News

Pat Terson, 24/7 technical support for Huffakers Anachronon, LTD has been providing high grade customer support for over 22 years to whoever (or is it whomever?)  happens to call. Always willing to help and able to make the customer feel at ease, Pat Terson is the quintessential support person for  Huffakers Anachronous. H.A. is a forward-looking company that invests in ambient management time-phases.  H.A. believes they   should become uber-efficient with their balanced digital innovation. Their exploratory research points to homogenised logistical programming and Pat Terson is leading the way in the field. He believes H.A.'s  exploratory research points to regenerated logistical alignment. And who could blame him. Well done, Pat Terson!







Item: Man sows wild oat, pays small price of outpatient surgery. Hank Ruud, 17, of Uummannan, Kalaallit Nunaat, where the mean temperature is a mean 15 below zero (Fahrenheit, not Celsius nor Kelvin nor metric nor any other egghead bullshit temperature), drank several frothy adult beverages, stripped buck naked, stole a snowmobile, drove at speeds deemed unsafe by the local authorities, had wild, unrepentant sex (he says),  drank a pint of sweet gooey green stuff (contents unknown) rolled wildly in an unfettered manner in the snow, had a grand mal seizure, dry humped a discarded overcoat, sang, twirled, jumped and hollered in a language so primal, so feral that glaciers spontaneously calved in perfect symmetry and vast herds of nomadic elk were moved to perform unspeakable acts with heavy yellow equipment donated by tango-possessed Finns.  After the oat was sown, Mr. Rudd, spent a short afternoon in elective outpatient surgery to wipe the smile off his face.









This Just In: Godot Family Reunion turns into waiting game.






Pole Just Misses Anus
Private Rinkle Jenks of Fort Blaine, Nebraska, barely averted disaster when a pole rapidly shot out of the ground and narrowly missed shooting up his anus. Private Jenks says he was standing outside at "parade rest" when the incident occurred. What is "parade rest" you may ask? Parade rest is a military command given only when the person is at AttentionThe command for this movement is Parade, REST. On the command of execution REST, move the left foot about 10 inches to the left of the right foot. Keep the legs straight without locking the knees, resting the weight of the body equally on the heels and balls of the feet. Simultaneously, place the hands at the small of the back and centered on the belt. Keep the fingers of both hands extended and joined, interlocking the thumbs so that the palm of the right hand is outward. Keep the head and eyes as in the position of attention. Remain silent and do not move unless otherwise directed. Stand at ease, at ease, and rest may be executed from this position.
So as you can see Jenks, for all intents and purposes, already had a pole up his ass to begin with and another pole could have had horrific consequences. "Yeah, I know", said Jenks. "Whew. That would have caused a considerable amount of pain." There has been no word on where or why the pole appeared, it just did.



Tracy's French Fry Shaped Wash Mitts
Microfiber resemblance to french fries boosts sales astronomically at Tarjay. The big box store "Tarjay's" research department has discovered that sales of many items are increased by making items look like french fries. Take, for instance, the pictured chenille wash mitt. Prior to making the mitt look like french fries sales were stagnant. Tarjay was only moving 400,000 units a day. After the new look the microfiber chenille wash mitt is selling well over 2,000,000 mitts per day.  The net result of the uptick in sales is an increase in jobs at the Chin Chin Re-Education Mass Labor Camp for Recalcitrant Communist Party Lackies. Soon to be marketed at Tarjay is the french fry shaped men's underwear and the french fry shaped sunglasses.



