True Story

One hot summer day, a Broken Springs local came into town with his dog. He tied the dog under the shade of a tree and went into Coyote's Watering Hole for a cold beer.

About 20 minutes later a Broken Springs cop came into the bar and asked who owned the dog tied under the tree. The man said that it was his.

The policeman said, "Your dog seems to be in heat."

The Broken Springs man replies, "No way dog's in heat---she's cool cause I got 'er tied under the shade of the tree."

The policeman says, "No! You don't understand-- your dog needs to be bred.

"No way," the said the man, "My dog don't need bread, she's not hungry, cause I fed her beef jerky this mornin'."

Now the policeman gets mad and yells out; "NO! You don't seem to understand, your dog wants to have sex!"

The man looks at the cop and says, "Go ahead. I always wanted a police dog!"

Hi and Low-Lights from the Broken County Youth Fair

It’s that time of year again. Did everyone enjoy the fair? Me neither. I had such a rotten time the first time I was there, I went back again, which either means I’m a masochist or I lead a very dull life. Perhaps a bit of both. But if you were one of the lucky ones who didn’t attend this year’s fair, here is what you didn’t miss.

By far the best part of this year’s fair - and this is a little sad - was the APA pool booth in Commercial Building #3. As some of you may already know, I’ve been an APA member for four years and counting and any place with a pool table is like Heaven to me. John Easton, local league operator, runs a Fast Rack Contest that’s free to try every four hours. If you can make six balls in the least amount of time, you win a free tee shirt with the approximate value of $1.49. Well, I’m not fast at anything I do, except tending bar, and least of all pool. I play slower than a handicapped snail crawls, so I was mighty proud of my best score of 35 seconds. Unfortunately it wasn’t fast enough to win a shirt. I was beat by a carnie named Dave. And despite my best efforts, John resisted my pleadings for a tee shirt, which means I’m gonna have to sucker some poor soul into strip pool some night - all because John Easton is being stingy with his tee shirts. Either that or I could wait a couple months and find one on the racks of Goodwill.

The few times I ventured away from the pool table booth at the fair, I wandered around the animal barns, where I saw many interesting things.


The goat pens are getting smaller and smaller every year. This one here couldn’t have been more than 2x2, with barely enough room to stand up, let alone lay down. It almost made me want to call the ASPCA. But then I wandered over to the rabbit barn, where not only were the rabbits penned up claustrophobically, but they were also made to listen to the music of Toby Keith on the barn‘s speaker system. Talk about torture! There was no listening to anything in the chicken/duck/and turkey barn, other than a bunch of roosters with time deficient biological clocks. They were cock-a-doodle dooing all night long. It was enough to make the ducks quack up.


This two legged goat was a big attraction. According to his sign, he was born next to the Crook Nuclear Plant. Sadly, I heard that the five legged sheep died on its way to the Fair. Bless his five hearts.



These Siamese Goats were joined at the neck.



I found a horse with a hairdo much like my own. And that’s not all we had in common. Apparently at some point in her past, she’d slept with a total ass. Her bastard mule wasn’t getting any attention in the “Wonders of Birth” barn, but I thought he was cute.




Other than animals, the Broken County Youth Fair has the same crappy rides every year, and the same high priced food. The only exception is the Fiends of Broken Springs Korn Dog Stand, which was the busiest food joint there. In all, the beau-friend and I consumed thirteen korn dogs, not counting the one I’m having genetically tested at the lab as we speak. The Fiends of Broken Springs will not release the recipe for their infamous korn dogs, but I’ll discover the secret ingredient if it kills me.

I was glad to see the Republican Building even less busy than the Health Department's STD tent. Does that mean that even conservative Broken County is waking up and smelling the goat's milk?

The Historical Building was a disappointment this year. Last year this building had information about the House of David and the history of the Fairgrounds property. This year the entire building was basically a poster contest of fair families genealogies, whose only intention seemed to be gaining sympathy for third and fourth generations of fair volunteers. The only thing that puzzled me is that everyone in these pictures were smiling gleefully and not weeping uncontrollably.

All in all, I’m looking forward to next year’s fair, if only to make a killing at my rival korn dog stand.

Thanks for the Memories, the Heartache, and the Trauma

Former Broken Springs Police Chief James Earl Kingston was recently honored for his 30 plus years of disservice to the community of Broken Springs. Nine friends and 32 relatives met at the Divided Unitarian Church to pay tribute to Broken Springs’s longest serving top cop, who was recently canned by the Township Board for being an inadequate piece of horse manure.

The former Chief received many cards, gifts, handshakes, and pinches on the butt from the sitting room only crowd last Wednesday night.

Shockingly we at NFBS were not invited to this prestigious event. Apparently the Broken Springs Post Office lost our invitation in the mail, an unfortunate error that will not be forgotten during the Christmas tip season. We’re sure the Kingston Klan regrets the error, and their letter of apology has also unfortunately suffered the same un-received fate as the original invite. We’re sure our presence (and presents) were sorely missed. Despite the mistake, we will report the highlights of the six hour long tribute, as reported to us from the tape recorder we planted under the church’s alter.

