other end was held by this women so far away I couldn't barely see what she was wearing. I began to talk to the other people around me, who'd come with the small group. There was a lovely man by the name of Flore with a British accent, actually from London who reminded me of Tony Blair, only smart. He was holding two signs with all his might... one a Kerry Edwards sign and the other a copy of a sign he said was erected in London, which he was sure to give me a better look at. Tony Blair's head was photo-shopped on the head of a poodle and he was being led around by a leash held by the cowboy Bush. The sign read: Drop Bush, Not Bombs.
Turns out this group of people was from North Bend, which is across the state line, in the very red state of Indiana (which always votes Republican and would do so even if Adolph Hitler had the nomination). The lady holding the other end of the sign was Flore's wife, also with an adorable British accent. There was also a man with them who seemed to pronounce everything with a Z, originally from Norway. Well, needless to say, I just fell in love with these people right away. I kept on saying, 'I love your accent' which is probably a very Yankee thing to say, isn't it? But I couldn't help it. You'd think I'd never met a British person before. But I have watched quite a bit of BBC. The protest people were so grateful that I'd helped them out, but disappointed that they were the only protestors. They figured that since BS is technically a college town, it'd be more liberal. Ha! I had to straighten them out there. People whose beliefs and practices include vegetarianism partly inspired by a belief that meat makes you horny are by no means liberal.
Once Cheney had his three pounds of bacon and double scoop of scrambled eggs (only kidding, he only ordered water) his bus hooked a right and he made his way through the grand metropolis that is Broken Springs, MI. If he blinked, he might've missed it.
I wonder now if they served him genuine tap water, straight from the flows of the filthy St. Joe River? There isn’t a Broken Springer alive who hasn’t at least once taken a whiz in that water. So if the Veep drank some tap water, there’s a chance that he’s taken a little of each of us back to Washington with him whether he knows it or not. I’ll drink to that.
When everything that was to happen happened, I said goodbye to all my accented friends and started towards home. While walking back I had the privilege of seeing two military men dressed in full camouflage pop out of the woods. It was like walking down a street in Vietnam. I heard someone say there were about 20 of them total, hiding in plain sight but no one knew they were there. On my way back to town, my mother drove by in her van and beeped the horn at me. She rescued me from the rain and gave me a lift into town, wanting to know all about everything. And I wanted to tell her so we decided to go to breakfast at the other breakfast place in town, Dickie‘s. I seriously had to pee too, and had walked up quite an appetite. So we sit, and she starts explaining how she was trying to get through to join me but they had the road blocked off and wouldn‘t let her in. Isn‘t that funny, I told her. They wouldn‘t let me out. I started telling her all about everything and just then, you'll never guess who walks through the door.
No, not Cheney. Someone far far worse.
Police Chief James 'Jimmy' Kingston. He approaches me and in almost a confrontational way asks, "So how far didja get? Did you see him?" like he was God or something. Cheney, I mean, not Kingston. I said no, that I only saw the buses, and Jimmy made a comment about seeing me 'huffin' down there, across the bridge. And I thought of saying, 'You could've given me a ride, ya prick,' but think better of it, as my mom's sitting there and all.
Kingston had sat down, and three other Broken Springs officers join him. And my mom keeps on spouting anti-Bush rhetoric quite loud enough for all of them to hear. I keep trying to hush her down, worried that her mouth will land us both in the clink. Having any political opinions left of Pat Buchanan was dangerous in Broken Springs that day, or come to think of it, any day. I tell her everything, watching my words carefully because the cops were sitting just ten feet away. It was just a few minutes past eleven when she jokingly made the comment, "Boy, today would've been a good day to rob a bank," because all our boys in blue were busy protecting a Dick. I don't think the cops heard, but I hush her up anyway and not more than ten minutes later, a call comes over their police radios announcing a robbery in progress at Three Fifths Bank, just a block away. The cops jump from their chairs and out the door, abandoning toast, waffles, and coffee. My mom exclaims, all excited, 'Didja hear that? The bank's being robbed!' I hadn't heard the words on the radios so I figured she was just foolin', but sure enough, the bank was really being robbed as Cheney was making his way out of Broken Springs. Then my mom says about the cops, "Hey, they didn't leave a tip!" Nor did they pay for their breakfasts before they left. Talk about highway robbery!
So... they didn't catch the bank robber until several months later in Wisconsin. We were all over the news for a few days. You gotta love a town that writes the satire itself, eh? I could’ve never came up with an idea as clever as “Bank gets nicked when V.P. visits.” You should’ve heard people talking about it around town. I heard the term Keystone Kop mentioned more than I care to count.
Rumor was that Bush was also thinking of paying Broken Springs a visit. But lucky for us (and our IRAs) he decided against it.
In retrospect, I’m grateful the Veep didn’t do any hunting while he was here. I would've hated to see him crowd in on Daniel Shame’s territory.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Potent and Impotent
Don’t forget to watch ABC’s Desperation tonight at 8. The Stephen King website describes the story as follows: “Located off a desolate stretch of Interstate 50, Desperation, Nevada has few connections with the rest of the world” with a Sheriff known as, “Collie Entragian, an outsize uniformed madman who considers himself the only law west of the Pecos. God forbid you should be missing a license plate or find yourself with a flat tire.”
Don’t worry. The similarities stop there, unless Broken Springs is infected by evil incarnate known only as Tak. My only criticism of Stephen King is that he too often resorts to the supernatural in his books, which is unnecessary in the world of horror. Reality is quite horrible enough, isn’t it? As Edmund Burke said, “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” And as Shallow Throat says, “There’s always too much of nothing going on in Broken Springs.”
Thank you to everyone (all 51 of you) who voted in the last NFBS poll. Results were lopsided. Well over one half of those polled still believe in that ancient right of free speech, which is encouraging. But nearly a quarter of the respondents voted for me to “roll over like a dog.” If it’s any consolation to those people, I already did that once and like Monica with Bill, it left a bad taste in my mouth. Been there, done that. Never again.
A big thanks also goes out to El Gordo Davis, who brought tasers up again at the last police commission meeting. And here I was thinking the millage election would be boring… now that tasers are back on the table, anything could happen. There’s nothing like 50,000 volts of electricity to liven up a debate. But after the next police commission meeting, I think I’m gonna let Cathy Pullonhertoeifshehollerslethergo copy my notes just so she doesn’t jeopardize her journalistic integrity any further. It’s one thing to paraphrase quotes, but quite another to pull them out of that chunk of flesh you sit on during every meeting. I hate being more accurate than the actual press. If anyone is sincerely interested in what’s actually said at commission meetings, I encourage them to go to the meetings and listen for themselves. That’s a much better option than going by Cathy’s write-ups or my spoofed meeting minutes. Meetings are the second Monday of each month at 7:00 at the Township Hall. Don’t forget the popcorn!
I feel obligated to warn you, however, that police commission meetings are never quite as exciting as crosstown classic baseball games between the White Sox and Cubs.
Don’t worry. The similarities stop there, unless Broken Springs is infected by evil incarnate known only as Tak. My only criticism of Stephen King is that he too often resorts to the supernatural in his books, which is unnecessary in the world of horror. Reality is quite horrible enough, isn’t it? As Edmund Burke said, “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” And as Shallow Throat says, “There’s always too much of nothing going on in Broken Springs.”
Thank you to everyone (all 51 of you) who voted in the last NFBS poll. Results were lopsided. Well over one half of those polled still believe in that ancient right of free speech, which is encouraging. But nearly a quarter of the respondents voted for me to “roll over like a dog.” If it’s any consolation to those people, I already did that once and like Monica with Bill, it left a bad taste in my mouth. Been there, done that. Never again.
