Campaign Signs Violate Blight Ordinance

Broken Springs Village Council decided Monday night to include certain campaign signs in residents front yards in the current blight ordinance that protects us from the threat of litter and debris. The move is a controversial one however because not all campaign signs are treated equal. Namely, the signs of Village President Jan Chaddwick and her slate of political incumbents are not to be considered blight while those of any potential opponents are deemed “the most offensive blight known to humankind,” according to the meeting minutes of Village Clerk Cherry Pickens-Kingston. Those signs violating the ordinance are to be dealt with “quietly and immediately,” according to the policy.

“This is a special provision for our quaint little village,” commented Chaddwick after the meeting. “For too long we in Broken Springs have had to suffer the ugly expression of democracy, from critical bloggers to the distribution of opposing political candidacies. Now we’ll be able to see democracy for the beautiful thing that it is, in this case a 'Re-elect Jan Chaddwick for Mayor' yard sign.” Her eyes glinted as she held up a pink, white, and blue campaign sign with her name spelled out in roses. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to celebrate my future victory with a 12 piece bucket from KFC.” She almost skipped away from the meeting.

Litter and Debris Officer and part time midget playboy Daniel Shame also applauded the move, granting the council members the foresight to predict an ugly campaign by Chaddwick opponents. “These people will do anything to get attention including plastering the lawns of ordinary citizens. It’s shameful, really. Broken Springs residents should realize that their yards are not billboards.” With that, Shame stepped up into his Ford Bronco, covered with confederate flag and Nascar bumper stickers, and sped away.

Those opposing Chaddwick and her slate of politicians could not be reached for comment, as they were busy packing their bags for a town with more people than cows.

Bank Robbed at Squirt Gun Point

Three Fifths Bank was robbed early Friday afternoon by a man wielding a loaded squirt gun and a backpack he claimed was filled with several gallons of extra ammunition. The suspect, who fled the scene with $12,000 and a handful of complimentary lollipops, was caught on the bank’s surveillance camera and an APB has been put out for his arrest.

The robbery caught everyone by surprise, including the bank’s gardener, who was busy watering inside plants when the suspect arrived. “When I saw the squirt gun, I figured he was just another town loony on a hot day. But when he opened fire on my begonia I took offense. ‘I just watered her,’ I told him. ‘Any more water could hurt her.’ That was when he took the flower, pot and all, in his arms and approached the desk.”

According to other witnesses on the scene, the suspect set the flower pot on the counter, pointed his large squirt gun at it and said to the bank clerk, “Hand over all the money or the begonia gets it.”

It wasn’t long before the robber noticed a more fruitful target, however. Every Friday is Casual Dress Day at Three Fifths and bank employee Pam Hucklebee was sporting a tight fitting white tee shirt. The suspect’s new targets were both staring him directly in the face.

“All of a sudden his eyes got as big as watermelons,” remembered a towel draped and terror stricken Hucklebee. “He told me that in addition to all of our money, he also wanted to open a free checking account. When the manager refused him a free checking account, the robber opened fire and all hell broke loose.”

Broken Springs Police were the first law enforcement agency to arrive at the scene, and the robber had already hit several innocent targets by then, including Hucklebee’s nervously heaving torso. Daniel Shame drew his weapon on the bandit but had to drop his revolver when he was struck by a stream of water in the shoulder. He quickly retreated to his squad car for a life saving towel. Backup officers who’d cut their lunch short from Subweigh were of little assistance in capturing the water bandit as he sped away on his bicycle. Chief Kingston explained how the suspect escaped.

“By the time we arrived, Officer Shame was already down. The armed and dangerous bank robber was already on his getaway vehicle. We chased him on foot for several blocks but when he got too far away, all we could do was try to shoot out his tires. Have you ever tried to shoot out the tires on a moving bicycle? It’s no easy task,” said the beleaguered Chief, who walked back to his car with a noticeable limp.

At the end of the day, Three Fifths Bank suffered the loss of $12,143.66 and an undetermined number of lollipops. Three ceiling tiles ended up with water damage, and six employees either need to buy darker colored tee shirts or begin wearing brassieres.

Meanwhile, the begonia has fully recovered.

Police Commission Meeting

Cathy Pullonhertoeifshehollarswatchoutforthesnake, Phil Ruse, and I are all unfashionably early, unlike Attorney Amnesia who arrives a very stylish five minutes late. Before the meeting starts, Little Napoleon, aka Papa Smurf tries making a move on Gary Fishnet in the audience. Several “Brokenback Springs” jokes occur which make me nostalgic for that short story I never finished.

Once everyone has sat down and had a few jolly homophobic laughs, well nothing happens really. Ernie Hildecrust explains that he’s waiting for the Attorney, who apparently got caught in the terrible Broken Springs traffic.