Former Broken Springs Cop Daniel Shame presented Jimmy with a walker that doubles as a TV tray, with which Jim can use to eat his beans and weanies without ever missing a single spin of the Wheel of Fortune.

Local Veternarian Phillip Wrecht presented the former Chief with three dozen unwanted cats and dogs from his animal hospital, almost all of which were spayed and neutered, just like Kingston himself.

Sheriff Paul Bunion invited Jim to wear a brown uniform after January 1st. When asked later if he’d consider the option, Kinston told us he’d rather work for Fed Ex than UPS.

Janice Wisealeck shared a story about a time before cops gave out tickets for mufflers that dragged on the ground. She said Jimmy once “negro-rigged” her parent’s muffler with his own two hands and for that he will always be a gentleman in her heart. And the bill he sent them later for eighty dollars was very reasonable, she added.

Longtime friend and brown-noser Chuck Flint praised Kingston for having the courage to play sports in his youth, despite being a small little weakling who would later grow up to don a holster and a gun to compensate for his size inadequacies.

Carol Gilman presented the former Chief with a red, white, and blue quilt that she started back when Jimmy was a mere patrolman and he once let her slide out of a speeding ticket when she only had three minutes to get to Slaters Supermarket before they closed. The colors of the quilt are symbolic, according to Gilman. Red represents the blood of his enemies someday filling the streets of Broken Springs. White represents Kingston’s superior race and ethnicity, and blue signifies his temperament after being forced into early (yet profitable) retirement.

And octarian Karen Plug commended the size of Kingston’s package, particularly around the holidays when he’d deliver his packages to all the needy people in Broken Springs.

Had we been at the ceremony we would have presented the former Chief with a distinction that goes something like this:

Thank you Jim Kingston for all the inspiration you gave us to report your many wonderful accomplishments.

Thank you for not registering Operation Christmas Care Bear with the state of Michigan, thereby having an otherwise reputable charity investigated by the state police not once but two times.

Thank you for unlawfully cashing the taser donation checks which you solicited before the purchase of tasers was even approved by the police commission.

Thank you for not holding former Officer Daniel Shame responsible for his childlike antics, from illegally searching minors to his bow and arrow target practice in a different township while on duty and being paid by the taxpayers to keep the streets of Broken Springs safe from people like himself.

Thank you for taking part in the political campaign of Jan Chaddwick while you were on medical leave. Thank you for keeping that black man running against her in his proper place, which is under the heal of the white man in power.

Thank you for using an accurate descriptive word for the entire black race, while in their company in a local restaurant. Thank you for saying it loud enough for them to hear and be offended. Thank you for then admitting it to the Herald Republican.

Thank you for purchasing and using an illegal Bionic Ear to spy on potential criminals in our quaint little town.

Without terrific qualities such as these there would be no NFBS.

But most of all, thank you for helping to shut down that pesky read-by-no-one online rag called the Urinal Era. Had you not helped to shut that first amendment protected website down, News from Broken Springs, which is currently read daily by dozens, might never have been born, and you wouldn’t be reading this here and now.

You were truly an inspiration, Jim. We’ll never ever forget you.

The Cooch Pooch: How One Woman's Dream Went to the Dogs

Local Broken Springs resident Marilyn Fisher had always dreamed of being in the Eukanuba Dog Show. The 36-year-old had showed dogs her whole life, from Rottweilers to Chihuahuas, from Los Angelos to Boston, where the dogs bahked instead of barked. Her big chance came in Tampa, Florida, where her dog, a two-year-old Scottish Terrier, Jackson Grant Lee (named after the tenth and eighteenth Presidents, and the jeans company, respectively) had qualified for the Big Show.

According to his doggy portfolio, Jackson had beaten some harsh competition in his path. Marilyn believed that Jackson was above the fierce disposition that all terriers are known for, yet deep down she knew he liked winning even more than she did, a trait taught to him by Marilyn's dog trainer ex-husband, Gerald. When they split - Marilyn and Gerald, that is, not Gerald and Jackson, Marilyn retained sole custody of the canine, on the condition that if she ever used Jackson as a stud, she'd share the profits, which to Marilyn was ironic because Gerald's infidelity had caused their divorce.

Well, that and Gerald didn't think Marilyn was capable of showing Jackson competitively. When Marilyn heard him admit it to his AKC buddies, she filed for divorce before the sun was up the next morning. His infidelity had little to do with it, actually, but she never told him that.

The Eukanuba Dog Show was being filmed live on Animal Planet. Marilyn took three hours to pick out a stunning skirt to wear as she trotted Jackson around the auditorium. Two hours before the big event, she bathed her pride and joy, blow dried and brushed him so he looked his absolute best. Jackson was a big flirt, and as such, a judge's favorite. Gerald would be in the audience, so to spite him, she wanted to be as big a flirt as Jackson. Like Jackson, she was having an excellent hair day.