Jazon Quomasio with Anti-Hinky Fever Virus "Cure"

Jazon Quomasio of James Hopkins Research Lab in Huffakers, NV shows his delight and amazement at having discovered a cure for Hinky Fever Virus. Hinky Fever has been plaguing millions of people daily in the course of their boring and meaningless lives. Throughout the day, at any given time, a person could get "hinky" if they perceive a slight or distaste for a fellow humans attitude or actions. It can be a cause of discomfort for the person getting "hinky" and the person giving "hinky" as the person giving "hinky" is likely to say "Are you getting 'hinky' on me?" and of course this banal exchange could go on for several minutes. Multiply this by 6 billion and you can see the negative effects of the Hinky Fever over the course of a day, week, month, year, ad nauseum.  Jason Quomasio will either get the Noble Prize or be quietly led out to pasture. It hasn't been determined whether removal of the Hinky Virus will help or hurt the species as of yet as some have speculated the everyday level of hinkiness is a kind of glue that holds us all together. Other scientists refute this as another form of the Hinky Virus itself. 


click on picture for more detail

Recent vacationers, Tim & Marva Klanghorn, noticed the bathroom shower instructions at Gulf Springs Eternal Motel as being both informative as well as useful with effective, pointed, and crystal clear instructions on the use of the shower hardware.  "Don't Touch",  "Leave as it. It does nothing." And also the barbed cautionary review of one of Home Depot's staple bathroom accoutrements by  Glacier Bay: "Never buy a Glacier Bay set from Home Depot! Thank you!" A stern contraindication against the use of a device the owners found wanting. Of course Gulf Springs Eternal Motel owners could have returned the item to Home Depot and received another brand in return but they chose the route of consumer activism which may in the long run cause Home Depot and Glacier Bay to reconsider the quality of their merchandise. Hip, Hip!





Prominent Citizen Stumped By Stump Speech

Perched atop the hallowed “democracy stump” outside the Huffakers, Nevada courthouse steps, Thorbus "Bux" Buxley IV, leading citizen leader and Board of Supervisors supervisor, admitted to admittedly shocked reporters that he did not “get” the latest stump speech.
"You mean the one that was just now delivered? Just now?" asked cub reporter Nip Tuck of the Huffakers Daily Chronic.
"Yeah, that one," snapped Buxley, performing a graceful demi-plie atop the oaken stump.
Tuck nibbled the rubber end of his news pencil and replied softly, "Well, sir, you delivered it."
"Of course I did - and it was an epic enunciation!" Buxley's hands rose majestically, "But I could neither process nor comprehend it. Too many fifty-cent words and strange allusions to unicorns, necromancers and sacrilicious events. Didn't make no sense a-tall." After a short pause to “do the robot”, Buxley asked plaintively, "Did it?"
Volunteered  volunteer Fire Chief Moe Handlin, playing with the bic in his pocket, "I did like the part about me."
Mayor Candy Hass didn't care for the undertones of it all and could only glower and practice furrowing his brow.
However, Wichita Lineman Miles Lineaus did enjoy the summary exegesis connecting free will and cheap beer.
"Well," mused Supervisor Buxley, ignoring the comments and slowly tracing the circumference of the democracy stump with an outstretched toe, "in the end I guess it was a pretty good stump speech. I mean, look, it stumped even me."


Area woman reads fine print in Wal-Mart Halloween display, has epiphany. After picking out two pairs of reading glasses ("2 fer $4-Ize") at the Get Glassed! section of her local Wal-Mart, Enid Snipgrass corralled her kids (4 fer 3 seat pram) and proceeded to the pumpkin hued holiday display to pick out various interchangeable and equally priced plastic and sugar coated items for the upcoming Horror Hotel web series cast party, which featured her cousin Velma as a zombie dominatrix in webisode 5 ("Room 911 - Brainz and Chainz!!!"). Unable to read the fine print underneath the giant lurid crimson fonts, Enid donned her new not-quite-yet-purchased spectacles and, as a test of their efficacy, peered closely at the 8 point verbiage crammed below the price point:

Every thing is different from any other thing. No identity exists. Names for things are invented, traded, equated. They (the names) are not things. They are a shepherd's call. Invisible restraints to bunch real things. Herein lies meaning. It may seem demeaning, yet it holds everything together. Its incredible.