During this down time, I’m left to wonder…
Will he or won’t he? That is the question.

Will Ernie Hildecrust break to local pressure to apologize for the insulting gas on the honor system comment or will he pass on the gas issue? Only time would tell.

The meeting starts before the attorney arrives. Last meeting’s minutes are accepted (insult and all). I was surprised a retraction wasn’t requested.

The Commission received a $7,000 fuel bill from the LSD school district. Curly Headed Sandy replies that the situation was out of anyone’s control. At the risk of being struck by lightning, I must agree with Sandy. LSD privatized and Laidlow had everyone bent over, trousers down. I just hope those schmucks in St. Hoe don’t make the same privatization mistake with their custodians.

In the Chief’s Report, he makes note that the force has been busier than usual. He says as much every month and at this rate we’ll need to triple the workforce by next year, just to keep up with standard activity. Of course, it doesn’t help that everyone’s allowed to take their vacation at the same time.

In old business, Chief Kingston publicly thanks Ernie for getting gas, noting how convenient it is to have gas so close by. Ernie doesn’t take this opportunity to publicly apologize for implying last month that Kingston’s Kops might swipe company fuel for their own personal vehicles.

Rob Fishnet is in the audience, two chairs down from yours truly and I’m not sucking up or anything but he’s definitely the cutest cop we have serving and protecting. Your own Shallow Throat knows Fishnet’s parents as well, and let it be said that he might be one of the good ones.

What follows is about an hour’s worth of very boring policy discussion. The attorney had drafted up three policies: Unexpected Expenses, Travel and Education Expenses, and a Donation Policy.

I admit for the majority of the discussion I was busy trying to read Stan Chaddwick’s newspaper over his shoulder, but I did pick up on a couple notable tidbits:

As a culture, we’re too hooked on Walmart and Sam’s Club.
Jan Chaddwick loves (loves loves) Mapquest.
Broken Springs Teacher’s Credit Union is having a hot dog fundraiser on the 14th.
And the Commission is scared to death to bring up tasers in any way, shape, or form.

Concerning the Donation Policy, most everyone agrees that to accept a donation for tanks would be a bad idea. In fact, it’s unacceptable to accept a donation for any item that isn’t already pre-approved by the commission (read: Tasers a year and a half ago). Nobody, except for Heath Ledger in the audience, dares mention tasers because they know doing so a month before the millage election would be tasing themselves in the foot. (Note to Mr. Ledger: the Taser money went to computers.)

Note to self: Tear up $50 check for elevator shoes.

The question raised on the donated money issue goes something like, “Is it better to accept donations, then figure out if it can be used, or vice versa?” Kingston has an interesting philosophy on the taking of solicited cash. He said, “It’s always wiser to grab the money.” Given his reputation for toting around cash filled briefcases, this quote should come as no surprise to anyone.

Mayor Jan Chaddwick seems to think that if an officer receiving donations tells the donator that he’ll bring the issue to the Chief (who in turn brings it to the Commission) people would be more likely to donate than if the officer says he will bring it straight to the Commission. Personally, unless the donation is for scratch off tickets from Speedway, I’d argue the opposite. But that’s just me.

For homework, Professor Hildecrust assigns reading over these three policy issues in order to discuss them more next month.

In new business, Jim Kingston thanks the Commission for sending him on a good conference about tobacco smuggling, employee discipline, and terrorism. Kingston doesn’t offer any evidence that he learned anything from this conference but he wanted everyone to know he had a good time. I didn’t even know they held police conferences in Atlantic City.

July 4th went well, and the cops directing traffic before and after the 30 minute parade did a particularly splendid job. We’re also pleased to report that the fireworks caused no major damage to the barn they mistakenly set on fire. But Mr. Tinkler’s horses are now all bald.

There have been several unsolved cases of vandalism by local kids (with nothing better to do) in the Kripple, Crass, and Pitchfork road area. Car windows have been busted, cars have been keyed, and valuable items have been stolen from the backseats of vehicles parked around the area. Not since the mass virginity theft of the 60s have there been so many backseat crimes in Broken Springs. Ernie Hildecrust just hopes that the kids get what they have coming and once caught they won’t get off.

On a related note, a Broken Springs resident requested the help of officers in the removal of a two foot snake from his house. Since the snake was not a buffalo, the Broken Springs cops decided to spare its life. Love Greek Nature Center took in the slithery suspect and learned that he too was just a juvenile, and an endangered juvy at that. It was a baby rat snake whose parents are known to reach 6-7 feet in length. So beware, all of you Fluff area residents. Don’t ask to borrow your neighbor’s new water hose.

At this time I’d like to personally thank the Broken Springs Police for not shooting the snake.

Happy five year anniversary to Officer Tweed. You’ve got the fabric of a fine officer, unlike that Officer Nylon. He’s so cold and impersonal.