Her seven day diet had really seemed to work. She was trim (if a bit bloated) and looked like a million bucks. Her hair, like Jackson's coat, shimmered like black diamonds under the lights, and fell precisely in place with no need for hair spray. Luck, as it seemed, was on her side.

Timing, however, wasn't.

That time of the month, as it turns out, began only hours before showtime. Marilyn shrugged it off as only a menstruating woman can. Because she'd so occupied herself with catering to every need of her four legged best friend, thoughts of her approaching period had escaped her. Anyway, she'd stopped keeping track since she'd stopped having sex. She calmly found a fifty-cent tampon machine in the restroom. It was nothing Tampax couldn't handle.

The auditorium was packed. Gerald had a front row seat and she smiled to him on her first lap around the judges. As the dogs were being introduced, Marilyn felt like the center of attention. Jackson was strutting like he'd never had before. Even he knew this was the chance of a lifetime. They both smiled at the television cameras all around as they stood in the prestigious Best in Show line.

That was when the unheard of happened. As Marilyn stood there, flashing a devilish grin to the man who never had any faith in her, the Alaskan Malamute from the Working Dog class crept his nose in her butt. She heard a small giggle from the audience. Jackson, of course, was still as a Roman statue, proud and beautiful. When the Malamute was tugged away by his handler, Marilyn composed herself. Sniffing dogs were not uncommon in shows, especially when half the contestants had a very perceptive sense of smell.

The Bassett Hound took a turn next. He was on the other side of Marilyn and when he inched over, Jackson gave him a very subtle growl. His whiff was quick and furtive. She glanced down to her well behaved Jackson, grateful for his tact. The cameras all caught the Bassett, and she could only imagine what the television commentators were saying.

She bent down in embarrassment, pretending to cuddle her dog. Her skirt fell down over her knees and for a brief moment, Jackson was lost under it. The soft touch of his fur against her knee high pantyhose gave her the confidence to stand back up. But when she did, the audience roared in laughter. On the gigantic screen above her, she saw why.

Jackson, proud and beloved canine champion, had retrieved a white fluffy toy, the string hanging out of his mouth.

Who said terriers can't fetch?

(This article originally appeared on Associated Content.)

Attention Readers

Be on the lookout for the following suspicious looking people.



This man is NOT a real cop. And if he was, he certainly wouldn't be working in Broken Springs. Clearly, he has bought that uniform on eBay in an effort to swoon innocent Broken Springs women into the backseat of his Mercedes Benz (which is NOT a real squad car, despite what he may tell you).

Ladies (and gentlemen... come on, look how hot he is), be forewarned. Now that the Broken Springs Police Department is auctioning off their extra police uniforms, everyone must be extra vigilant in noticing impostures.

I repeat. This man is NOT a real cop. Do not let him frisk you. That's NOT a gun in his holster. Here is your first clue to this man's scam: He didn't even bother to buy the uniform pants. That is *so* against dress code.



Likewise, the woman above is NOT a real cop. In fact, she's recently spent time behind bars for being a lowdown, rotten criminal. Men of Broken Springs... do not fall for her guiles. If she asks you to assume the position, high tail it out of there. Do not look back.

She's obviously just bought that BS Officer uniform on eBay (Liddie Bruehlman warned us about this). Again, she is NOT a real cop. Please don't be fooled. The only thing she's armed with is a video camcorder. If she strip searches you, the film may be leaked to the Internet.

Consider this your only warning.

Potent and Impotent

I know things have been dead lately. Since the self removal of Jimmy Kingston, there's not a whole lot to write about, unless something big happens, like if the workers for the streetscape project found Jimmy Hoffa. But don't get your hopes up.

Cloverleaf Campground is looking for a new Park manager, preferably one who can properly kiss the butt of the Village Council. Good help is so hard to find.

And the best news of all is that News from Broken Springs has recently acquired its own domain. Let's give a warm welcome to...

Brokensprings.net.

Yes, the old blogger address will still be good, but instead of typing out the whole thing, NFBS readers can now just type in brokensprings.net. Much easier to pass around to your friends too. The only bad thing is we'll need to print up some new business cards. Also, no need to hunt up that long email addy to email the editor. Now, to contact us all you need to put in your TO box is editor@brokensprings.net. Easy as pie.

But how can NFBS afford such a domain? Domain names costs dozens of dollars a year, and currently the staff here at the Broken Springs Rag makes peanuts. Perhaps you, the reader, would like a domain of your very own if the price is right?

The price is very right. The .net domain cost us exactly no dollars and no cents. Yes, we did have to take a few online surveys and sign up for newsletters we didn't really want, but in the end, it was very worth it.