Upon reading the fine print, Enid took off her glasses and paused a moment, surveying the 2 acre expanse of products and prices arrayed around her as if she were (as a nearby oxygen challenged Wal-Mart greeter later gravely stated) "the epicenter of a torus-shaped shockwave of pure consciousness, radiating out to imbibe all things within its purview", whereupon she placed the not-yet-purchased glasses  astride the triangular eyes of the nearest jack-o-lantern, gathered her kids with a nod and a keen whistle, and exited the store without paying for squat.



Road to nowhere is not a dead end. Scientists at Huffakers University in Huffakers, NV have discovered that the road to nowhere is not a dead end but is actually a vast array of a somewhat bluish vagueness. Dr. Kevin Riddle, physicist at Huffakers U., checked out his departments Chevron Algonguin Stevedore 8 cylinder, fuel injected duo jet carburetor  hyperbolic test vehicle and went further down the road to nowhere than anyone has gone previously. States Riddle, "I rounded a curve and up ahead I see a bluish vagueness instead of the nothingness that I was seeing before. The nothingness gave way to the vague bluishness and there it was and it was vague and blue so I just stopped and took it all in. I made note of it, drove toward it but it didn't look like I was getting closer so I just wheeled the Algonguin around came back to some hereness and nowness. As a physicist you don't want to hang around the vague too long.  Dig it?"




Item: General Motors to market "faith based" internal combustion engines. Following its hostile yet weirdly rapturous takeover by the Vatican, GM has announced plans to introduce a new line of bloatmobiles powered by what company promotional literature terms "the awesome force generated by clean living, tight jockey underwear and The Holy Ghost". Substituting the holy spirit for petrol, these new cars promise to revolutionize transportation as we know it. As GM spokesperson Sister Ignitius Magillicutty put it, "You may think you're on route 24 to Poughkeepsie, but you're actually on the High Occupancy Vehicle lane to heaven!" Responding to accusations that the new vehicles were nothing more than a bunch of hot air, Sister Ignitius was quick to point out the virtual pseudoscience behind the new design: as the driver settles behind the wheel, nerve induction sensors imbedded in the genuine leatherette upholstery penetrate the driver's fleshy posterior and measure the impurity levels vs. the spiritual force flowing through the driver's cerebro-anal fluid and utilizes a special alchemical formula to circulate the "holy nectar" throughout the car's hydraulic and combustatory mechanisms. In effect, the holier you are, the faster you go. Said Hector Thibadoux of Flatline, Loosiana, one of the twelve blessed winners of the "Pray Today, Pay Much Later" lottery, upon receipt of the prototype Holy Roller demo model, "Well, truth to tell, I haven't been able to get it out of the driveway on account of my moral turpitude, so yesterday I gave up likker and armed robbery so hopefully I'll be able to take her for a downhill spin come Sunday. That is, if I don't go on a tri-bayou murderin' rampage first." Ex-President George Bush applauded the company's efforts to "raise the depth of the average commuter's stigmata", but that was before he figured out that the new cars didn't need no high quality Texas grade crude petroleum. 




Item: Ice Machine Kills Witnit Neo-Fascist. Dwight ("just call me D-Wite!") White, senior assistant Grand Omnikludd of the Super Duper "No, WE Da Man" White Peep's Party was killed last night in a chilling yet oddly cool act of karmic retribution. After fishing a frosty crank-sized Mountain Dooby Dooyoo out of the soda machine in the parking lot "concession area" of the Yellow Liver River Motel with his special "thing on a string" lucky one-sided coin, Dwight dismissively depressed the dispensing lever on the adjoining Absolutely Free & Absolutely All White Ice machine which promptly ejected a high velocity ice cold nugget of truth and justice right between the cross-hairs of his creamy white & knotty ass. According to witness Mayrene Magillicutty, who happened to be looking for her teeth under the rear axle of her man's souped up Pussy Vanagon, White then keeled over and gasped, "This has absolutely no relation to my supreme belief that white people have a super manlified overlordian dive-in-the-shallow-end gene pool that super seeds all other bro-races. Anybody of any pigment could get killed by an ice machine." Whereupon he lost what was left of his color and promptly quit breathing. Another Dwight White, the very black and very bulky former member of the Pittsburgh Steeler's famed Iron Curtain defense, sequestered across town in the offices of his leopard-skinned tanning salon, chuckled and knowingly adjusted his red felt beret as an opaque forewarning of the coming darkness (a darkness that would be omnipresent save for the ubiquitous light).



