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LOS TATUAJES PUEDEN AÑADIR AÑOS A LA VIDA

(Needle Rock, CA) Adornando el cuerpo con tatuajes puede tener algunos efectos positivos de acuerdo con un nuevo estudio recién publicado por la Escuela de Psicometría de Cal Polygamy. Según hallazgos claros, las personas con tatuajes viven más tiempo, en promedio, que las personas sin diseños.

De los sujetos probados en marzo de 1925 y nuevamente en mayo de 1926, entrevistados en 1990 y 2006, casi el 80% de los que tenían tatuajes todavía están pateando. La mayoría parece ser marineros, a menudo de buques mercantes y arrastreros de pesca.

“Había muchos más de estos antiguos tipos de sal vivos en 1990 que en 2006”, dijo el Dr. Efram Pennywhistle, (de Gladstone Pennywhistles, preste atención) al presidente del departamento. “Tendremos que escribir eso en función de la inflación. La encuesta tiene un componente de inexactitud incorporado del 14%, que es un poco alto para este tipo de estudios”.

Los investigadores aún no saben qué harán con los hallazgos hasta que todos los datos puedan analizarse más detenidamente y compensarse con otros estudios similares. En la actualidad, ni la FDA ni la AMA han respaldado la exhibición de tatuajes, o incluso piercing en el cuerpo, a pesar de los vínculos con las inyecciones de refuerzo y los usos de las sanguijuelas en el tratamiento.

La reacción dentro de la comunidad de tatuajes y pintura corporal fue resguardada por grupos de defensa que insistían en que los tatuajes “nunca se refieren a la mortalidad, y ciertamente no a la moralidad”.

Los salones locales informan un ligero repunte en el tráfico sin nada dramático.

“Siempre vemos muchas caras nuevas en las vacaciones”, dijo Syd Fahrdt, propietario de Seaweed Tattoo en Delta.

“No sé qué vamos a hacer con todas estas vidas desdentadas tatuadas en sus años noventa y más. Estamos teniendo suficientes problemas para pagar Sociable Security como es”.

No se ha establecido ninguna conexión entre estos descubrimientos y el bien documentado intento de los cirujanos argentinos de transplantar un ego humano en una losa de carne.

– Boca Pequeña Bess

ANOTHER GROPPO APOLOGY

Alas, we have grown tired of extending these seasonal apologies to Groppo the Elf and his battery of attorneys but in the spirit of the holidays we will reach deep and try to de-ruffle a few feathers once more.

First of all let us set the record straight. The short piece appearing in the November issue regarding Groppo’s heritage was, admittedly in bad taste. Moreover we really didn’t have photographs of the elf with local livestock even though we were assured that this was the case. The prints, as it turns out disappeared the night before this issue was to be put to rest and we were forced to substitute a story about the much maligned Spar City de-lousing effort and some color pictures of Melvin Toole hanging Christmas lights at the one of our countless private prisons.

Repeated references to Groppo’s alcohol abuse were presented out of context so as not to endanger the reputations of local citizens. Implications that Groppo’s physical stature and mental capacity are the result of his diet of bombardier beetles, twinkies and swamp grass digested while growing up at the Pole are true. This accusation can be verified by speaking to the elf’s dietitian

Furthermore attempts at collecting damages from this publication by the family of Groppo are unfounded, illegal and a waste of time even for those who make a career out of same.

We did not ever say that his immediate family were drug addicts only that the current inhabitants of his family tree were junkies and substance abusers. We never said they were alcoholics either since most are reputedly closet drunks and their public behavior, although suspect, cannot be chronicled.

Never mind all that. Let’s shake hands and part as friends, Groppo. After all you’re really no worse than most of us, especially when viewed through the rose-colored filter of the Yuletide. At least you have exhibited the integrity and good taste to steer clear of civil service – Editor

Patterns in the shade, textures in the tree

The plaza Ciudad Bolivar, Colombia. Amid daytime color a barrage of Christmas lights then accentuates the Andean night.

A ROCKY MOUNTAIN CHRISTMAS

It was another quaint scene of rural Rocky Mountain Americana, long before the beautiful people landed here. A clothesline, heavy with a fresh wash, was stretched from the propped up hood of a black ’54 Chevy to the corner post of the flimsy front porch. A spotted mutt lay in the mud chewing on an old sneaker as three dirty-faced children ran half-naked through the snow and mud frolicking among the goats and chickens.

Grandma sat glum-faced in an old rocker on the front lawn bundled in a stained blanket. A dip of snuff lay soggy between her lip and gum. Brown spittle drooled down her chin, spotting the bosom of her Goodwill dress.

Mary Jane looked from the kitchen window as she kneaded dough for the Christmas baked goods. She watched as the warm sunshine melted snow from the old barn roof sending its cool droppings into a rancid mound of garbage and rotting deer hides. A mouse scurried from the pantry and into the corner. Mary Jane quickly finished her last slug of Keystone and hurled the empty at the unsuspecting rodent, shattering glass against the stove. The mouse ran back into the pantry, a sprig of parsley clutched fast between its teeth. It’s only parsley, thought Mary Jane. The kids won’t eat it anyhow.