Now the fun begins…

With boring policy, conference, and snake discussions out of the way, the Commission can now turn their attention to Sue Frettin’s presentation on the Auto Mark machine, a $6,700 glorified printer that helps enable handicapped people to vote. After demonstrating how the unit works, she invites the entire commission to use it during the next election.

Then she takes the opportunity to go over Election Law 101, which includes such rules as:

Once the polls open, no squad car or officer can come within 100 feet of a poling precinct. The obvious exceptions are if there is a crime being committed or if an on duty officer is casting his vote.

Also, she discourages the cops from stopping to converse with demonstrators. No police radios should be used and generally no use of public funded items can be used to tell or intimidate people on how to vote. Kingston takes issue with this rule, insisting that it’s the cops job to check out the demonstrators to see if anything is going on. Frettin disagrees and says there’s no cause for the officers to stop and if there is cause, the cops will be requested. Kingston wisely, perhaps because he knows he’s wrong, lets the issue rests as he turns a colorful shade of purple for the rest of the meeting. The smoke from his ears nearly sets off the fire alarm.

After the meeting, he’s still irate enough to approach the other editor in the room and insist that Frettin’ has no right to tell him officers can’t stop and talk to demonstrators. Is it healthy for a Chief of Police to have such contempt for the rule of law, even if it is only election law? Is democracy that much of an inconvenience? I apologize for not lightening the mood with a joke but some things are no laughing matter.

The Hero of the Night is Sue Frettin. Rock on and stick to your guns, girl!

Broken Springs Village Council Repeals Free Speech

In a not-so-shocking 6-0 vote, the Broken Springs Village Council passed an ordinance repealing “certain distasteful segments of the First Amendment,” according to Broken Springs Village President-for-Life Jan Chaddwick.

“We couldn’t intimidate Troublemaker Boob, Mrs. Didyaseedat, or that Throat character into reason, and Boob is still gushing his blatantly anti-Chaddwick/Kingston propaganda, so we’ve decided to take a necessary step toward creating the kind of harmony between our two governments that Mr. Brokencan called for,” stated Jan Chaddwick in an exclusive with NFBS. “And this type of emergency measure, drastic as it may sound, is what we believe to be a necessity for restoring order.”

Specifically, the ordinance repeals the last three sentences contained in the First Amendment for the “common citizenry” of Broken Springs: “[Congress shall pass no law]…abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”

Just exactly who is defined as “common citizenry” will be left up to Broken Springs Village Clerk Shady Kingston, according to the ordinance.

“Mrs. Kingston has performed her duties as Village Clerk down to the letter of her job description which, coincidentally, is exactly how I see things,” stated Chaddwick, “and she has, in the past, interpreted Statutes to meet our standard of governing. Matter of fact, if Troublemaker Boob hadn’t abused the First Amendment in the first place, that 'Vote Yes' Police Millage sign would still be in place for this year’s vote, and we wouldn’t have to pay some flunky…sorry, I meant dedicated Village employee…his usual $6.50 an hour to replace the 'Respect for Law Month' wording."

When queried as to the potential selective enforcement of this ordinance, Chaddwick stated, “Well, take a look at Oil Brokencan, for example. He has shown uncommon intellect in his public commentaries; matter of fact, he is the perfect example of 'uncommon citizenry' in our community. The fact that he is the father of our esteemed Village Clerk, as well as the father-in-law of the Police Chief is inconsequential.”

Chaddwick continued, “On the other hand, we feel that Boob and his ilk are very common and, therefore, fit into the definition of our new ordinance quite nicely. We are, once again, setting up our ‘re-education camps’ out at Peckerwood Inn for people like him, who continue to mock and catcall our performance despite our best attempts to unify both governing bodies with reason.”

When questioned about the legality of the Council’s action, Chaddwick laughed so heartily that jelly donut crumbs fell out of the folds of her blouse. She stated, “I’m confident that this will withstand any scrutiny; I’m certain that our County Prosecutor will agree with us; matter of fact, Police Chief Kingston and him have an ‘understanding’ that transcends any potential misstep on our part.”

Broken County Prosecutor John Hyman, contacted at home, said that “Anything that benefits order is fine with me, as long as it's citizens that bear the brunt of it." We asked him to elaborate, but he stated that he had to hang up, on account of his wife having balance problems (something about “missing steps” and a “program” that she’s involved with).

Chaddwick, when given Hyman’s statement, laughed and said “I knew that, once again, we could count on his support”.

Fortunately, NFBS is published in Onoyoko Township and, as such, is not subject to this new ordinance; however, Chaddwick grinned like she had just found a new box of Krispy Kremes and said, “We’re working on Mr. Hildecrust,” whatever that means.