Erratum

Our whiz-bang proofreaders have found an error in reportage as detailed herein. Staff is quite annoyed, yet still apologizes to our wide readership for the goof and is now mainly focused on finding someone to blame. 

The September 4, 2013 post announced, "Personal Flotation Device to be replaced by impersonal non-flotation sponge." This is not correct. Actually, the Personal Flotation Device, or "P.F.D." will be replaced by a Personal Flirtation Device. Therefore, the acronym PFD will remain in common usage forever. 

The old PFD was useful only to those in danger of drowning. The upgraded device will be of use to the many millions who never drown. 

The new PFD will apply the latest in flirtation technology, most notably the deployment of a holographic Third Eye that winks. 

Stay tuned for breaking news on who's to blame for the error. 







A Big Day for Whirled HeadQuarters Headline News
Critical Facts Still Unconfirmed at Press Time!


Item: Supreme Court of Bermuda Shorts will hear suit over garment-activated penis reduction therapy.

Item: Personal Flotation Device to be replaced by impersonal non-flotation sponge.

Item: Voted least popular new beverage this year is The Water Bill, consisting of a glass of water, served chilled, with a frame-ready pay-now tab of Five Dollars.

Item: Jellyfish are in a jam.

Item: New Testament's red heifer deemed a red herring.

Item: The Homonym of the Year Award goes to holy, holey, wholly. Congratulations, words!

Item: Serge Piquerre, noted cineaste, pens scathing review of movie that doesn't exist: "March in Potato World."








Bank Closes in Huffakers, Nevada.


The last bank in Huffakers, Nevada is finally closing after years of corruption, naked corporate greed, employee malfeasance and several brushes with bank auditors that resulted in mammoth fines and lengthy jail terms to the entire board of directors. Former teller and now acting-president Hart Akers announced, "We are exuberantly ambivalent that The Last of the Mohican Banks of Huffakers is closing. But rest assured that all non-monetized deposits of things like, say, cocoa beans, crank or Bitcoins will be converted into extremely valuable shares of our next great Huffakers community venture. Yes, you will be fully vested in our new Huff Acres Mobile Meth Amphibian Wranglers Ranch franchise opportunity!" Akers proceeded to gush willy nilly explaining the income opportunities for ground floor, nay, sub-basement entry. Quite a few of the bank depositors were decidedly un-ambivalent about the idea, demanding withdrawals of mucho actual dinero plus cocoa beans. Said Heck Tar, nearby resident of a nearby community in a nearby tax bracket, “Shut the fucking door man! It’s bad enough that you have to go the county prison to get a withdrawal and now they is closing? Why don’t they just kick me in the nuts with the stone hard miracle of compound interest? Again?”




Zone 1 Now a Priority Zone



After years of fussy, over-wrought, total domination landscaping campaigns, historic Oakland Cemetery in downtown Atlanta, Georgia, has been declared a Zone 1 Priority Zone, according to Erominel Loosflucker, Fulton County’s Deputy Redundancy Deputy, and will receive  major decompression and chaos enhancement therapy immediately. Said Loosflucker, "Sure the people here are dead, tell me something I don't know why doncha, but that doesn't mean they don't have feelings. Not to mention the ghosts who are being driven mad by all this bogus visual rectitude. Plus all these straight clean lines reduce the creep factor here, and what's a cemetery if isn't a bit creepy? You might as well go to a mall, where the dead people are walking around. Now that's creepy!" Loosflooker admitted that he was digressing, and blamed it rather obviously on the general lack of disorganization.