Gus, Mary Jane’s husband, stumbled from the barn. His eyes were red from drink and blinded by the afternoon sun causing him to trip over an old rusty transmission. He fell headlong into the mud and snow cursing bitterly.

On the horizon came a fleet of pickups and vans. Here come the do-gooders, mused Gus. Then he smiled, for in the deep recesses of his foggy memory a thought emerged. Old Melvin Toole was playing Santa at the Grange today. At least he would have someone to drink with after all.

The visitors parked in the rutted road’s ankle deep mud and gathered at the gate. Phony smiles adorned their scrubbed faces. Beneath the holy makeup of a shaky Santa was the smug, devil-may-care Toole. He stepped from his pickup, hoisting a sack of toys over his boney shoulder. He swallowed the last swig of his drugstore bourbon and tossed the empty bottle into the back of the truck, the melting snow muffling the sound of the breaking atop his jack, other bottles and a huge piece of petrified cottonwood.

“I use that for ballast,” he slurred. But not a creature heard him.

Next the county sheriff marched through the gate dragging a fresh-cut spruce. Behind him was a procession of the righteous carrying boxes of decorations and food.

“Ya got anything to drink in there?” asked Gus whose request was promptly ignored by the pilgrims.

The children, stone-faced and perplexed, stood next to Grandma as she rocked and chewed her cud. Gus lit a Viceroy. In the kitchen Mary Jane opened another beer, looking out of the window in disgust at the procession in her field.

All at once a rusty piece of barbed wire, hidden beneath the snow, caught the shiny patent leather toe of Santa’s boot sending him down the hill, gliding on his red Gore-Tex suit and crashing into Gus. The impact sent both men rolling into the pile of garbage and deer hides, causing a roar of laughter and cheer.

On the back of the pickup a guitar player strummed while a chorus from Al-Anon sang that famous old Buck Owens classic, “Santa Looks A Lot Like Daddy.”

Everyone just stood their in the yard wondering what to do next when it began to snow. In the distance silver peaks glistened like white marble against a powder-blue sky. The green pines shuddered, the sun met the land and once again another Christmas arrived in the glorious Rockies.

– Jose Katu

Christmas Astro-Graph

Attention star gazers: When ordering from the following menu do so only by the adjoining number. Parties of more than one will be charged a 20% gratuity after digestion. If you are one of those people who actually believes that another mortal can actually dispense advice based on shuffling cards, reading tarots or throwing tea leaves up into the air we would like to talk to you about how you can achieve financial and political security just by letting us use your credit card. The following is just as valid as all the other astrological crap lines and it’s free.

SAGITTARIUS (November 23 – December 21)

Valuable knowledge acquired this morning may help you find your car tomorrow afternoon. Keep one eye on the hour glass and the other on your squirt gun. Hire a surrogate worrier and get on with the party. Turning a deaf ear to bothersome elves may result in blows below the belt. Jack Iron at twenty paces! Slide. Be happy that nobody is really paying attention. You may become a source of amusement to sanitation engineers in the wee hours. Tonight: Dilly dally.

CAPRICORN (December 22 – January 19)

Conditions in general could remain quite general through the 29th. You are far too impressed by lunch counter Santas and arch-angels in car washes. Stick to decorating your cave. Going in circles is a valid direction. Look at the planets. Don’t worry about the future. The gov’ment will feed you. Textbook descriptions fail in the light of a damaged attention span. Your business cents could net dollar signs in 2018. Define all goals before abandoning them. Tonight: Find a couch.

AQUARIUS (January 20 – February 19)

They say that everyone is good at something. What did you say you do for a living? That’s interesting. Is it legal? Conclusions may carry the heavy weight of finality in the mid-afternoon. Your game plan is solid: It’s just out of chips. You are highly motivated to do nothing. Previous experiences sleeping in your car may come in handy but always factor in the temperatures in December. Yeah, we know. It wasn’t your fault. The world is screwed up. Tonight: Sneak in the back door.

PISCES (February 20 – March 20)

Congratulations! Today is official Junk Day. It’s the day that you get to hang around with old things. Maybe it’s a person, maybe an attic. Either way, call in sick. Dress comfortably and surround yourself with junk. Why not? Are you gonna miss something important like the TV news? Focus on doing nice things for others and your problems will melt away to nothing. The chances of waking up healthy tomorrow are very good. Celebrate. Tonight: A close friend will get you off the hook.

ARIES (March 21 – April 19)

Your life is beginning to resemble the 1956 Republican Presidential Convention on black and white TV with all those delegates in straw hats carrying I Like Ike signs. Richard Nixon is there too. Maybe it’s time to switch opiate-based perfumes or after shaves. Contrary to logic your personal star is on the rise. Hold on for the ride of your life. Go ahead, throw in the towel. You can always drip-dry. Put a lid on handy-man foul ups by taking an extended nap. Tonight: Sleep through it.