A big thanks also goes out to El Gordo Davis, who brought tasers up again at the last police commission meeting. And here I was thinking the millage election would be boring… now that tasers are back on the table, anything could happen. There’s nothing like 50,000 volts of electricity to liven up a debate. But after the next police commission meeting, I think I’m gonna let Cathy Pullonhertoeifshehollerslethergo copy my notes just so she doesn’t jeopardize her journalistic integrity any further. It’s one thing to paraphrase quotes, but quite another to pull them out of that chunk of flesh you sit on during every meeting. I hate being more accurate than the actual press. If anyone is sincerely interested in what’s actually said at commission meetings, I encourage them to go to the meetings and listen for themselves. That’s a much better option than going by Cathy’s write-ups or my spoofed meeting minutes. Meetings are the second Monday of each month at 7:00 at the Township Hall. Don’t forget the popcorn!
I feel obligated to warn you, however, that police commission meetings are never quite as exciting as crosstown classic baseball games between the White Sox and Cubs.
Monday, May 22, 2006
BS Diggers Find Hoffa!
The village of Broken Springs suffered a temporary delay in the start of its $850 grand street- escape project Monday when diggers along Keptner Street discovered the previously missing body of Jimmy Hoffa. The Teamsters leader, thought to have been murdered by the Mafia, disappeared in the summer of 1975 from Oakland County, Michigan , and was believed to been interred in the foundation of Giants stadium. As it turns out, he was about as far away from Giants stadium as you can get.“I was just digging up the end of Keptner Street, near the Ali estate, and all of a sudden I saw a pair of feet in the bucket of my backhoe,” said hole digger Gus “Big Cat” Houston. “Then in the next bucket, there was an arm still with the sleeve attached, and a Rolex on the wrist.”
Officials were called to the scene and local police were able to immediately verify that the corpse was not local. “We used a series of high tech methods to determine the deceased wasn’t from Broken Springs,” explained Police Chief Jim Kingston. When asked what those high tech methods were, he further explained, “Well, no one in Broken Springs can afford a Rolex.”
Officer Daniel Shame, who noses his way into every BS investigation, told us that his first hunches were all wrong. “Before I knew it was Hoffa, I thought maybe he was from one of them big cities, like Puchanan or Fridgman. Once we found out it was a famous dead guy, the entire department wanted their pictures with him. Unfortunately he refused to sign autographs."
It wasn’t until fingerprint analysis and hair samples were tested from fourteen recovered pieces that the corpse’s identity was confirmed as the body of the former Teamsters Boss. But unfortunately since the body was dismembered when it was discovered, authorities may never know the initial cause of death.
“We suspect that the bullet hole in his skull had something to do with it,” explained Kingston, “But we’ve since lost the bullet we found at the burial site so we can never run the appropriate tests to confirm that it’s the magic bullet.” When asked about the ‘.38 bullet used to kill Jimmy Hoffa’ now listed on eBay with a buy it now price for $1700, Kingston seemed puzzled and admitted that he wasn’t very literate when it comes to the Internet. The eBay seller, CodeEnforcr, would not answer our many emails.
“So is it safe to assume that someone shot Hoffa?” we inquired.
“Not necessarily,” asserted Kingston. “He might’ve died from being hacked into pieces,” he said until we told him that the flesh wounds all match the pattern of the blades on the backhoe. “Good point. I hadn’t thought of that.” Kingston scratched his chin. “But he could’ve died any number of ways. Drowning, car accident, blunt force to the head, suicide, accidental. He might’ve tripped on the laces of those expensive shoes he was wearing," he posited with a furtive glance to his feet. We saw that he was wearing mud speckled leather loafers distinctly similar to those found on Hoffa. When he caught us looking, he continued, "Or his death could’ve been natural. He might’ve just drank too much Broken Springs water.”
The area in which Hoffa was discovered was once owned by Al Capone and the 88 acre estate was later purchased by Muhammed Ali. But Kingston and local officials don’t want people to rush to judgment. “Muhammed Ali didn’t kill Jimmy Hoffa,” insisted Broken Springs Mayor Jan Chaddwick, who had her own speculations on what really happened.
“He might’ve already been dead and buried when he was hit by a stray bullet, perhaps from someone duck hunting nearby. Maybe it happened when Cheney came to town last year. We’ll never know.”
Jimmy Hoffa is the only person who knows for sure and unfortunately for BS authorities, he’s in so many pieces he could qualify to be a bucket special at KFC.
In the meantime, it’ll remain another mystery to add to the Broken Springs collection.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Beware the Gherkins
This just in from the American Medical Association. Perhaps this is why Picklefest is no more?Beware! Pickles raise your mortality rate. Every pickle you eat brings you nearer to death. Amazingly, in this day and age, we’ve failed to grasp the terrifying significance of the term "in a pickle." Although leading horticulturists have long known that Cucumis sativus possesses indehiscent peop, the pickle industry continues to expand, despite the real dangers they pose.
Pickles are associated with all the major diseases of the body. Eating them breeds wars and terrorism. They also cause Syphilis. They can be related to most airline tragedies. Auto accidents can and have been caused by pickles. There exists a positive relationship between crime waves and consumption of this fruit of the curcubit family. For example:
- Nearly all sick people have eaten pickles at some point in their lives. The effects are obviously cumulative.
- 99.9% of all people who die from cancer have eaten pickles.
- 98.7% of stroke victims have consumed pickles, including you know who.
- 100% of all soldiers have eaten pickles.
- 96.8% of all terrorist sympathizers have eaten pickles.
- 99.7% of the people involved in air and auto accidents ate pickles within 14 days preceding the accident.
- 93.1% of juvenile delinquents come from homes where pickles are served frequently.
Evidence points to the long term effects of pickle eating:
- Of the people born in 1869 who later dined on pickles, there has been a 100% mortality.
- All pickle eaters born between 1899 and 1909 have wrinkled skin, have lost most of their teeth, have brittle bones and failing eyesight - if the ills of eating pickles have not already caused their death.
- Even more convincing is the report of a noted team of medical specialists: rats force-fed with 20 pounds of pickles per day for 30 days developed bulging abdomens. The appetites for wholesome food were destroyed.
Now who wants to tell those Germans in Laschau?
Friday, May 19, 2006
Strokegate
May 18th, 2006 will go down as one of the darkest days of the Chaddwick administration, as a special prosecutor was named to investigate Broken Springs Village President Jan Chaddwick’s denial of having had a stroke.
The denial came on the heels of Village resident Rhett Damon’s question regarding rumors of Chaddwick’s recent illness at a recent Village Council meeting, and the subsequent denial of these rumors by Jan Chaddwick’s husband, Stan.
In the wake of this denial, however, allegations are cropping up regarding the Chaddwick’s attempts to stifle rumors of ill health.
Damon alleges that several members of the Broken Springs Maintenance Department, also known as the “Plumbers”, have recently broken into his home in an attempt to find discrediting information on him.
“I can tell that it was Maintenance Department employees”, claims Damon, “because there were donut crumbs all over the place, they didn’t wipe their feet on my doormat, and my goldfish was molested.”
Broken County Prosecutor John Hyman has appointed a special prosecutor to investigate the allegations of governmental misconduct by President Chaddwick. “It is important that misconduct by public officials be investigated fully, completely, and without any special consideration whatsoever,” stated Hyman, “and the appointment of a special prosecutor in this case is fully warranted. Even my wife, Judge Lonna Tolling, agrees, and there are few others who are as capable of being able to bridge the often wobbly line between zealousness and misconduct as she is.”