Item: "Down with Communist Party!" Fateful words spoken by a Chinese man on the internet and before you could say, "Down with the Communist Party," the man was arrested, tried, and sentenced to two years hard labor in a "dot-commie" re-education center for uttering the awful truth. The man, Jiang Shihua, stated in court that what he really meant was, "The Communist Party GETS Down! I can see how someone might be confused, but the Party knows how to Par-tay, sho nuff". Shihua, a sexual intercourse instructor at Nanchong high school, had joined an online digital intercourse chat room when he wrote the fucking phrase. After his arrest and mandatory post arrest flogging by a member of the public safety collective, Nanchong schools were ordered in December to start a vigorous ideological de-programming/re-programming campaign for faculty and students alike, according to a surprisingly scantily clad school spokeswoman. The spokeswoman also stated, "I really do like the ideological de-programming /re-programming campaign. It helps to replace flawed cognition. Plus ideological de-programming /re-programming is so fun. You get to stand in the sun for weeks with hundreds of thousands of fellow citizens waving tremendous red flags and sing and chant great rhythmic ideological phrases like, 'citizen agricultural programs are planting cereal crops for a strong and vigorous nation to consume heartily on its predestined path towards gastro-intestinal dominance!' Would you like to hear another?"




No Background to Check


While applying for a job as a Semi Conductor on the CSX rail lines it was discovered that  Hiram Flatporm had no background to check. CSX HR spokesmodel E.L. Fandorth told company CEO Leyburn Whatscorthy that they had run numerous background checks to no avail. "Actually we found 2 things: 1) Flatporm owns a 1997 pre-GW Bush slant 6 dual aught 40 hemi head Chevron Alongonqin with one broken tail light and 2) there was a little bit of background noise in the lower left of the photograph he submitted with his employment application. Other than that, zippo. Pretty amazing because we Googled the hell out of this guy".





Item: Area man "plots" world domination with $91 tax refund. Leonard Stift of Scituate, MA, assistant zamboni operator at the Wee Willy skating rink situated just outside Scituate, felt his entrepreneurial spirit soar as he softened the ice in decreasingly concentric circles in between periods of the raucous and tightly fought peewee hockey playoff game last saturday. Oblivious to the blood seeping onto the ice from the parents' booster section behind the home goal, Leonard dreamed of what he would do with the $91 dollars in tax rebates that the President of the United States himself had promised would be in his mailbox sometime within the next three years if The President felt like it. First, Leonard mused, he would buy his own zamboni and move to Mexico under a little-known NAFTA provision. There, he would tap into the heretofore unrealized hopes and desires of the indigenous peoples and lead an economic revival that would sweep south, as newly enfranchised zamboni operators rolled over coca fields in decreasingly concentric circles, inspiring everypeople to toil together for the everyweal. And that was just the beginning.... meanwhile, just as the 6-8 year olds glided out to cut fresh lines in the newly virgin rink, a continent away Virginia Smooth looked out over the Pacific and asked her billionaire husband what he would do with his tax rebate, and Mr. Smooth shrugged and replied, "I dunno. Rent some movies, go see a hockey game, whatever..."



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Item: French Lick, Indiana man conveys universal truth to world. In response to the unending deluge of cosmic bullshit raining on his freaking midwestern parade every freaking day, Regis Phlunge calved a vision so spontaneously rhythmic and driven by a melody so profound, with lyrics so apt, that small river fauna faced true north and barked soulfully. Driven by instinct, and barely able to comprehend the profundity of the moment, Regis frankly elucidated the most matter-of-fact and comprehensible explication of the eternal mysteries that has yet to be recorded in human civilization. It was really swell. 