*NFBS wishes to thank a Mr. Otto Titsling for this delicious dirt.

NFBS's Crime of the Week

By: Choclate Thunda Forever Baby!!!!!

This week's Crime of the Week comes from the files of the Broken Springs Police and Fire Departments. On the week of May 29, 2006, officers were called to the residence of the Broken Springs Police and Fire Department on a report of a larceny of gas. Upon arrival, fellow officers were observed pumping a substance of an undetermined nature (later discovered to be Regular Unleaded Gasoline with an octane rating of 82, just another way Onoyoko Township tries to save a buck) into their patrol cars. Upon further investigation, it was determined that the subjects involved were concluding their patrol shifts and attempting to turn over a properly fueled squad car to the next officer on duty. Once the caller of the complaint was contacted, a Mr. Hildecrust, we were advised that those pesky police officers and fire fighters were stealing fuel “right from under our big red noses” and placing it into their personal vehicles. After several attempts to reason with the caller, trying to explain that the cars he saw were patrol vehicles at the end of their shift, we realized that the real larceny here has occurred in Mr. Hildecrust‘s cranial department over the course of the past several years, or however long he‘s been in public service. Hildecrust later denied making the call, despite the recorded tape of the conversation.

NFBS is requesting the aid of any intelligent persons in Broken Springs (three digit IQs please). If any such people are found, please convince them to run for township and village office. You may leave prospective candidates names and phone numbers at this website’s e-mail address. If you cannot remember their phone number, please copy it off the bathroom wall of the nearest bar.

Hildecrust’s remark clearly meant for fly on wall

Dear Editor,

I’d like to take a minute out of your busy lives spent gossiping about your neighbor’s prolific love life to clear up a misunderstanding created by none other than the infamous Troublemaker Boob of Onoyoko Township (the Village of Broken Springs disowned him years ago). He foolishly submitted a letter to the editor of the Herald Republican in which he deliberately spoke for Township Supervisor Ernie Hildecrust, Village Mayor Jan Chaddwick, and her wife, Stan. All three people, last time I had my head down their mouths, have in their possession very capable tongues, enabling them all to speak for themselves. Well except for that one time when the Mayor managed to lodge her own foot in her mouth, but I promised her I’d never talk about that.

Mr. Hildecrust told me personally, after he was finished eating his dinner of fried crow and frog legs, that Mr. Boob didn’t have permission to speak for him. In fact, Mr. Supervisor, after he was done licking my family’s heels for dessert, told me specifically, “If anyone’s gonna put words in my mouth, I insist it be you, Oil.” As for the “honor system” comment he made at the police commission meeting last month, Mr. Hildecrust made it very clear that he was directing his remark not to our fair and well meaning police chief, but to a fly on the wall in the corner of the room. Any inference that his comment was directed at Chief Kingston is grossly misguided and very likely perpetuated by that evil gang of fools with personal vendettas that live scarcely in our otherwise perfect community.

We owe a debt of gratitude to Jan and Stan Chaddwick, who both do a job that nobody else wants but everyone wants to criticize. There is no law that prevents a husband wife duo to lead a small village. If there was, do you really think we would’ve allowed Bill and Hillary to run America last decade? But unlike Bill and Hillary, Jan and Stan are dignified folk with a strong moral backbone. Jan, in particular, must have the strongest backbone of anyone I know. Their comments about Mr. Hildecrust’s remarks were justified because, as I understand it, the majority of the audience was stunned when they heard what was said. I wasn’t actually at the meeting (penny poker night with the Masons) but I heard that once the laughing stopped, the audience was quite flabbergasted… more stunned even than when Phil Ruse cut the cheese in the middle of the Chief’s Report. Because it wasn’t made obvious to the crowd that his comment was aimed at the random fly on the wall in the back of the room, I think Mr. Hildecrust owes the police department (not to mention the poor fly) a sincere apology, and fifty dollars. Our fair minded and completely sane Police Chief, showing his maturity, handled the situation with utmost respect. His response of “That goes without saying” clearly implies that he too thought the comment was directed at he and his fine force of burly young men who defend Broken Springs from Terrorists and Mexicans.

But we all must forgive poor Mr. Hildecrust, as he’s getting up there in age and probably doesn’t realize what he’s saying most of the time (unlike me, who’s sharper than that ginsu knife you ordered off QVC one night after you got drunk watching Bruce Lee movies). Mr. Robert Boob, however, should never be forgiven for his deliberate attempts to publish his illogical opinions with the intent to hurt someone everyone else loves and honors. What does that Boob think this is, America?! He will more than likely print that my semen resulted in the birth of the Police Chief’s wife and for that I could not be prouder. If only Mr. Boob took the time to get to know my sperm in law (outside of reading about him in state investigation reports) he’d discover him to be a valiant and superb human being unmatched by any in our small town. A majority in the community already know that he’s better than the rest of us and we aren’t ashamed to admit it.