Sources within the Special Prosecutor’s office allege that Chaddwick cannot fully account for her whereabouts during the period that Damon alleges she was incapacitated; specifically, she allegedly cannot recall what happened during an 18 ½-minute period of time. “I’m positive that nothing bad happened during this time, but it appears to have been erased from her memory,” stated Stan Chaddwick. “She very well could’ve done this by moving her right foot in, putting her right foot back, and then shaking all about; after all, that’s what it’s all about.”
Rumors of a cover-up regarding this illness have started to taint other members of Chaddwick’s inner-circle.
Village Vice-President Bob Pezdispenser has been accused by some of attempting to play “hardball” with Damon, as well as certain members of the Press, by creating an “Enemas List”.
A source within the Special Prosecutor’s office, speaking confidentially, stated that “his [Pezdispenser’s] main focus by creating this ‘Enemas List’ seems to have been to flush these troublemakers out of their caverns and insert some respect for the Chaddwicks into the public body”.
Chaddwick made an unprecedented public speech on the evening of May 18th, following the appointment of a Special Prosecutor, after being wheeled into the Broken Springs Village Hall by an attentive Stan Chaddwick, who wiped drool away from Chaddwick’s massive chin as she spoke.
Chaddwick stated, “It’sh important for the public to know whesher or not their Preshident is a vegshetable. Well, I’m not a vegeshetable. Shtan, honey: wipe.”
The appearance did little to project the powerful image that Chaddwick had hoped to create.
“It’s time to put her in the crisper, right next to the celery,” claims one longtime critic of Chaddwick. “She should be sent a ‘Cease and Desist’ letter from the tomatoes, corn, and lettuce for her defamatory attempts to impersonate them!”
Chaddwick, when informed of these comments, simply said “derderderderderderderderINI-ee-ee-ee--ee!”
The investigation remains ongoing.
NFBS thanks the esteemable reporter Celery Stalker for his reports from inside the fridge.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Mayor Squashes Rumors
Rumors that Broken Springs Mayor Jan Chaddwick is ill and considering giving up politics have been “greatly exaggerated,” according to Chaddwick herself, interviewed while bedridden at home. She insists that she’s as healthy as ever with good vitals, confirmed by her doctors at Broken General Hospital. Her blood pressure remains a very healthy 220 over 140 and her cholesterol’s never been better, clocking in at 297. Her private physician assures News from Broken Springs that if required, Chaddwick could still run a mile at the breakneck pace of 42 minutes, and just yesterday she bench pressed 240 and swam a lap and a half in the LSD swimming pool.
When asked to explain her recent absence from many government meetings, she called it a stroke of bad timing due to her professional obligations. “I’ve been working and pacing. Would an unhealthy person be able to pace so frantically?”
Rumors began spreading in the small metropolis of Broken Springs that Chaddwick was ill just as soon as she started questioning the finances of the police budget. Chaddwick, affectionately known as ‘Ole Tax and Spend Jan’ by local residents, began to find ways to make the police budget more fiscally responsible. She noted that she and fellow commissioners had already made “significant cuts” to the budget, which saved village and township residents an unprecedented $400 last year. “Jan, trying to save money? She must be sick,” said an audience member at a meeting, which is perhaps how the rumor got started to begin with.
Chaddwick has a history of illness, most notably diarrhea of the mouth and constipation of the brain. But so far these ailments have not affected her ability to govern Broken Springs. She called the rumors “unimaginable” and urged people to mind their own business.
Police Chief Jimmy Kingston added that he was concerned about the Mayor after hearing through his Bionic Ear what he classified as a troubling cough coming from her home late Saturday night. But she later assured him that it was only a bug she picked up from a snot nosed little brat at work.
“She doesn’t look any more sick than usual to me,” said Village Council Vice President Bob Pezdispenser. “The first sign of sickness is losing weight, so she must be as healthy as a horse.”
“A healthy horse, or that horse in Watervleit?” asked resident Rhett Damon, a former priest who’d heard rumors that the Mayor had been attacked by the cougar. “Is it a situation where we need to pray for her?”
Stan Chaddwick, the Mayor’s wife, answered, “Here in Broken Springs, we need to pray for everyone.”
Amen to that.
When asked to explain her recent absence from many government meetings, she called it a stroke of bad timing due to her professional obligations. “I’ve been working and pacing. Would an unhealthy person be able to pace so frantically?”
Rumors began spreading in the small metropolis of Broken Springs that Chaddwick was ill just as soon as she started questioning the finances of the police budget. Chaddwick, affectionately known as ‘Ole Tax and Spend Jan’ by local residents, began to find ways to make the police budget more fiscally responsible. She noted that she and fellow commissioners had already made “significant cuts” to the budget, which saved village and township residents an unprecedented $400 last year. “Jan, trying to save money? She must be sick,” said an audience member at a meeting, which is perhaps how the rumor got started to begin with.
Chaddwick has a history of illness, most notably diarrhea of the mouth and constipation of the brain. But so far these ailments have not affected her ability to govern Broken Springs. She called the rumors “unimaginable” and urged people to mind their own business.
Police Chief Jimmy Kingston added that he was concerned about the Mayor after hearing through his Bionic Ear what he classified as a troubling cough coming from her home late Saturday night. But she later assured him that it was only a bug she picked up from a snot nosed little brat at work.
“She doesn’t look any more sick than usual to me,” said Village Council Vice President Bob Pezdispenser. “The first sign of sickness is losing weight, so she must be as healthy as a horse.”
“A healthy horse, or that horse in Watervleit?” asked resident Rhett Damon, a former priest who’d heard rumors that the Mayor had been attacked by the cougar. “Is it a situation where we need to pray for her?”
Stan Chaddwick, the Mayor’s wife, answered, “Here in Broken Springs, we need to pray for everyone.”
Amen to that.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
El Gordo's Homework
Is this what little Nappy meant when he said cops need "something in the middle?"
Good thing the cops had the stun guns or else they would've had to shoot this woman.
BS Women Arrested for Talking Soap
Two Broken Springs women were arrested at Dickie’s Restaurant Monday when they were overheard by BS Police talking about suicide, attempted rape, murder, adultery, kidnapping, insurance fraud, and arson. But as it turns out, the two BS women were only discussing the latest episode of ABC’s comedy soap opera, Desperate Housewives. Janice Godfrey and Gayle Kinney were released under their own cognizance late yesterday afternoon.The misunderstanding landed them in the county jail until local authorities could verify that their gossip was indeed about a fictionalized television show and not reality in Broken Springs.
Police Chief Jim Kingston interrogated the subjects shortly after several officers in his department overheard them talking about a number of illegal activities. “Once an officer of the law hears the words rape, murder, and insurance fraud, they can’t help but raise their awareness to the situation and protect the community they’ve been hired to protect and serve,” explained the Chief. “Officers Polaski and Finns interrupted their breakfast to approach and apprehend the potential criminals, after gathering the majority of their conversation on tape. Better of them to err on the side of caution and accidentally arrest innocent people instead of letting criminals go.”
News from Broken Springs has acquired a copy of the breakfast tape, transcribed as follows:
Godfrey: Can you believe that Betty nearly poisoned her own son?
Kinney: But she thought he tried to rape Danielle. Then poor Matthew… locked up in the basement. Did Danielle kill Betty, when she hit her on the head? Or is she still alive?