TAURUS (April 20 – May 20)

Asinine is and shall be your calling card. Money is only temporary. It’s credit cards and checks that are eternal. Mercury, the planet of communication, is about to launch a windy monologue. Find something to do outside of your sphere of affluence. Chafing at the bit is good for the digestive system. Intangible prospects will come into full view by Christmas. While somewhat innovative, there is no particular advantage to tapping your hands and wringing your feet. Tonight: Refreshment is a state of mind.

GEMINI (May 21 – June 20)

Making jello should not require artillery strikes. The transits of Pluto and Neptune will leave mounds of fresh manure at the barn door. What could it mean? You know you have to take them out for a walk in the morning but what would you wear? Atone for your previous sins through moments of emotional starvation. Never eat the last cupcake. Go eyeball to eyeball with house plants. You are your own Christmas Tree! Your fly is open. Tonight: Leftover rhetoric.

CANCER (June 21 – July 22)

Your outfit is hypnotizing, especially the crystals, sparkles and moon boots. Ruling planets have requested that you take a substantial pay cut after the holidays. Go ahead…retreat back into your hermit’s cave but don’t forget to budget for cable. Considering your income you cannot afford the luxury of a prestigious mental illness and should simply settle for being comfortably crazy. Insignificance is it’s own reward. Tonight: A break from canned food.

LEO (July 23 – August 22)

So you think you’re a candidate for the king/queen of the jungle. Where is your paperwork? Who did you pay off? Let’s hear your best roar! We’ll be in touch by the end of the week. Inability to trust others could be your finest asset. Benevolent mice pulling thorns from the feet of lions is a lot for cynical Leos to swallow. Dream your cat dreams in white sands by the beautiful sea. If you are invited to the spider’s house for dinner expect to eat fly stew. Tonight: Play a backseat roll, knickers up!

VIRGO (August 23 – September 22)

Behind the facade of sub-par human intelligence lurks an ugly step-child. Don’t fret. There are plenty of round holes for square pegs to fill. Cogs in the machine are always better than frogs in the latrine. There is honor in solitude but drinking alone is still a no-no in polite society. You have the celestial body of a late model Plymouth. Avoid military incursions that involve your body. Stay clandestine but make sure you polish those combat boots. Tonight: A message from the heavens on laundry detergents.

LIBRA (September 23 – October 22)

Street sense don’t mean a thing on a far off asteroid. The very thought of a fiery comet crashing heartlessly into the mother earth is somewhat upsetting to you. Today is perfect for Christmas shoplifting. Rely on the courage of your convictions, at least the ones classified as misdemeanors. Distance yourself from nuclear waste. Your holiday fruitcake could be at risk. Counseling is a possibility. That big red nose will make it difficult to get away with little white lies through the 25th. Tonight: Add bleach.

SCORPIO (October 23 – November 24)

Life is only a phase. Go ahead: Buckle under pressure. Your magnetic personality could leave you stuck to a tin building by January. Fantasy and reality blend well with rum and coconuts. Use your descriptive adjectives now or face angry participles later on in the day. Why would a lover expect you to make a commitment when you won’t even make the bed? You may just as well get used to the Christmas season. It will be here for a while. Tonight: Don’t count your chickens before the cows come home to roost.

– General Kashmir Horseshoe, Staff Unitologist

¿EL PES TIENE ALMAS?

Reflexiones del reverendo Phil Pharisee

Muchos de ustedes han preguntado: Reverendo Phil, ¿los peces tienen almas? Bueno, ¿nunca has oído hablar de filete de lenguado? Escuchen, hermanos y hermanas, no tengo ni idea. Mi sermón de esta semana trata sobre los trenes de manejo y las transmisiones lentas, pero lo haré girar. Aquí está el gancho: si las tijeretas, las moscas, las arañas y los perros de las praderas tienen almas, ¿por qué los peces no estarían igualmente equipados?

El hecho de que sean de sangre fría no significa que no puedan continuar con otra vida. ¿Deberíamos comerlos? Por qué no? No les importa Una vez que han sido atrapados, de todos modos están prácticamente vaciados. Oso comerlos y también muchos otros animales. Todo es parte del ciclo alimenticio, al igual que nuestro propio pasillo de alimentos congelados.

En realidad, a los peces les resulta muy fácil siempre y cuando no sean engullidos por otros peces. Mientras que el desove es inmoral, la puesta de huevos está perfectamente bien. Capturar truchas con una licencia es ridículo. A ellos les gustan mucho más los gusanos y los huevos de salmón. ¿Deberías usar un bote? Claro, siempre y cuando no entretengas pensamientos obscenos en el lago.

La otra noche, cuando estaba en una conferencia, sabes a quién me dijo, “Chill, Phil. Realmente puedo ponerme detrás de las personas que se ayudan a sí mismas y no me molestan con todos sus pequeños problemas, sus situaciones absurdas. tanto en uno como en el otro sin enfrentar las consecuencias. El asiento caliente está reservado para muchos de ellos que piensan que han asegurado un boleto de primera clase subiendo. Creo que otra Inquisición española despejaría el aire … “

Sincero. Entonces los peces sí tienen almas. Ahora hazle cosquillas a ese plato de recolección y sigue con tu vida. Ustedes chicos en el primer banco ahora estarán en la parte de atrás del autobús más tarde. Adiós.