Another Free is the name of the website that offers the service. In one afternoon, we were able to gain enough points for a two year domain registration. Check them out because we highly recommend them.

Mannequin Rapist Strikes Again

Another victim of the mannequin rapist was found early this morning by Old Navy store manager Carl Mason. The mannequin, who has not been identified until her family can be notified, was discovered half undressed, face down in Aisle 6. She is the fifth victim in the rapist's four week spree. Nearby was the only piece of evidence left at the scene, a tan pair of scrunched up semen stained Dockers.

About a month ago, area retailers began to notice a returning customer trying to become intimate with several in store mannequins. On numerous occasions, the man was asked to leave and once, after his blatant groping was witnessed by several jaw dropped onlookers in Victoria's Secret, he was escorted out by security officers, only to be quickly released. Though there was no doubt that his behavior was sexually inappropriate, it was unclear whether or not he'd actually broken any law.

Around the time the mysterious 'Mannequin Stalker,' as he became known, disappeared, the sexual assaults of mannequins began, leaving authority figures to speculate that the mysterious stalker had promoted himself from unacceptable behavior to criminal contact with non consenting mannequins, and in some extreme cases, statue-tory rape.

Two of the rapist's previous victims describe their attacker as a man in his middle 30s, with a receding hairline and an extremely small penis. Unfortunately since their description applies to almost every 30 something man in Broken Springs, the perpetrator has not yet been caught. However, the DNA collected at the scene of his most recent victim is being tested and may lead to his identification.

As the authorities now hunt for the Rapist, public debate has opened over what constitutes as rape in today's marketing world of plastic woman modeling lingerie. Some consider the Mannequin Rapist a victim of society's emphasis on marketed sex. Others insist that he's mentally ill and with some mental therapy, he could pass as a normal member of society, or possibly a member of Congress. And still others suggest that the only therapy that could cure him is a pair of scissors applied directly to his testicles.

"They were asking for it," says local misogynist Arthur Scutbucket (52), of the mannequins. 'We've both seen the way they dress, flaunting themselves in public with their provocative poses and skimpy outfits. Sometimes even in shop windows, just gagging for it! Mini skirts, halter tops, with pink thongs," He talks fast, with quick spurts of breath, "It's disgusting how these filthy sluts show their pert nipples through the thin, clinging fabric of the skimpy tops they're whoring," he said as he massaged the bulge in his trousers. "One plastic tramp wasn't even wearing any panties!"

But can clothing, or lack thereof justify rape? Modern sensibilities may answer in the negative, but there is a correlation between the number of mannequin rapes reported and how few clothes they're actually wearing during the onset of the attack. According to the records, a mannequin is six times more likely to be assaulted if she models for Victoria's Secret than she is while working for a store like Home Depot. We spoke to a woman mannequin modeling Carhart overalls while holding a screw gun in one hand and a hammer in the other. The closest she's ever come to being raped, she told us, was when a butch lesbian slipped a hand in her back pocket and gave her a squeeze.

"I almost dropped the hammer," she said.

Mannequins working in Housewares report the fewest number of sexual related assaults, suggesting that an apron may be the most preventive item of clothing a mannequin can wear. An exception to this statement are those mannequins dressed in French Maid outfits, who must endure an even higher amount of questionable behavior, usually resulting in a cleanup in their aisle of the store.

An anonymous mannequin wearing only a Dolce and Gabbana matching bra and pantie set told us that not a day goes by when she isn't accosted in some deliberate or accidental way. "Usually they pretend to trip and catch themselves against my buttocks, sometimes sliding a cold finger across the seam of my thong ever so slowly. Once, a smelly Italian faked a fainting spell just to reach out and take hold of my breasts for leverage. But we're ladies, so we don't react or pull away. If it were up to us, we'd slap them, but that would be bad for business. So we just grin and bare it, quite literally."

Grinning and baring it, however professional, only adds to the problem on the rise. If a mannequin refuses even to step away from an offending shopper, chances are that she'll keep her lips sealed as well. A local poll of 50 people conducted in the mall during our lunch break concluded that nearly half of men and women don't consider an assault rape unless the victim clearly says no to her aggressor. Since most mannequins lack full functioning mouths, it is no wonder why many of them just grin and bare it. Even if she could open her mouth, what's to prevent a sexual predator from using it as just another orifice in which to shove his obtrusive manhood?

Mannequins get very little sympathy from women, our studies show. Asked whether or not she feels sorry for them, an obese cocktail waitress replies, "Why should I? They have the best job in the world. All they do is stand there, in their beautiful clothes and perfectly molded figures. They get ogled at all day long for doing nothing. I work my tail off, only to hear my customers make quips about how I eat what they leave on their plates."

"Would you ever consider sexually assaulting a mannequin?" we asked her.

"Are you kidding? If I sat on their face, I'd bust their pretty little head."