Godfrey: I don’t know. I was more surprised that Lynnette left Tom.
Kinney: Well, Tom’s a cheating bastard who deserves to be alone.
Godfrey: At least he’s not like Peter, sleeping with his girlfriend’s son.
Kinney: I know! I would’ve deserted Andrew too. Since when does ‘honor thy mother’ mean jumping into bed with the man she’s dating?
Godfrey: I liked Peter better than George, though. I was happy when he killed himself.
Kinney: Bree sure can pick ‘em, can’t she? If only George hadn’t killed Rex. I know Rex had an S&M fetish but I think they could’ve worked out their problems.
Godfrey: Like Carlos and Gabby did. Looks like they won’t have to kidnap their next baby.
Kinney: Gabby always did like to rob the cradle. Remember John, her underage gardener she had an affair with?
Godfrey: How can I forget?! Do you think Susan and Mike will ever get back together?
Kinney: Not if Edie has anything to do with it. She’s already burned down Susan's house because she slept with Karl.
Godfrey: Well, she was married to him at the time…
Kinney: Puleeze! A marriage of convenience! She only married him for his insurance so she could have that wandering spleen operation.
It was at this point in the tape, right after the mention of insurance fraud, that Broken Springs police approached and apprehended the subjects on counts of conspiracy and aiding and abetting criminal activity. According to witnesses, the women tried to explain to the cops that they were talking about Wisteria Lane, to which an officer was overheard to answer, “Isn’t that near Sunset Drive?”
The women were held without bond for 20 hours before the secretary at the jail confirmed their story about the fictional Wisteria Lane. Broken Springs police later apologized to the two women for the blunder.
*This article dedicated to Mikey Poo.*
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Kingston Praises NSA Wiretapping
Tells NFBS, why didn’t I think of that?
Broken Springs Police Chief Jim Kingston has recently gone on record to publicly defend George Bush’s authorization of a controversial NSA program to collect data on tens of millions of American citizens. The federal policy was leaked to the USA Yesterday just a day after the NSA denied the Justice Department the security clearance needed to investigate potentially unlawful international wiretapping of phone calls and emails.
“Everyone’s condemning these policies,” said Kingston in a phone interview with NFBS Thursday afternoon. “But we ought to be commending them instead. It’s the wiretapping of citizens and non-citizens alike that has kept this great country safe from a terrorist attack since 2001. Those who complain about a lack of privacy deserve none. If you don’t have anything to hide, you should welcome the surveillance.”
Kingston, a former Bionic Ear user who takes pride in really listening to BS residents, has used the controversy to educate the public on the danger that law enforcement faces on a daily basis. “It’s not easy to keep America safe. It’s not any easier to keep Broken Springs safe. My heart goes out to George Bush. He can tap my phones any day, except when I’m talking about the illegalities of my Christmas Care Bear charity. But I’m sure he’s not interested in that, with all those illegal immigrants stealing the American way of life and A-rabs terrorizing us at the gas pumps…
“Knowledge is powerful, or so people tell me. The right to privacy is small potatoes compared to national security. That’s why at the next police commission meeting I’m going to request they authorize the use of the Bionic Ear that’s been in the Department closet since the mid-90s. If Bush can wiretap Americans with potential links to al-Qaida, then I should be able to eavesdrop on those pesky sidewalk supervisors and Adventist township trustees who obstructed the inalienable, god-given rights of Broken Springs citizens to flush with confidence as part of the Village Sewer Project.”
“Life, liberty, and the pursuit of septic tanks?”
“Absolutely! The public needs to realize that all of these things - eavesdropping, sewers, tasers, national ID cards, etc - all of these things are for their own good. If we can control the general population, watch their every move and regulate their every flush, we can better safeguard them from criminals and terrorists who’d like to take away their freedoms.”
After he concluded his opinions, I thanked the Police Chief and bid him a good day. After he hung up, I said to the silent third party on the phone, “Got all that?”
An omninous voice on the other end answered, “Think so. But what was that bit about a Christmas charity?”
Broken Springs Police Chief Jim Kingston has recently gone on record to publicly defend George Bush’s authorization of a controversial NSA program to collect data on tens of millions of American citizens. The federal policy was leaked to the USA Yesterday just a day after the NSA denied the Justice Department the security clearance needed to investigate potentially unlawful international wiretapping of phone calls and emails.
“Everyone’s condemning these policies,” said Kingston in a phone interview with NFBS Thursday afternoon. “But we ought to be commending them instead. It’s the wiretapping of citizens and non-citizens alike that has kept this great country safe from a terrorist attack since 2001. Those who complain about a lack of privacy deserve none. If you don’t have anything to hide, you should welcome the surveillance.”
Kingston, a former Bionic Ear user who takes pride in really listening to BS residents, has used the controversy to educate the public on the danger that law enforcement faces on a daily basis. “It’s not easy to keep America safe. It’s not any easier to keep Broken Springs safe. My heart goes out to George Bush. He can tap my phones any day, except when I’m talking about the illegalities of my Christmas Care Bear charity. But I’m sure he’s not interested in that, with all those illegal immigrants stealing the American way of life and A-rabs terrorizing us at the gas pumps…
“Knowledge is powerful, or so people tell me. The right to privacy is small potatoes compared to national security. That’s why at the next police commission meeting I’m going to request they authorize the use of the Bionic Ear that’s been in the Department closet since the mid-90s. If Bush can wiretap Americans with potential links to al-Qaida, then I should be able to eavesdrop on those pesky sidewalk supervisors and Adventist township trustees who obstructed the inalienable, god-given rights of Broken Springs citizens to flush with confidence as part of the Village Sewer Project.”
“Life, liberty, and the pursuit of septic tanks?”
“Absolutely! The public needs to realize that all of these things - eavesdropping, sewers, tasers, national ID cards, etc - all of these things are for their own good. If we can control the general population, watch their every move and regulate their every flush, we can better safeguard them from criminals and terrorists who’d like to take away their freedoms.”
After he concluded his opinions, I thanked the Police Chief and bid him a good day. After he hung up, I said to the silent third party on the phone, “Got all that?”
An omninous voice on the other end answered, “Think so. But what was that bit about a Christmas charity?”
Monday, May 08, 2006
Police Commission Meeting
Just when you thought the Taser issue was dead… or at least temporarily subdued…
Before the meeting starts, all eyes are glued to the window. Across the street, our formidable Police Chief himself is attending to business by delivering someone he later referred to as “extremely intoxicated” to the Fairy Street Apartments. According to sources this is not the first time he’s had to “take care of someone” over at the Fairy Street Apartments. But we’re guessing that the previous times were a bit more entertaining.
So when Jim Kingston arrives a couple minutes late, he is forgiven. Mayor Jan Chaddwick, however, is an unforgiven no show. She didn't even notify her best friend for life, Curly Headed Sandy that she wasn’t attending. Also conspicuously absent is Troublemaker Bob, so we’ll let our clever readers connect the scandalous dots on their whereabouts, or in the Mayor’s case… her roundabouts.
The meeting is threatening boredom as the usual practices proceed. Meeting minutes and bills are accepted. Bob Frugal, living up to his name, questions the $1476 bill for ABA Extreme Threat Level Two purchases, which the Chief explains are new bullet proof vests. The financial report and Chief’s report are delivered. As usual, the PD has been “extremely busy” keeping the streets of Broken Springs safe from 16 year old hooligans, loitering nut jobs, fleeing felons, and middle aged alcoholics.