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Item: Live from Brazil, 
in the  most exciting World Cup Soccer Game to date, 
here's what happened:
The guy kicked the ball to the other guy who kicked the ball to another guy who kicked the ball to another guy who kicked the ball back to the first guy. The ball hit the first guy in the head and then it hit another guy in the head and then another guy kicked the ball to another guy who kicked the ball to another guy who picked it up with his hands and kicked the shit out of it. It was all very thrilling, practically unbelieveable in its tension and unremitting athleticism, on and on with guys kicking the ball to other guys for like six hours. The final score turned out to be just as wildly exciting as the entire game: 1 - 1. 





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Item: Area man falls deeply and passionately in love with his old sofa. "I don't know what took me so long," gushed Romeo Boggs of Whipville, Tennessee, "She's been waiting quietly for me all this time." The love-struck Romeo spent the entire weekend in intimate collusion with his old sofa, eating, sleeping, snuffling, watching TV, putting off till next weekend what was eminently doable this weekend, and by and large acting like a soon-to-be-embalmed corpsicle, refusing to part from the genuine leatherette caress of his newfound paramour. Unable to summon the energy to entertain even the faintest whiff of self-loathing, Romeo Boggs grinned before he lost his remote "one more time" in the alluring dark spaces between the cushions of the love seat, and noted to himself, "Sometimes a man just doesn't feel like doing what he's gotta do."


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Item: Government mandates wildly expensive study of "schooling" phenomenon. In an effort to rouse its lethargic, dimwitted and hopeless school children, the nation's leaders have determined that fish are the answer. The Department of Education has been renamed the Department of Fish, and every graduate thesis submitted to an accredited institution will be limited to the study of fish and their amazing capacity to "school". Says Jeffard Whitby, obviologist and Phish PhD, "We want to find the genetic markers that make fish want to school and once in "school" stay in school until they die or are eaten by sharks or are made into fishsticks. We can use this to increase children's desire to "school" and then later in life to keep a really cruddy job without killing more than half the people in the local cubicle area."



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Item: Man Gets All His Ducks in Row, Briefly. Joe Schmoxli of West Huffakers, NV, owner/operator of the Family Innocence Petting Zoo, assisted by his trained ferret, Hinky, recently arranged all 47 of his ducks in a row in front of a mesmerized crowd of Cub Scouts, confused emus, wet-cold-blooded-codfish and paying customers. Combining provocative rhetoric, disco hustle dancing and magic fancy swipes with a broom culled from his years as an Olympic curler, Mr. Shmoxli finally squeezed all the ducks into stringent alignment for an official 1.3 seconds, a standard set by the Global Council of Imposing Linearity. Moments later, overwrought by maintaining such a taxing vector, several fowl spontaneously converted to Sufism, broke ranks and waddled recklessly towards Greater Duckness like it was 1999.
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This just in from the whirled headquarters news desk!
Godot family reunion turns into waiting game. 




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Item: Upyersjohn, the rising pharmaceutical company, has announced the newest in contrapreventive medicine: the Clinic in a Condom. Licensed and distributed under the name brand, "Terminator XXX", these condoms mark the latest in nanotechnological convenience. Not only is the Terminator lined with antigens for the twelve major sexually transmitted diseases, but it also features an aqueous film of biolipids in which swim scores of microbiologically genengineered urologists, infectious diseases and sperm killing experts. "Yes, of course they're licensed" said Jonny Wadd, PR rep for Upyersjohn, "they just have really small diplomas."

 

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Item: Woman Gets Art Grant, Shoots Car. District attorney Milo Hightones of Jupiter, Florida, claims to have "more than enough circumstance" to indict local conceptual artist, platinum blonde and late night Waffle House dessert queen Candy Kane, who's not really from Jupiter, Florida, according to just about anybody who is from Jupiter, Florida.
What is not in dispute is that shortly after Ms. Kane received a $112 check from the Jupiter Bureau of Cultural Affairs, she pumped 1,973 rounds of hot lead into Mayor Chuff Whitbee's 1973 Chevron Algonquin Matador Custom deluxe all leather Full Tilt Cruiser at midnight last Tuesday under the harsh pinkish glow of the new mercury vapor street lights installed at Jupiter City Hall. Said a beaming Ms. Kane, "Metaphorically, Chuff's Matador is a piece of crapola but realistically it's not about symbols. It's about time and love and bullets."
Fortunately, Mayor Whitbee had recently insured the Matador against bad conceptual art and store-bought ammo. Mayor Whitbee was last seen under the self same harsh pinkish glow of the new mercury vapor street lights, running a trembling hand over the bullet-ridden side panel of his beloved Matador, weeping loudly and deconstructing modern art. Whether this was due to simple remorse or aesthetic catharsis is best left in the eye of the beholder, or perhaps stuffed in the glove compartment of the Chevron Algonquin.