Very Sincerely Yours,
Oil Brokencan

Mayor Demands Apology

Take it back, you meanie, she tells township rival...

Broken Springs Village President Jan Chaddwick has demanded an apology for what she’s called a “low blow, below the belt” made by Township Supervisor Ernest Hildecrust in regard to the police department. “There was a comment made at the last police commission meeting implying that our police officers have an unusual case of flatulence. And nothing could be further from the truth,” she told News from Broken Springs.

“What I said,” clarified Hildecrust, “is that I don’t want our cops using the department gas tanks to fill up their personal vehicles. It’s embarrassing enough when our star cop gets caught playing William "Don’t Ask Don’t Tell" on company time, I don’t need to be dealing with allegations of fuel swiping on top of everything else. If I have to worry about something, why can‘t it just be Medicare like everyone else my age?”

Hildecrust, who personally spearheaded the campaign to get the gas tanks after the LSD school district privatized their transportation department, insists that he was only trying to nip a potential problem ‘in the bud’ by directing his comment to Police Chief Jim Kingston.

“It goes without saying,” answered Kingston at the meeting, wishing Hildecrust had not said it.

“It was totally uncalled for,” commented the Mayor’s wife, Stan Chaddwick after the village council meeting. “I mean, other than the archery incident, and the hunting incident, and the Christmas Care Bear discrepancies, and the cashing of the Taser checks, and the sexual harassment suit ages ago, and the political intimidation of that black Haitian guy running for council, name me one single time our police department has ever acted dishonorably.”

Ms. Chaddwick, who suffers from occasional diarrhea of the mouth and constipation of the brain, also had second thoughts about whether or not four mills would be enough to fund the overstaffed, overpaid bare bones budgeted police department next year. The millage election is set for August 8th, and despite the Mayor’s doubts, it’s too late to change the amount of mills requested.

The gas issue also fueled questions regarding the possible Township takeover of the police department. “I hope they (the township) aren’t waiting for us to pass this millage before they yank the carpet out from under us,” speculated the always paranoid Chaddwick.

“Is this the calm before the storm?” sputtered a very worried Bob Dustpan.

“Don’t worry,” insisted Paul Pezdispensor. “It’s always darkest right before dawn.”

“And the early bird catches the worm,” added Mike Tendergrass.

“But what if we’re the worm?” asked Chaddwick with a look of dread in her eyes.

Nascar to Shorten Races

NASCAR officials declared today that due to the current increase in gasoline prices, several races later this season will be shortened to save costs. According to the report issued, the money saving initiative will prevent a rise in ticket prices and allow the typical NASCAR fan to continue spending large amounts of cash on NASCAR apparel. Crude oil has topped seventy dollars a barrel this year and nationwide gas price averages sit at nearly $3.00 a gallon. NASCAR stock cars get approximately two miles per gallon.

Only three races will be affected by the move, which has some racing enthusiasts blowing a gasket. The Aaron’s 499 in Talladega will now be the Aaron’s 495. The Subway 500 will cut some fat calories to become the Subway 475. The Coca Cola 600 will become a lot shorter and change sponsorships altogether. It will now be called the Levi 501. Several new sponsors are interested in signing contracts with NASCAR next year if any of the current sponsors decide to ‘gas and go.’ They include Slimfast, Stacker II, and the Yellow Pages, who’s already expressed an interest in sponsoring their own Yellow Pages 411.

Bill France, President of NASCAR, insists that the move is a good one for the world of racing which will save money that can be used to improve NASCAR in the future. “Listen, everyone already knows that most people only watch the beginning and endings of the races. They may wake up from their drunken stupors briefly during the accidents, but most of the time all the laps in between are inconsequential.”

“They are too consequential,” demanded one angry fan sporting an orange #20 shirt as he ate a smokeless breakfast at Floppers Restaurant. “The laps are always run in order!”

“I’ve been a NASCAR fan for 20 years,” says Bill “Buckshot” O’Grady of Laporte, Indiana. “And I don’t like this here idear of shortenin’ the races. They already take almost three months off a year, leaving us poor fans nothing to watch but the crappy rodeos on the Outdoor Life Network. What if I was to say to you that baseball should only have seven innings instead of nine? All them overpaid pansy ballplayers would have a fit!”

Several NASCAR officials insist that 90% of race fans will never even notice the shortened races. The duration of the races will not change because more commercials will be added to the schedule lineups. That means we’ll see more of the Big Brown Truck and several more cheek shots of Dale Jr. in his tight Wrangler jeans. Recent polls indicate that race fans enjoy commercials featuring their favorite drivers almost as much as multi-car pileups on a super speedway. The rare exception is any accident involving Jeff Gordon, which fans prefer by a scale of two-to-one over everything else, including adult movies, and five-to-one over any adult movie that stars someone who may look like Gordon.