In some clever foreshadowing, Kingston announces that the Pizza Hut Robber has been nabbed, again. Not the first one, or the second one, but the third suspect has been caught and put behind bars. Because apparently in Broken Springs it takes three people to rub a Pizza Hut. One to take the pizza, and two to grab the breadsticks and pop.
Ernie Hildecrust asks about the maintenance work done on car #5, and is informed by Chief Kingston that it needed $600 worth of repair work on its brakes and rotors.
Supervisor Hildecrust, showing a potential Ford bias despite owning a Chevy truck, asks whether the department has ever considered dropping Chevy Impalas for Ford Crown Victorias. But the Chief explains that he’s had bad experiences with Fords… and being Chevy leaners ourselves, we can only assume he wasn’t referring to bad experiences in the backseats of Fords. One need only look as far as the Nascar Nextel Cup to determine which US Automaker is better. At least until Toyota joins the competition…
Bob Frugal asks about the possibility of getting grant money to purchase new digital cameras for the squad cars. I know I’d love to see some of the digital footage uploaded online…
But the Chief doesn’t know about the grant money and would instead like to use drug money towards their purchase.
In old business, there was an impromptu shooting practice session set up on the grounds of Camp Bitz. Officer Polaski, who has long arms and short legs (but not as short as Officer Shame’s) taught the fellers a bunch of stuff about guns and shootin’ and stuff.
Officers Robbers and Allgay are to be commended for their diligent work in capturing the Pizza Hut Robber. See if he ever steals pepperoni again! He’ll have to find another way to bring home the bacon! He’s sure to get a lot of sausage while in prison! Okay, I’ll stop…
Did we mention that the people at the courthouse were in awe of the professionalism of our local police squad? Not the judges and lawyers who could barely remember the actual robbery. But the pan handlers couldn’t be more impressed and the lunch lady told us, “Well done, young whippersnappers!”
Bringing up an issue on which the entire commission are experts, Ernie Hildecrust saves the day. He says that since the PD was no longer able to get gas from Layed Low (who privatized the LSD School Busing Department) he looked into getting gas from the Barn Bureau Oil Company. They’d supply us with an above ground 1,100 gallon tank (paid for by the township, as it’d be on their property) with which to fuel our cop cars at a price of $2.62 a gallon. Kingston asked about the octane of the gas and though Hildecrust didn’t know for sure, he assumed it was 87. He asked Jim about the size of the engines in the Impala squaddies but Kingston is as knowledgeable about car engines as he is about the Internet.
In other police business, there was a B&E at the Lynchman Church. Apparently it was pesky juveniles again, hoping to steal the church’s communion wine because, being only 16, they’re not old enough to buy it legally.
Then Gordo Davis, AKA Little Napoleon, walked in nearly fifteen minutes late.
In the Hero Story of the night, Chief Kingston retells a fascinating tale illustrating the danger our officers face on a daily basis. Apparently Officer Daniel Shame, in between Subweigh runs and flirtation stops at the Coyote Watering Hole found someone broken down on the bypass. He stopped to assist and was given false ID by the car troubled man (who must’ve been driving a Ford). Then the man fled on foot, because obviously he couldn’t drive away now, could he? Thank God he wasn’t driving a Chevy or this menace would still haunt our streets. Shame gave chase and apparently the fleeing man jumped over a fence and fell down a hill. Shame, whom we can only assume was quite a distance behind given his stature and physical condition, after calling for backup and not knowing where he was, managed to arrest the suspect single handedly. The suspect suffered a dislocated shoulder and a broken wrist, which Kingston was quick to attribute to the fall he took, not by any police brutality, no siree, of course not. And everyone lived happily ever after.
I hereby proclaim my support for a very necessary piece of equipment all of our officers should be supplied with…
Flashlights.
Yes, that’s right. With a flashlight, Officer Shame would’ve been able to see where he was running and where he was at. Furthermore, he would’ve been able to see the suspect’s fake ID and maybe even been able to catch a glimpse at the make and model of the perp’s car, thereby anticipating a foot chase.
Dear Police Commissioners,
Please give our cops the necessary equipment with which to protect themselves as they protect us. Buy them flashlights. Mag lights, preferably.
Officer Jerk arrested a boater for his 8th DUI offense at Clover Campground. Witnesses called in to complain when the intoxicated boater kept missing the boat ramp.
There was some more talk about troubled kids. A girl cried rape who’d only been knocked up by her boyfriend, some more loonies have been walking our streets bothering the normal people, etc. Apparently a Police Department groupie has been leaving long messages on the PD’s answering machine and stalking them when they take their early morning showers at the station. For the record, it's always a bit chilly in the station.
Bob Frugal asks Kingston about the possibility of hiring Rob Fishnet full time once he graduates from the Police Academy in the near future. Kingston said it’d be tight to squeeze him in so that he can repay us for funding part of his schooling. Sorry Fishnet. But look on the bright side. No one will ever be able to take that education away from you.
At this point, the meeting looked close to finished, until Hildecrust asked if anyone had anything else to say. The very tardy Davis then stood up to announce that he didn’t want to open a can of worms but…
In 34 counties who have 24/7 (sic) police coverage, we’re the only one who doesn’t have TASERS!
There it is! Tasers! The reason this blog was founded!
Tasers, tasers, how I missed you, sweet, dear taser issue.
I could hardly believe my ears as Gollum Gordo went on in his typical dramatic fascistic fashion about how the double murder in Lakeside illustrated to him that if Lakeside has tasers so should we, damnit.
Ernie Hildecrust, slightly impersonating the voice of reason, explained to Lil Nappy that the community was against tasers and anyway, they already took the taser money and used it on something else.
Smeagol himself volunteered to raise the taser money and said that if he wanted, he could fill the meeting audiences with people who supported our purchase of tasers. Many in the audience (of which I was the only renegade) agreed, saying that only a small group opposed the tasers and only because they were uneducated about them. Officer Polaski’s wife added that the only reason people don’t like tasers is because of those pesky articles the newspapers write, and we all know that the newspapers don’t bother writing the truth.
Except… she was sure to add… the Journalistic Error!
I about died laughing. After I picked myself off the floor, holding my splitting side, I heard Officer Polaski himself refer to tasers as “non-lethal.”
Now, I know I’m getting quite a laugh out of this but some things are no laughing matter. The fact that tasers have led to the deaths of over a hundred people nationwide is no laughing matter. So to Officer Polaski, please tell these people and their families that tasers are non-lethal. Go ahead, I double dog dare you.
Gordo Davis, who positively will not quit, said that when he was robbed in his own store, he was told by Justice Taylor that if he had shot his robber, he could have been sued. I think Davis’s point was that people can sue over anything, but then again, we already knew this didn’t we? Our village officials can and have sued over anything and everything, and they’ve even threatened to sue lil ole me over this this very blog you’re reading now. America is a litigatious society. Don't you just love it?
Polaski’s point was that if our cops (he being one of them) had tasers, they wouldn’t have to shoot so many people. Perhaps even that woman pumping gas wouldn’t have needed to be shot when Daniel Shame was hunting behind the gas station. But if Shame had had a taser, that suspect (who’d been arrested 44 times, Officer Polaski pointed out, and who also had in his possession marijuana and cocaine) might not have dislocated his shoulder and/or broken his wrist. We’re assuming, of course, that Officer Shame would’ve been able to hit the fleeing suspect in the dark without a flashlight. But we’re also assuming that the suspect wasn’t high on cocaine, which could cause the 50,000 volts of electricity to supercharge his heart into a fatal heart attack.