Two other ladies, shopping in the men's department of Sears, also expressed a scathing opinion about the morality of the plastic women in question. "I'm not jealous or anything," said Amy Jacobin (58), "But do you notice how big their breasts are?" Her daughter agreed, and added, "The rapist is a sicko, no doubt about that. But can you really blame him for not being able to control himself around them? It's a good thing that Victoria Secret had a sale on thongs today because I needed a new pair once I got out of there."

"How about male mannequins?" we asked.

"Oh, they're lovely," they both said in unison, indicating a double standard in our mannequin community where female mannequins are sluts and male mannequins are studs.

"But why aren't there women running around raping male mannequins?"

"Because that would interfere with our shopping," answered the mother.

To further understand the complexities of a mannequin rapist's mind, we interviewed Max Von Krauter, 41, currently serving three consecutive life terms in the Broken Springs Prison for Boys after raping an astonishing thirty-four mannequins during the Christmas Shopping season of 1982. The first thing he says from behind his very own window is, "I didn't think of myself as a rapist. I preferred to call myself a mannequinizer. I loved everything about them: their cold to the touch skin, their smooth, hairless bodies, their new plastic smell. I couldn't keep my hands off them. Department store policy said no, but their synthetic come hither stares said, 'Yes YES!'"

When we asked Krauter to tell us about his first time, he told us, "It was an ordinary day. I was shopping for lingerie for my wife of six years, who later divorced me, probably because she never got the lingerie. I couldn't decide on red cami-knickers or a black teddy. Nearby a mannequin was wearing the cami-knickers, so I asked a sales lady to hold up the black teddy, to compare the items. Not long after that, we three were tangled in the aisles of the floor. I was taking the sales lady from behind while she was performing cunnilingus on the mannequin. From then on, I got hard whenever I passed one."

"How were you caught?" we asked him.

"There are only so many mannequins you can undress before the security guards start to notice. But I was having such a good time, I never saw them coming. When they slapped the cuffs on me, I thought Madeline - she was my favorite - wanted to play rough. Well, I'd get my wish for playing rough all right, as soon as I was sent here. Only it wasn't with a mannequin named Madeline. It was with a dumb inmate named Bubba. I never saw him coming either. But he did. It was then I realized how the mannequins must have felt."

Krauter, now a Born Again Christian, realizes that he suffered a severe lapse in judgment in which he succumbed to temptations of hard plastic. But he's tackled his problem and is moving on with his life. He works as a seamstress during the week and busies himself in the laundry room most of the weekend. In that time he's had many solitary moments, in which he understands how selfish his past behavior was.

"Just because she dressed in a sexy satin two piece bathing suit, or an evening gown that gave her amazing cleavage doesn't mean she was asking to be taken from behind while Jingle Bells played over the store intercom. Just because she didn't say no or push my hand away when I reached up her silk skirt doesn't mean she wanted sex. It just means she was made of plastic and couldn't talk or move her limbs. She might have stared at me with a look of sexual hunger in her eyes but that gaze was only a marketing device used to drive up the sale of skimpy overpriced lingerie, nothing more." He ends our interview with these words of advice for the current mannequin rapist: 'Please, think of the mannequins. Turn yourself in."

But until the Mannequin Rapist is caught, no woman behind a shop glass window is safe.

Indy 500 now the Indy 400

In a move to alleviate its environmentally concerned conscience, the International Racing League announced this morning that this year’s Indianapolis 500 will be shortened to 400 miles. The move follows the decision earlier this year to use 100% fuel grade ethanol in the racecars’ Honda engines, rather than gasoline which currently costs about $3.60 a gallon in central Illinois.

"We thought the move to ethanol was a move in the right direction but we all wanted to do even more for the environment," said IRL Commercial President Terry Angstadt. “That’s when we decided to shorten the race by a hundred miles. Think of all the corn we’ll save the people of Indiana.”

The race will still officially be known as the Indy 500 for marketing purposes, or at least until millions of dollars of new merchandise can be manufactured with the new name. For the time being, according to Angstadt, the Indy 500 will still be the Indy 500, only with fewer laps. Forty fewer laps, to be precise. Instead of racing 200 laps, the 33 open wheel cars will make 160 trips around the oval in the 91st annual competition.

By moving to ethanol and shortening the race, experts predict that the IRL can save the Midwest approximately three hundred thousand dollars, and the world several years of a more beneficial climate. And the future only looks brighter for the sport. There are talks concerning the age old championship tradition, as well.

The tradition started when three-time Indianapolis 500 winner Louis Meyer drank buttermilk in Victory Lane after winning the 1936 race. Until next year.

“Beginning in 2008, the winner of the Indianapolis 500 will drink soy milk,” announced a grinning Angstadt.

Free Publicity

A special thanks to Joe Bob Jugglin for his guest editorial in the Journalistic Error. His free publicity is very much appreciated...