“Bottom line is this saves us money. It also protects America. We are ending, or at least cutting back on our addiction to foreign oil,” explained France from his private airline on his way to North Carolina to see the seventh game of the Stanley Cup.

Potent and Impotent

A big congratulations to a few different people in no particular order:

As if the success of the boy’s football and basketball teams weren’t enough, the Broken Springs baseballers will compete in the state finals this afternoon. Way to go, fellas. You make us proud.

On edit: The Clover boys won 10-3 and have brought home our first state title since 1989! Major congrats go out to all of our Field of Dreamers. The town could not be more proud of you!

NFBS’s first and finest fan, Linda Miekle Cash, has recently published a book, Dusty Angels and Old Diaries, that I encourage everyone to check out. Linda is a former Broken Springer who served as clerk to the Onoyoko Township board and the Broken Springs correspondent to the Herald Republican. Her memoir is about her search for her mother.

And because a Potent and Impotent blog entry wouldn’t be complete without a joke, I chose this one because Linda now lives in Ohio. ;)

Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Heaven, God was missing for six days. Eventually, Michael the archangel found him, resting on the seventh day. He inquired of God, "Where have you been?"

God sighed a deep sigh of satisfaction and proudly pointed downwards through the clouds, "Look Michael, look what I've made."

Archangel Michael looked puzzled and said, "What is it?"

"It's a planet," replied God, "and I've put Life on it. I'm going to call it Earth and it's going to be a great place of balance."

"Balance?" inquired Michael, still confused.

God explained, pointing to different parts of earth, "For example, northern Europe will be a place of great opportunity and wealth while southern Europe is going to be poor; the Middle East over there will be a hot spot. Over here I've placed a continent of white people and over there is a continent of black people," God continued, pointing to different countries. "This one will be extremely hot and arid while this one will be very cold and covered in ice."

The Archangel, impressed by God's work, then pointed to a large land mass and said, "What's that one?"

"Ah," said God. "That's Michigan, the most glorious place on earth. You'll notice that it is made in the fashion of my hand, the Hand of God. There are beautiful lakes, rivers, sunsets, and rolling hills.

The people from Michigan are going to be modest, intelligent, and humorous and they are going to be found traveling the world. They will be extremely sociable, hard working and high achieving, and they will be known throughout the world as diplomats and carriers of peace."

Michael gasped in wonder and admiration but then proclaimed, "What about balance, God? You said there would be balance!"

God replied wisely, "Wait until you see the idiots I'm putting around them in Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and Wisconsin."

Tails of the Cougar

I confess.

I attacked the Burro. I know the two buffalo got blamed for it but I did it. It was all me. The Burro totally had it coming, though.

You see, I was on my way back from my honeymoon when I ran into the Burro and all hell broke loose. Yes, Lucy and I tied the knot. We were wed in a private ceremony (invite only) and immediately flew to the Caribbean for our honeymoon. When my editor found out where I was (she tracked my credit cards) she demanded that I either high tail it back to Broken Springs or email her my next column. Well, I hocked my laptop in order to buy Lucy an expensive 4 karat gold wedding ring so after only three fun filled days and four funner filled nights I cut my honeymoon short and took a greyhound back home. It was Monday afternoon when I arrived back and I didn’t have a clue as to what to write about for my next column. Shallow Throat told me specifically that she’d reject any harlequin romance so I couldn’t write about my wedding night. I couldn’t even write about how Lucy makes my whiskers twitch with that little thing she does with her hips. Or the way the sunlight hits her eyes when she’s grooming herself in the salon window. Lucy is my muse and without her, I’m just an ordinary cougar with no literative merit.

So I was prowling the township, fighting off writer’s block, when I ran into this wise cracking Burro, whose name was Bubba. As I was walking by his fence, he hollered to me, “Hey, aren’t you the cougar the cops got an APB out on?” in his best Eddie Murphy voice.

“What’s it to ya?” I snapped back, not in the mood for a smart ass.

“Two thousand big ones. That’s the price on your head,” he answered back with dollar signs in his eyes. Two thousand bucks? I was flattered. I don’t think even Osama himself has a bounty that big. I kept walking, with a pounce in my step from the compliment.

I was nearly past the fence when I turned back to the Burro and said, “What’s an APB? Is it anything like the PBA?”

“No, no, you dumb pussy,” said the donkey. “All Points Bulletin. It’s like a BOL.”

“B.O.L,” I spelled out the letters. “You saying I stink, Burro?”

“No, you big dumb wad of fur. BOL means Be On the Lookout. But lucky for you, the Broken Springs cops are SOL when it comes to most things.”