Curly Headed Sandy, who’d been silent all this time (boy was it nice) pipes in that she just recently read an article in the paper (an article I’m assuming she believed) reporting a death caused by pepper spray. Her point, I’m guessing, was that anything can kill you, so let’s give our boys hand grenades while we’re at it.
Phil Ruse, who was caught giggling at the Daniel Shame hero story just moments before, asked if it was wise for Shame to pursue the suspect on foot in the dark when he couldn’t see. Though he didn’t say a word in regard to the taser issue before then, Jim Kingston suddenly came alive, acting as though his flesh and blood had been raped. He nearly lept out of his chair and scolded Phil Ruse for his dissenting opinion, saying that we should commend Shame for his bravery, not condemn him. If that perp had gone on to murder a family, Shame would be hung out to dry.
Gordo Davis, opening the can of worms a bit more so the whole room could smell the stench, then volunteered to research the taser issue. Being the good hearted winnable journalist I am, I’m here to help Mr. Duckman. Here you are, Mr. Sonny Bonoparte… research away…
Aged 18 to 50, and physically fit corpses
A woman tasered while in diabetic shock
According to the ACLU (defenders of this website, btw), since 1999, at least 148 people in the United States and Canada have died after encounters with police who shocked them with Tasers…. However, according to Dr. Zian Tseng, cardiologist at the University of California at San Francisco, if the Taser sends its energy to the heart at the wrong time, it can indeed cause ventricular fibrillation or cardiac arrest. In addition, Roger Barr, professor of Bioengineering at Duke University, said the use of a Taser on a child can have more serious consequences than for an adult because the electrical shock delivered is not modified for a person’s smaller stature.
Just within the last day another person has died…
Would the Broken Springs Fuzz be too quick to tase, like these officers? You make the call.
There you are for now, Mr. Davis. Before you go testing the taser out “a half dozen times” on your wife, read those articles first and ask yourself, hasn’t she suffered enough already?
Before the meeting starts, all eyes are glued to the window. Across the street, our formidable Police Chief himself is attending to business by delivering someone he later referred to as “extremely intoxicated” to the Fairy Street Apartments. According to sources this is not the first time he’s had to “take care of someone” over at the Fairy Street Apartments. But we’re guessing that the previous times were a bit more entertaining.
So when Jim Kingston arrives a couple minutes late, he is forgiven. Mayor Jan Chaddwick, however, is an unforgiven no show. She didn't even notify her best friend for life, Curly Headed Sandy that she wasn’t attending. Also conspicuously absent is Troublemaker Bob, so we’ll let our clever readers connect the scandalous dots on their whereabouts, or in the Mayor’s case… her roundabouts.
The meeting is threatening boredom as the usual practices proceed. Meeting minutes and bills are accepted. Bob Frugal, living up to his name, questions the $1476 bill for ABA Extreme Threat Level Two purchases, which the Chief explains are new bullet proof vests. The financial report and Chief’s report are delivered. As usual, the PD has been “extremely busy” keeping the streets of Broken Springs safe from 16 year old hooligans, loitering nut jobs, fleeing felons, and middle aged alcoholics.
In some clever foreshadowing, Kingston announces that the Pizza Hut Robber has been nabbed, again. Not the first one, or the second one, but the third suspect has been caught and put behind bars. Because apparently in Broken Springs it takes three people to rub a Pizza Hut. One to take the pizza, and two to grab the breadsticks and pop.
Ernie Hildecrust asks about the maintenance work done on car #5, and is informed by Chief Kingston that it needed $600 worth of repair work on its brakes and rotors.
Supervisor Hildecrust, showing a potential Ford bias despite owning a Chevy truck, asks whether the department has ever considered dropping Chevy Impalas for Ford Crown Victorias. But the Chief explains that he’s had bad experiences with Fords… and being Chevy leaners ourselves, we can only assume he wasn’t referring to bad experiences in the backseats of Fords. One need only look as far as the Nascar Nextel Cup to determine which US Automaker is better. At least until Toyota joins the competition…
Bob Frugal asks about the possibility of getting grant money to purchase new digital cameras for the squad cars. I know I’d love to see some of the digital footage uploaded online…
But the Chief doesn’t know about the grant money and would instead like to use drug money towards their purchase.
In old business, there was an impromptu shooting practice session set up on the grounds of Camp Bitz. Officer Polaski, who has long arms and short legs (but not as short as Officer Shame’s) taught the fellers a bunch of stuff about guns and shootin’ and stuff.
Officers Robbers and Allgay are to be commended for their diligent work in capturing the Pizza Hut Robber. See if he ever steals pepperoni again! He’ll have to find another way to bring home the bacon! He’s sure to get a lot of sausage while in prison! Okay, I’ll stop…
Did we mention that the people at the courthouse were in awe of the professionalism of our local police squad? Not the judges and lawyers who could barely remember the actual robbery. But the pan handlers couldn’t be more impressed and the lunch lady told us, “Well done, young whippersnappers!”
Bringing up an issue on which the entire commission are experts, Ernie Hildecrust saves the day. He says that since the PD was no longer able to get gas from Layed Low (who privatized the LSD School Busing Department) he looked into getting gas from the Barn Bureau Oil Company. They’d supply us with an above ground 1,100 gallon tank (paid for by the township, as it’d be on their property) with which to fuel our cop cars at a price of $2.62 a gallon. Kingston asked about the octane of the gas and though Hildecrust didn’t know for sure, he assumed it was 87. He asked Jim about the size of the engines in the Impala squaddies but Kingston is as knowledgeable about car engines as he is about the Internet.
In other police business, there was a B&E at the Lynchman Church. Apparently it was pesky juveniles again, hoping to steal the church’s communion wine because, being only 16, they’re not old enough to buy it legally.
Then Gordo Davis, AKA Little Napoleon, walked in nearly fifteen minutes late.
In the Hero Story of the night, Chief Kingston retells a fascinating tale illustrating the danger our officers face on a daily basis. Apparently Officer Daniel Shame, in between Subweigh runs and flirtation stops at the Coyote Watering Hole found someone broken down on the bypass. He stopped to assist and was given false ID by the car troubled man (who must’ve been driving a Ford). Then the man fled on foot, because obviously he couldn’t drive away now, could he? Thank God he wasn’t driving a Chevy or this menace would still haunt our streets. Shame gave chase and apparently the fleeing man jumped over a fence and fell down a hill. Shame, whom we can only assume was quite a distance behind given his stature and physical condition, after calling for backup and not knowing where he was, managed to arrest the suspect single handedly. The suspect suffered a dislocated shoulder and a broken wrist, which Kingston was quick to attribute to the fall he took, not by any police brutality, no siree, of course not. And everyone lived happily ever after.
I hereby proclaim my support for a very necessary piece of equipment all of our officers should be supplied with…
Flashlights.
Yes, that’s right. With a flashlight, Officer Shame would’ve been able to see where he was running and where he was at. Furthermore, he would’ve been able to see the suspect’s fake ID and maybe even been able to catch a glimpse at the make and model of the perp’s car, thereby anticipating a foot chase.
Dear Police Commissioners,
Please give our cops the necessary equipment with which to protect themselves as they protect us. Buy them flashlights. Mag lights, preferably.
Officer Jerk arrested a boater for his 8th DUI offense at Clover Campground. Witnesses called in to complain when the intoxicated boater kept missing the boat ramp.