Woman Saved by Blow Up Doll

Sex toy acts as floatation device to drowning woman

When Rita Millingham ended a seven year relationship with Rich Sadler a month ago, she cited reasons typical of most women who break up with their boyfriends. There was no chemistry in their love life. They often argued about in-laws and money. She wanted kids; he was happy with a dog. But the straw that broke the camel’s back was when Rita found Rich’s stash of porn beneath the floorboards under the dinner table. “Right under where I fed him dinner, a dinner, I might add, that I slaved over and served every night promptly at seven, he had hidden magazines full of naked women with bigger boobs than me,” recounts Rita.

Only after this discovery, all hell broke loose, and according to Rich, “She freaked out on me. All of a sudden, she’s got these gunked up pages pressed up to her nose and she’s accusing me of having an affair with Miss Nude November even though Miss Nude November has nothing on Miss Anal August. Next thing I know, Rita’s digging through my closet upstairs, pitching my belongings into the front yard. She even tossed Cassandra out the window.”


Cassandra, it was discovered after much probing, is Rich’s blow up doll, and though she was deflated at the time and unharmed in the second story fall, Rich immediately stormed out of the house to check on her safety. “Rita slammed the door in my face,” he told us. “I tucked Cassandra under my arm and was going to boat across the lake until I realized my boat keys were in my overalls still in the bedroom. So I dropped Cassie off in the boat and headed back to the house. Rita was angrier than a hornet with a crooked stinger when I came through the door. She ended up chasing me to my pickup with the iron skillet I bought her last year for her birthday. So I drove to a hotel instead.”

With no other mode of transportation, the next morning Rita packed up her belongings in six heavily crammed suitcases and hauled them into Rich’s 12 foot fishing boat. She’d plucked the boat keys from Rich’s smelly overalls and started on her way to a new life. Little did she know that her inflatable enemy was tucked away in the bow of the boat.

“I was halfway across the lake when I noticed the boat slowing down,” she told us. “I figured that my tightwad ex-boyfriend didn’t put enough gas in the tank. But it turns out all my suitcases were sinking the boat.”

Not knowing how to swim, Rita panicked and started tossing her belongings overboard, but shifting so much weight at once caused the boat to topple and the currently single Rita was soon sinking in her ex-boyfriend‘s favorite fishing spot.

“I thought I was going to die,” she says, choking up. “I saw the boat completely disappear and my luggage floating around me, but couldn’t grab onto any of it. The only thing I could grasp was Rich’s blow up doll, who knows where that came from. While I flapped my arms and legs frantically, trying not to drown, I blew her up. She’s actually very pretty in a synthetic sort of way.”

When a helicopter rescue crew arrived at the scene, they found a very irate Rita, in the middle of the lake with her arms around Cassandra. “Come quick, She’s losing air! Bring lubricant!” the distressed Rita was screaming.

“Our best guess is that a fishing lure penetrated the love doll,” reports Pilot Charles Knox, the superior officer at the scene. “I sent down my fittest private to help the woman in need and approximately 17 minutes later, he was being pulled into the copter with a flaccid woman under one arm and Ms. Millingham under the other.”

Upon further inspection, Rita Millingham seemed to be quite exhausted but uninjured.

She has since patched things up with Rich Sadler, who’s patched up things with Cassandra as well. The two are scheduled to marry next spring.

“Cassandra saved my life,” admits the future Mrs. Sadler. “To show my gratitude, I’ve asked her to be my maid of honor.”

Rich can only beam with joy, “The honeymoon’s gonna be a blast!”

Potent and Impotent

News from Broken Springs has recently reached a milestone. We’ve been online for less than two years (which is less than half the time our previous publication was online) and we’ve had over 10,000 hits (which is more than ten times what our previous publication had). About this time, coincidently, the last of the “Three Stooges” who once threatened to sue us merely for exercising our first amendment rights (and threatened to arrest us over our last publication) has jumped off the Broken Springs sinking ship. Chief Kingston has agreed to resign. Our fair town is going through some massive changes and I don’t just mean the streets.

We at NFBS believe these changes are generally for the better. Perhaps not for the better of this publication because we’re like a tabloid without celebrities now. But for the future of BS, we’re willing to take one for the team. Good riddance, three stooges. Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.

Oh, that’s not to say that local stories are a thing of the past. There will always be that silly Broken Springs Village Council making those silly decisions that affect all of our lives. The Village People (as we like to call them around the office water cooler) are consistently stepping on the rake of satire. Thank Heavens. And of course, our satirical fingers are always able to find a target in that quack we have for a President.

Now, to celebrate the passing of Chief Kingston’s tenure as Police Thief, here is a nice racist joke he’d love…

I had a bunch of Canadian dollars I needed to exchange, so I went to the currency exchange window at the local bank. Short line. Just one lady in front of me, an Asian lady who was trying to exchange yen for dollars and she was a little irritated.

She asked the teller, "Why it change?? Yesterday, I get two hunat dolla fo same yen. Today I get hunat eighty?? Why it change?"