“SOL?”

“Nevermind. I just mean they’ll never catch you because they’d have to be smarter than the creature they’re trying to catch. Like those two buffalo over there.” Bubba nodded to the bison grazing across the road. “Those fellas wouldn’t stand a chance against Jimmy’s boys.”

“Who’s Jimmy?” I asked.

“Jimmy Kingston? Chief of Police? Boy, you are a dumb cat. Where you been living, under a rock?”

“No, at the Holiday Inn, in the Caribbean. I just got back from my honeymoon. I wore a black tux…”

“With tails?”

“How’d you know?”

“I have ESP.”

“Hey, I know that one! It’s a sports channel.” I grinned, proud of my wisdom.

“You’re a regular Danforth Quayle, aren’t you?”

“Well I don’t like to brag,” I said, clearing my throat. “So anyway, these cops… are they dangerous?”

“Only to themselves. I wouldn’t worry. They’re about as competent as a turtle at a drag race,” said the Burro as he chewed a mouthful of cud.

“Isn’t Jimmy the guy who runs that local charity?” I said, recalling details that my editor had shared with me before I left town.

“You mean the charity he has YET to register with the state?”

“I’m sure he has a real good reason. I've only ever heard good things about Jim Kingston. Isn’t he a hometown boy made good?”

“Good? Good for nothing.”

“Take it back! That’s an officer of the law you’re talking about. His job is to protect and serve Broken Springs. And I personally think he’s doing a damn fine job.”

“Spoken like a typical FOJ,” mumbled the burro who was beginning to get on my nerves. “Friend of Jim,” he added before I got the chance to ask.

“I’ve never even met the man. But doesn’t he also mow village lawns and pick up litter left along the street?”

“Nominate him for sainthood, why don’t you? Next thing you’ll be telling me is that you think that power hungry Mayor of ours is light on her feet and has the best interest of Broken Springs in mind.”

“I don’t know her either, but Lucy says she colors her hair. She’s not exactly a fox but you’re no Prince Charming yourself, Burro.”

“That reminds me of a joke. What’s covered with a tent and rolls on wheels?”

That was the straw that broke, in this case, the burro’s back. Before he could blurt out the rest of his Mayor in a wheelchair joke, I bared my teeth and lunged for his jugular. I’m normally not so violent but Bubba had spouted enough of his negative venom. He fell to the ground and muttered, “A motor home,” just before he lost consciousness from the loss of blood.

I high tailed it out of there. The buffalo were my only witnesses and I negotiated their silence by letting them out of their gate. It was only later that I learned the fate of Bill and Cody. Bubba later died, as I understand. I didn’t mean to kill him. I only wanted to maim him a little and teach him a lesson. But I’m sure you understand how I felt when he badmouthed our fine public servants the way he did.

When I told my editor what happened, she signed me up to an anger management class and requested a full psyche evaluation. She also put me on probation. I told her that Lucy says I’m just a big pussy. I purr when you rub my belly. If only the Burro had known that…

The Cougar can be reached at berriencougar@hotmail.com

Police Commission Meeting

It was fairly evident soon after entering Township Hall that El Gordo Davis dropped the ball in his promise to fill the room with a pro-taser audience. There were a dozen chairs set up, no more, no less.

It was almost as evident once the meeting started that Mayor Jan Chaddwick had regained all of her motor functions after the stroke she didn’t have. She seemed as healthy as a buffalo… er, I mean horse. But she did look a little blue in the wardrobe. It’s entirely possible, however, that her ailments are invisible to the naked eye because before the meeting started she asked if they could talk about gas. Flatulence is nothing to be ashamed of, Jan No need to sugar coat it and call it ‘fuel.’

In fact, little Nappy El Gordo Davis wasn’t in the room when the meeting started. Let’s just say he must have his watch set to BPT, or NPT as Kingston might call it. When he does show up, he leaned so close to Journalistic Error editoress Cathy Pullonhertoeifshehollarscallthecops I half expected them to lock lips. He was showing her a picture of an alligator so I can only assume that he’s been doing some genealogical research.

In the Chief’s report, Kingston said it was “business as usual,” which means the Broken Springs police spent another month catching wayward juvies vandalizing parks, Adventists trafficking wacky weed, and keeping the streets of Broken Springs safe from escaped buffalo.

The Commission, because it's such a tease, flirted with the idea of discussing a couple different policies. But then they said they had a headache and curled up on their side of the bed.

A big NFBS congrats to Rob Fishnet for graduating from the Police Academy. And our deepest sympathies for being demoted to Daniel Shame's partner. His last partner was a dog, which might explain why he keeps asking you to lick his face.