There was some more talk about troubled kids. A girl cried rape who’d only been knocked up by her boyfriend, some more loonies have been walking our streets bothering the normal people, etc. Apparently a Police Department groupie has been leaving long messages on the PD’s answering machine and stalking them when they take their early morning showers at the station. For the record, it's always a bit chilly in the station.
Bob Frugal asks Kingston about the possibility of hiring Rob Fishnet full time once he graduates from the Police Academy in the near future. Kingston said it’d be tight to squeeze him in so that he can repay us for funding part of his schooling. Sorry Fishnet. But look on the bright side. No one will ever be able to take that education away from you.
At this point, the meeting looked close to finished, until Hildecrust asked if anyone had anything else to say. The very tardy Davis then stood up to announce that he didn’t want to open a can of worms but…
In 34 counties who have 24/7 (sic) police coverage, we’re the only one who doesn’t have TASERS!
There it is! Tasers! The reason this blog was founded!
Tasers, tasers, how I missed you, sweet, dear taser issue.
I could hardly believe my ears as Gollum Gordo went on in his typical dramatic fascistic fashion about how the double murder in Lakeside illustrated to him that if Lakeside has tasers so should we, damnit.
Ernie Hildecrust, slightly impersonating the voice of reason, explained to Lil Nappy that the community was against tasers and anyway, they already took the taser money and used it on something else.
Smeagol himself volunteered to raise the taser money and said that if he wanted, he could fill the meeting audiences with people who supported our purchase of tasers. Many in the audience (of which I was the only renegade) agreed, saying that only a small group opposed the tasers and only because they were uneducated about them. Officer Polaski’s wife added that the only reason people don’t like tasers is because of those pesky articles the newspapers write, and we all know that the newspapers don’t bother writing the truth.
Except… she was sure to add… the Journalistic Error!
I about died laughing. After I picked myself off the floor, holding my splitting side, I heard Officer Polaski himself refer to tasers as “non-lethal.”
Now, I know I’m getting quite a laugh out of this but some things are no laughing matter. The fact that tasers have led to the deaths of over a hundred people nationwide is no laughing matter. So to Officer Polaski, please tell these people and their families that tasers are non-lethal. Go ahead, I double dog dare you.
Gordo Davis, who positively will not quit, said that when he was robbed in his own store, he was told by Justice Taylor that if he had shot his robber, he could have been sued. I think Davis’s point was that people can sue over anything, but then again, we already knew this didn’t we? Our village officials can and have sued over anything and everything, and they’ve even threatened to sue lil ole me over this this very blog you’re reading now. America is a litigatious society. Don't you just love it?
Polaski’s point was that if our cops (he being one of them) had tasers, they wouldn’t have to shoot so many people. Perhaps even that woman pumping gas wouldn’t have needed to be shot when Daniel Shame was hunting behind the gas station. But if Shame had had a taser, that suspect (who’d been arrested 44 times, Officer Polaski pointed out, and who also had in his possession marijuana and cocaine) might not have dislocated his shoulder and/or broken his wrist. We’re assuming, of course, that Officer Shame would’ve been able to hit the fleeing suspect in the dark without a flashlight. But we’re also assuming that the suspect wasn’t high on cocaine, which could cause the 50,000 volts of electricity to supercharge his heart into a fatal heart attack.
Curly Headed Sandy, who’d been silent all this time (boy was it nice) pipes in that she just recently read an article in the paper (an article I’m assuming she believed) reporting a death caused by pepper spray. Her point, I’m guessing, was that anything can kill you, so let’s give our boys hand grenades while we’re at it.
Phil Ruse, who was caught giggling at the Daniel Shame hero story just moments before, asked if it was wise for Shame to pursue the suspect on foot in the dark when he couldn’t see. Though he didn’t say a word in regard to the taser issue before then, Jim Kingston suddenly came alive, acting as though his flesh and blood had been raped. He nearly lept out of his chair and scolded Phil Ruse for his dissenting opinion, saying that we should commend Shame for his bravery, not condemn him. If that perp had gone on to murder a family, Shame would be hung out to dry.
Gordo Davis, opening the can of worms a bit more so the whole room could smell the stench, then volunteered to research the taser issue. Being the good hearted winnable journalist I am, I’m here to help Mr. Duckman. Here you are, Mr. Sonny Bonoparte… research away…
Aged 18 to 50, and physically fit corpses
A woman tasered while in diabetic shock
According to the ACLU (defenders of this website, btw), since 1999, at least 148 people in the United States and Canada have died after encounters with police who shocked them with Tasers…. However, according to Dr. Zian Tseng, cardiologist at the University of California at San Francisco, if the Taser sends its energy to the heart at the wrong time, it can indeed cause ventricular fibrillation or cardiac arrest. In addition, Roger Barr, professor of Bioengineering at Duke University, said the use of a Taser on a child can have more serious consequences than for an adult because the electrical shock delivered is not modified for a person’s smaller stature.
Just within the last day another person has died…
Would the Broken Springs Fuzz be too quick to tase, like these officers? You make the call.
There you are for now, Mr. Davis. Before you go testing the taser out “a half dozen times” on your wife, read those articles first and ask yourself, hasn’t she suffered enough already?
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Oh Say Can You Habla Espanol?
President Bush, in what we can only assume is a effortless attempt to increase his tanking poll numbers has recently made the following comment:
“I think the national anthem ought to be sung in English.”
This is a brilliant statement from a man who routinely mispronounces nuclear and once declared how hard it is to put food on your family. Lucky for Bush, the biggest word in our anthem is perilous, a word with which he should be all too familiar.
Of course the assumption Bush is relying on is that most Americans already know English.
Donald Rumsfeld does, right? Here’s an example of his master usage of the English language:
"Reports that say something hasn't happened are interesting to me,
because as we know, there are known unknowns; there're
things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns -- the ones we don't know we don't know."
There‘s an old British saying by Adam Cooper that goes, "Giving English to an American is like giving sex to a child. He knows it's important but he doesn't know what to do with it."
Well, that much is true. Other than insist that everyone speak it, we really don’t know what else to do with the language we assume we can speak ourselves. Not that we should be able to speak English, which is after all, a foreign language to those of us on this side of the Atlantic.
The English language is for the English. What we speak is 100% pure, unadulterated American. If we spoke English, our bathrooms would be called loos, our cigarettes fags, our diapers nappies, and our hoods bonnets. We’d take holidays and not vacations. We wouldn’t call someone up on the phone. We would ring them. If we knocked someone up, we wouldn’t have to pay child support nine months later. And if, God forbid, we ran out of rubbers, we could find another on the end of the nearest pencil.
It gets even worse locally in Broken Springs, where we designate the verb pop to mean a beverage and where our tennis shoes can be worn to play anything and everything but tennis.
So before we proclaim that our national anthem ought to be sung only in English, might it be wise to specify what deformed dialect of English we actually speak? After all, we wouldn’t want anyone to misunderestimate us.
“I think the national anthem ought to be sung in English.”
This is a brilliant statement from a man who routinely mispronounces nuclear and once declared how hard it is to put food on your family. Lucky for Bush, the biggest word in our anthem is perilous, a word with which he should be all too familiar.
Of course the assumption Bush is relying on is that most Americans already know English.
Donald Rumsfeld does, right? Here’s an example of his master usage of the English language:
"Reports that say something hasn't happened are interesting to me,
because as we know, there are known unknowns; there're
things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns -- the ones we don't know we don't know."
There‘s an old British saying by Adam Cooper that goes, "Giving English to an American is like giving sex to a child. He knows it's important but he doesn't know what to do with it."