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Item: Smallest state now officially claims slightly larger name: Rhode Estuary. “This has been festering ever since George Washington lost a platoon trying to outflank the enemy by circumnavigating the state in a war dinghy,” lamented Troy Lake who lives in one of formerly-Rhode-Island’s four squatty, narrow counties. Added Cranberryville Mayor Wiley Rivers, “Visitors ask, ‘Where’s the other side of the island?’ And we have to say, ‘It’s not an island. That over there, next to Papa Nick's Diner, is Connecticut.’ It's so embarrassing.” Other names under consideration included Rhode Promontory, Rhode Bog, Rhode Under Construction and Rhode Alluvial Fan. Rhode Estuary Governor Chim Cimini admitted off the record, “This might well continue to fester up."
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Item: Russia threatens to invade Ukraine even though it already has invaded Ukraine. But this time its different! Pyotr Sumovavitch, looking out from his balcony overlooking the police station in Siestapool as sullen officers in baggy Ukrainian uniforms ritualistically kiss the middle fingers of the gleeful “definitely not Russian” special ops troops that had taken charge of the station, sighed and muttered, "I very much hope Vladimir Putin is not obliged to use his right to kick our asses to Finland and I so fucking hope that through political and diplomatic means we can solve all the dreadful problems in Ukraine, including the inability to have a fabulous fashion outlet store somewhere within 50 km of Kiev. Thank you veddy much.”


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September 29, 2001
Item: George Bush displays new  “War Mullett”, urges Americans  to get a mullet-cut, buy a    plane ticket and play “Free  Bird” really loud this Saturday  at vespers.
       





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Friday, February 07, 2003

 

Powell Declares Vial of Simulated Sperm to be "Evil": Holding the opaque milky substance aloft in front of an eagerly revulsed world, Colin Powell explained archly, "We got it from swabbing down the insides of those shiny spent aluminum tubes we found outside Baghdad. I mean, just use your imagination...you gettin' it?...you see now?...that's right. That's just evil. Pure axis o' evil." When pressed, Powell admitted that the disgusting vial contained only a "simulation" of the (axis o') evil sperm, not the (axis o') evil sperm itself, but noted, before winking out in a deliquesced puff of degaussed ions, that he, himself, personally was not "actually" here at all.

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News of the Week (circa 2000ish)


Item: At the old and only post office in  greater downtown Huffakers, Nevada,
on a day so piercingly crystal clear that all residual wisps of humidity
re-atomized in the pale hovering cliffs just outside of town (and portend the
arrival of an unrequited  and long-lost love), the following comments were overheard by our itinerant
reporter this festive and laugh-out-loud holiday season:

Marsha Stillwater, Egyptologist stated, "I'm not a sex object anymore, I' m just an object."

Brenda Kaye, manager, Cactus Motor Homes said, "I'm trying to find my inner sponge."

Clay Finks, bagboy at Gillespies Super Foods, "Guys like me make you sick."

Sky Eagle Buffalo Shank, Warden,  Navajo Game Reserve and Bingo Parlor, "We have the channels. We just don't have the TV."  
    
 Madge Listphizer, German, "Alcohol, it sharpens the wit."

Elridge Klestervonk, inmate at Spikey Knob Correctional Facility, "Fuck the law! Beer goes with everything."  



And so on. Happy RamaHaQwaMas Holidays!