Ernie Hildecrust, in his infinite wisdom, tells Kingston that he and his officers are on the honor system when it comes to filling up their gas tanks from the newly delivered fuel tanks. Kingston responded by saying that it “goes without saying.” But if it truly goes without saying, would there have been reason for Ernie to say it to begin with? The mind boggles.

Kingston then reminded everyone of the upcoming millage, encouraging those in attendance to support it. Ernie reassured the crowd that Cathy Pullonhertoeifshehollarsshootthebuffalo will probably write a good propaganda piece in the weakly rag. She nods in approval.

Then a few tears were shed over the loss of David Polaski, who’s been hired on to the county department (where they have the tasers he so wanted). The Mayor expressed relief that he’s still working around the area, and the Commission ruefully reminisced about all the training they financed for him. Officer Kork will now be the department’s primary firearms instructor. One wonders why responsibility doesn’t go to Daniel Shame, since he’s so skilled at hitting women pumping gas, not to mention all of his archery qualifications.

The big story of the night is the tale of two buffalo. They’d escaped a four and a half foot fence. One was 1700 lbs and the other was 1200 lbs which means they were nearly twice as big as the Mayor and obviously as dangerous to the community at large. A man’s burro was attacked and his ass was grass. The Broken Springs Police were given no option, other than calling animal control and tranquilizing the beasts, but to shoot the animals. So in their limitless pursuit of public safety, and also because they wanted to make sure their guns still worked, they shot and killed the two buffalo in Puchanan Township. The rumor that it took them 17 shots to hit the unarmed animals is unsubstantiated. It may have been many more than that.

Ernie Hildecrust then made the comment that our police force really “shoots the bull,” which is quite witty for a man of his age, wouldn’t you say? Perhaps he’d like a regular column in NFBS?

He’s probably just still feeling the contact high from the drug bust in his backyard. Apparently some University students were caught trafficking drugs out near Hildecrust Holes. Police also caught the juvy who’d been vandalizing the Groping Park bathrooms. It’s amazing how much damage one set of hands can cause. But enough about the Police Chief…

The meeting was adjourned at 7:20, which means it was - yet again - a waste of a change of underwear.

Animal Control? We don't need no stinking Animal Control!

This is dedicated to the two buffalo slain by Broken Springs cops earlier this week. RIP Bill and Cody.

Animal Control? Who needs it?

Ryan Newman Day

Governor Jennifer Granholm declared Tuesday, June 6th Ryan Newman Day and one small Michiana community celebrated in a fashion all their own.

Broken Springs, a village of under two thousand once known for the size of their big pickles, decided to honor the NASCAR Nextel Cup driver with a parade downtown and a NASCAR picnic later on in the evening. But parade goers were in for a surprise when the middle part of the parade decided to drag race down the streets of Broken Springs, emulating Ryan Newman himself. Only they didn’t crash. Broken Springs police issued several citations before the parade ended and several others were “black flagged” for speeding on Pitt Road. No, they weren’t coming in for tires or a gas and go (although Sam Beadle did have refried beans for lunch). The black flagged violators were going over 25 mph on Pitt Road, near the Laundromat.

Amidst rising smog levels in Broken Springs, not including the sky rocketing gasoline prices, the quaint little village of 1800 and dropping enjoyed grilled bratwurst and saurkraut after the parade crossed the checkered flag. The winner of the parade was a Niles resident named Quinesha Jones who claimed she was just trying to avoid the profiling Broken Springs police. At the finish line she was given a bottle of Asti Spumante, which she shook up and sprayed on the screaming spectators while standing atop her ‘84 Chevy Nova. Unfortunately she couldn’t stay for the rest of the ceremonies due to other obligations she described as “a screaming baby at home being watched by my a&*hole brother-in-law who’s probably passed out by now.” But when she sped away with the champagne gripped tightly in her lime green polished fingernails, she was promptly arrested for possession of open intoxicants by Broken Springs police.

The fun was not over in Broken Springs. In typical NASCAR fashion, many drunk rednecks got into punch throwing arguments over whose favorite driver was bigger and better both on and off the track. “Cryin’” Ryan Newman, one of the few Nextel Cup drivers with a college education, is a fan favorite of very few Broken Springers. His grasp of the English language, combined with his pudgy figure attributes most to his unpopularity. But BS residents largely agree that all he has to do is throw a few tantrums like Tony Stewart and he’d be sure to increase his fan base.

The first annual “Ryan Newman Day” in Broken Springs ended with a victory lap around the town, led by a caravan of Broken Springs officials, including the Police Chief and Mayor. Chief Kingston told News from Broken Springs that he hadn’t had so much fun since he was tasered before the Police Commission. Mayor Chaddwick agreed that the day was full of excitement. “We could hardly keep her in her wheelchair,” said her husband, Stan.

God help us if we ever have a “Ted Nugent Day.”

Potent and Impotent

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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.

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*

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

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.

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.

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.