The teller shrugged his shoulders and said, "Fluctuations."

The Asian lady says, "Fluc you white people, too!"

Questions Arise over Office Photos

When Peter Jetson began his presentation about the disarray of the Broken Springs Police Department to the Onoyoko Township Board, he showed a slideshow of pictures taken in the station, including a photo of Chief Kingston's office. But the photograph, which shows a disaster area of papers, condom wrappers, and empty liquor bottles, has come under controversy from those who support the embattled Police Chief.

“The pictures are fake,” insists Peggy Boredom. “I’ve seen the same pictures in the newspapers after the tornadoes ripped through Kansas.”

In addition to the office photo, Jetson also made public a photo of the department’s refrigerator sometimes used as an evidence locker.

“I think they’re photoshopped,” says Lonna Lee Longjohns. “In this day and age it’s not hard to superimpose moldy sandwiches in the evidence fridge. And we can’t necessarily assume that those Corona bottles aren’t evidence in some ongoing investigation.”

“At the very least, that beer is aiding in a current investigation,” added FOJ for Life, Gordo Davis.

Chief Kingston, who’s been busy recovering from an undisclosed illness since March, could not be reached for comment. Sources tell us he goes in for rehab twice a week to the Blue Ship Casino, but the nature of his rehabilitation is unknown.

Officer Mort Allgay, who’s been busy cleaning up the office since both Kingston and Lt. Roy Smegley jumped ship, has recently received a $4.00 an hour raise. “Either we could give him a raise or hire one of the illegal aliens I have working at Hildecrust Holes,” explained Chairperson Ernie Hildecrust, who also added that Jim Kingston’s 31 years of service have been appreciated by both the community and the board. But he was quick to add, “In retrospect, I wish we would’ve gotten him a maid instead of a new car.”

Happy Mother's Day

And now a dedication to our favorite Police Chief

Village Council Appoints Corpse

In an announcement to the press, Village Council President Bob Pezdispenser has verified that the Council has decided on its new appointee to fill the formally vacant position. John Alldead of Daisy Hill Road, was unanimously selected out of a slate of candidates in a top secret meeting held in the President‘s top secret treehouse. Mr. Alldead’s appointment is controversial in the community since the news broke that he’s been dead since 1993.

“Nowhere in the village statutes does it say appointees must be alive,” insisted Pezdispenser in an interview with News from Broken Springs by phone. “And even if it did, John was alive when he served on the council in years past. That’s good enough for us.”

Alldead’s deceasedness didn’t bother anyone else on the Council either. Trustee Stan Chaddwick told us that being a politician in Broken Springs is a lot like being dead already. “Let’s face it,” he said, “If you had a life, you wouldn’t be living in Broken Springs, would you?”

Other Council members remain optimistic about Alldead’s future tenure as Trustee. Curly Headed Sandy, who is just learning to speak without regurgitating the standard Chaddwickian party line, told us that Alldead’s silence will be a refreshing at the meetings. “So far he hasn’t said a word in any of our interviews and that can only mean one thing. He agrees with everything we say. He has to be the least confrontational man alive… er, I mean dead.”

Alldead’s family and friends are proud of their relative's achievements. His wife was tearful when she told us that even when he was being lowered six feet into the ground, she knew her husband was not done making a difference in Broken Springs. His teenage sons are also grateful to the dead man they call dad. “He can’t throw the football around like he used to,” said son Ryan, 16, “In fact, he can’t even catch it anymore. It just bounces off him. But everyone tells me he’ll make a fine village politician.”

Citizen and local troublemaker, Bruce Robertson, told us in an off the record interview that Alldead had not even applied for the job of Village Trustee. He insists that Alldead was hand picked by the Council in an effort to snub all the other candidates.

“Total rubbish!” Pezdispenser responded. “There were no other candidates. No one in their right mind wanted the job. That’s why we had to pick a dead guy.”

According to the many sources we‘ve spoken with, they could not have dug up a better man.

PD a Disorganized Pigsty

Peter Jetson delivered a stinging address to the Onoyoko Township Board and about half of Broken Springs Thursday night. In it, he equated the Broken Springs Police Department with the Hindenburg, on a path with disaster and full of hot air. Largely to blame for this bleak future is locally beloved Police Chief Jim Kingston who, due to an emergency situation at the Blue Ship casino, could not attend the meeting. Sources tell us a slot machine had taken Kingston’s wallet hostage. There has been no word on whether or not the situation was resolved.

In his critique of the department, which lasted two months, three days, and fourteen hours (but who’s counting?) Jetson showed slides of the area formally known as Jim Kingston’s office. But seeing how Jim’s been off duty for over a month (actually, two months, three days and fourteen hours, but who’s counting?) what used to be a desk is now nothing more than a six foot tall heap of unanswered administrative data. Kingston defenders insist that somewhere in that pile there exists a policy manual. Kingston Kritics are adamant in insisting that the only thing under the pile of papers are more unaccounted for Taser donations. Either way, Jetson’s point was clear. Jim Kingston is a disorganized buffoon.