Well, that much is true. Other than insist that everyone speak it, we really don’t know what else to do with the language we assume we can speak ourselves. Not that we should be able to speak English, which is after all, a foreign language to those of us on this side of the Atlantic.
The English language is for the English. What we speak is 100% pure, unadulterated American. If we spoke English, our bathrooms would be called loos, our cigarettes fags, our diapers nappies, and our hoods bonnets. We’d take holidays and not vacations. We wouldn’t call someone up on the phone. We would ring them. If we knocked someone up, we wouldn’t have to pay child support nine months later. And if, God forbid, we ran out of rubbers, we could find another on the end of the nearest pencil.
It gets even worse locally in Broken Springs, where we designate the verb pop to mean a beverage and where our tennis shoes can be worn to play anything and everything but tennis.
So before we proclaim that our national anthem ought to be sung only in English, might it be wise to specify what deformed dialect of English we actually speak? After all, we wouldn’t want anyone to misunderestimate us.
| You Passed the US Citizenship Test |
 Congratulations - you got 10 out of 10 correct! |
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Code Enforcer Rescued
Officials today halted the three day investigation into the whereabouts of Broken Springs Litter and Debris Code Enforcer, Daniel Shame after he was discovered in a resident’s backyard hanging upside down from a tree. Shame, who was missing an entire day before anyone noticed he was gone, had apparently set off a cougar trap in the backyard of residents who were out of town for the first part of the week. The trap netted him upside down, where he hung motionless until help arrived in the form of a little girl eating a lollipop, chasing after fireflies Tuesday night.
Daniel Shame retells the story. “At first I think she was scared of me. Lots of people are scared of me, so that’s not unusual. But I had to beg her to go get the police and leave behind her lollipop. ‘Go get Jimmy,’ I told her in my most unthreatening tone of voice. ‘And if you leave your lollipop I won’t tell your parents you’re out after dark.’”
The little girl, now regarded a hero among the community, has been given a big bag of lollipops from the Shame family and local dentist, Dr. Floss, who call the lollipops a good investment in future business.
“It was awful,” explains the Code Enforcement Officer, whose face is still criss-crossed from the twine of the netting. “The first night it rained. The next morning I was assaulted by a gang of loose bowelled pigeons. Thank God Mrs. Horrace doesn’t close her shades at night. That was the only thing that kept me going.”
The trap set by local residents was intended for the often seen but never proven cougar who’s presence has graced our area in the past several months. The residents who set the cougar trap were surprised, to say the least, when they heard that their trap had caught a 250 pound animal, but not exactly the beast they had in mind. In the interest of Broken Springs, they gave permission to the Broken Springs police to release the captured creature on the condition that he never trespasses again.
In an unrelated news story, the residents in question were cited for three different litter and debris code violations, all observed by Shame while he hung upside down from the net in their tree.
Daniel Shame retells the story. “At first I think she was scared of me. Lots of people are scared of me, so that’s not unusual. But I had to beg her to go get the police and leave behind her lollipop. ‘Go get Jimmy,’ I told her in my most unthreatening tone of voice. ‘And if you leave your lollipop I won’t tell your parents you’re out after dark.’”
The little girl, now regarded a hero among the community, has been given a big bag of lollipops from the Shame family and local dentist, Dr. Floss, who call the lollipops a good investment in future business.
“It was awful,” explains the Code Enforcement Officer, whose face is still criss-crossed from the twine of the netting. “The first night it rained. The next morning I was assaulted by a gang of loose bowelled pigeons. Thank God Mrs. Horrace doesn’t close her shades at night. That was the only thing that kept me going.”
The trap set by local residents was intended for the often seen but never proven cougar who’s presence has graced our area in the past several months. The residents who set the cougar trap were surprised, to say the least, when they heard that their trap had caught a 250 pound animal, but not exactly the beast they had in mind. In the interest of Broken Springs, they gave permission to the Broken Springs police to release the captured creature on the condition that he never trespasses again.
In an unrelated news story, the residents in question were cited for three different litter and debris code violations, all observed by Shame while he hung upside down from the net in their tree.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Cat Got Their Tongue?
By Chocolate Thunda, back in the saddle again
Has anyone realized that the whole letter business has come and gone without a mere mention from a certain local "Paper?” Also, the police commission has yet to defend their mayor and police chief publicly. Isn't it odd that the issue has not been even so much as brought up by either of these organizations? They’ve been as silent as a whore in church. Here are two lists that might shed some light on the issue.
Top Five reasons The Journalistic Error has chosen not to publish the letter from the Sissy Girl Three, AKA the Three Stooges.
5. The letter got lost in the mail.
4. The multi-syllabic words in the letter were too big for the Error and for the typical Error subscriber who doesn‘t possess a dictionary.
3. There’s a secret “nudge, nudge, wink, wink” arrangement between Chief Kingston and Cathy Pullonmyfingerifshefartsletmego, assuring not to publicize how moronic and un-American the letter actually is.
2. The Pollution has done such a good job covering the story, the Error has decided not to place further comment into the matter.
And the number one reason the paper has yet to publish the C&D story is…
1. There are already enough idiotic articles in the Journalistic Error.
But wait, there's more!!!
Top Five Reasons the Police Commission won't bring up the issue.
5. The Alzheimer’s prone members forgot to bring it up in their "meeting" before the meeting.
4. The letter got lost in the shuffle of Millage Election Preparation.
3. Chief Kingston was holding the commission at gunpoint under the table, keeping them from talking. What’s that you say? That wasn’t a gun in his pocket? Well, that’s another article entirely.
2. The letter got lost in the mail, or given the competence of our postal employees, has yet to reach its destination.
And the number one reason the Commission won’t bring up the C&D issue is…
1. The police commission already has enough trouble trying to figure out how to balance their budget.
I'm here all week. Be sure to tip your waitress!
Has anyone realized that the whole letter business has come and gone without a mere mention from a certain local "Paper?” Also, the police commission has yet to defend their mayor and police chief publicly. Isn't it odd that the issue has not been even so much as brought up by either of these organizations? They’ve been as silent as a whore in church. Here are two lists that might shed some light on the issue.
Top Five reasons The Journalistic Error has chosen not to publish the letter from the Sissy Girl Three, AKA the Three Stooges.
5. The letter got lost in the mail.
4. The multi-syllabic words in the letter were too big for the Error and for the typical Error subscriber who doesn‘t possess a dictionary.
3. There’s a secret “nudge, nudge, wink, wink” arrangement between Chief Kingston and Cathy Pullonmyfingerifshefartsletmego, assuring not to publicize how moronic and un-American the letter actually is.
2. The Pollution has done such a good job covering the story, the Error has decided not to place further comment into the matter.
And the number one reason the paper has yet to publish the C&D story is…
1. There are already enough idiotic articles in the Journalistic Error.
But wait, there's more!!!
Top Five Reasons the Police Commission won't bring up the issue.
5. The Alzheimer’s prone members forgot to bring it up in their "meeting" before the meeting.
4. The letter got lost in the shuffle of Millage Election Preparation.
3. Chief Kingston was holding the commission at gunpoint under the table, keeping them from talking. What’s that you say? That wasn’t a gun in his pocket? Well, that’s another article entirely.
2. The letter got lost in the mail, or given the competence of our postal employees, has yet to reach its destination.
And the number one reason the Commission won’t bring up the C&D issue is…
1. The police commission already has enough trouble trying to figure out how to balance their budget.
I'm here all week. Be sure to tip your waitress!
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