But is sloppiness such a mortal sin? Jetson implied that Kingston’s disorganized clutter is only a symptom of a much larger problem, that of being a spoiled brat who gets anything he wants from his bosses.

“He’s taken advantage of the commission’s willingness to give him a blank check. He’s got everything he ever wanted, from new cars to vacation back pay, even his own handicapped parking spot at the Village Hall.”

Another issue Jetson took issue with is all of the weaponry and spare uniforms in the evidence room. “We could clothe and arm a Broken Springs militia with all the uniforms and weapons we have. In fact, maybe we ought to. They’d do better than this department.”

Jetson went on to clarify that he wasn’t finding fault with any of the lower ranked officers, as they were often just trying to make lemonade about of old, rotten lemons. But the fault, he said, lies with the Chief himself and the oversight committees whose job it was to keep a leash on the out of control chief.

Such a lack of leadership has in fact “broken” Broken Springs, according to the high paid self proclaimed expert. He emphasized a need to heal the schism and mend our Springs back together.

“The first thing we have to do is bury the Sewer Wars,” he said, referring to the decades old community conflict over how to rid itself of its own feces. “Then we have to have party… a Hatfield-McCoy family reunion, if you will. There should be lots of booze, a pool, and naked Twister. That oughta mend some fences.”

“Lastly,” Jetson suggested, “I think we ought to donate those old uniforms and weapons to a faraway Goodwill. The fewer weapons we have in this volatile community, the safer we’ll all be.”

The Board thanked Jetson for his hard work.

Please Sign Petition

To: Onoyoko Charter Township

We, the undersigned, fully support and adore the local home town boy made good, now adult, Police Chief of Broken Springs, James Earl Kingston. By signing this petition, we sell our souls to this man, who protects us from the dangerous thugs and unruly teenagers of the tiny metropolis of Broken Springs, Michigan, otherwise known as Little Chicago.

This is an attempt to thwart those buttinskies who have nothing better to do than dig up dirt on this fine man. We fine citizens of Broken Springs don't care if he's potentially broken the law he's sworn to uphold. He IS the law. And he mows a lot of yards for those unable to keep their grass trimmed. He also picks up litter. And he smiles and waves at those people he likes all the time.

Get well soon, Jim. We miss you.

Sincerely,

The Undersigned

PLEASE SIGN THE PETITION.

Or view the current signatures before adding your own.

Kingston a Hero, not a sub sandwich

Dear Editor,

I am writing because I agree with everything Lonna Lee Longjohns wrote on April 4th. Not only do I agree with her every word, I also agree with her every syllable down to her very last consonant, especially when she expressed the lovely sentiment about our current police board, which was (to remind those of you not taking your daily gingko tablet) : Shoot ‘em all !

It’s a shame that the police board should actually police the police chief. As if he’s not being policed enough by the local dirt diggers, not to mention the very expensive big town police consultant they recently hired (at our expense) to evaluate departmental procedures, the board insists on stabbing Kingston in the back with underhanded tactics like granting the poor man never-ending leaves of absence on account of his medical problems. Showing their true colors, these sly devils on the police board have even insisted on paying him during this time off, as if to imply that he already gets paid for doing next to nothing, when nothing could be further from the truth.

Police Chief Jim Kingston has always been a Hero, and I don’t mean a sub sandwich (although he’d make a very good one of those as well… turkey** on rye with a delicious slice of goats head cheese… I’m salivating just thinking about it). He shouldn’t be eaten alive by his critics. Rather, he should be nibbled on and savored for the hero he is, not to mention for his mouth watering sesame seed buns.

We thank you, Jim, for being you. Always remember you’re a hero to the majority of the town, and those who don’t think so don’t know which side their bread is buttered on. To the rest of us, you’re a footlong with extra mayo.

Carol Growackier

**NFBS thinks the author meant chicken.

Happy Bunny Day

Police Board is a big pain in the snatch

Editor,

When is the Broken Springs Police Board going to stop this whole oversight nonsense going on? People are trying to harass and destroy the good Jim Kingston over nothing but legal technicalities.

What Jim has endured because of this unnecessary supervision is more human than human. I’ll tell you what he should do. He should hire an attorney to write up letters threatening lawsuit to these troublemakers. And then he should sue the Police Board too, for doing their jobs. That’ll teach them. I don’t even believe in suing people but for these anti-Kingston folks, I do.

The police board needs to go, especially that leader who I won’t even dignify by saying his name. He’s so done I’d like to stick a fork in him. The rest of the board are all yesmen and yes women because if they won’t be, they’ll be treated badly by that Supervisor I dare not mention by name. They should all take a long walk off a short pier.

Hang in their Jim, whatever you decide. The board may not back you, but we fools in the community do.

Sincerely,
Lonna “Longjohns” Jackson