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Rejected Explanations for Jamal Khashoggi’s Murder

(Istanbul UPS) Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman has repeatedly denied knowledge of and involvement with the recent death of a Washington Post reporter Jamal Khashoggi. The journalist went missing after entering the Saudi Consulate in Istanbul on October 2. It is believed that he was assassinated by a 15-man Saudi Security team sent to Turkey for that draconian purpose. Here at home President Trump has denied evidence much like he denies that climate change brought on by humans.

“The Prince Salman would never lie about something like this,” said Sheik Sushi Tuna, former director of security in Riyadh. “He has already rejected some of the more likely scenarios relating to the alleged murder of Mr. Khashoggi. We suggested he might have fallen down the consulate stairs or maybe slipped in the shower,” Tuna continued. My colleagues and I then suggested that he was hit by falling debris in that the old consulate is always under some kind of construction. My chauffeur, who has a medical background, thinks the victim experienced a heart attack while resisting authorities.”

Abdul “Mickey” Trout, a Saudi fishmonger and animal behaviorist in Yemen, echoed the concerns and frustrations of the Kingdom saying that a rabid camel probably mauled Khashoggi.

“Many camels still harbor resentment over the results of the competition and the accompanying Botox scandal,” smiled Trout. “Some have embraced violence.”

King Abdulaziz, producer of this year’s Camel Festival in Rumah had no comment on these developments.

“The signs are there: the struggle, the breakage, the camel hair,” Trout continued. “If not a rogue Dromedary then it must have been a fast traveling flu that he picked up in Turkey. This whole mess could not have had anything to do with the Crowned Prince who was over in Jersey playing the casinos at the time of the incident.”

Other Saudi diplomats were quick to suggest that Khashoggi stabbed himself in the back 45 times or fell into a well. Most say he had terrorist links and was tainted by his time in the United States.

“Khashoggi? Isn’t that a Polish dumpling?” asked a Trump spokesman.

-Kashmir Horseshoe

Whitaker to play lead in Manchurian Candidate

(Hsinking) Acting Attorney General Mathew Whitaker will join a cast of thousands in the Christmas presentation of The Manchurian Candidate it was disclosed today.

The play, set during the Cold War, chronicles the lives of sleeper agents sent by North Korea to disrupt two-party politics in the US. The brainwashing scenes are magnificent while the stage lights amplify the already stunning array of Fifties’ fashions such as massive overcoats and boxy accessories.

This is the first performance by the little known Whitaker who rose to prominence as a candidate for several major offices in the state of Iowa. Later he represented World Patent Marketing, a fraudulent invention promotion firm shut down by the FCC for deceiving consumers, many of who were US military veterans.

He will be joined on stage by former Attorney General Jeff Sessions who will play Jupiter, a former POW during the Korean War who had once undergone surgery to become a chorus girl in Pusan. Retired House Majority Leader Paul Ryan has been penciled in to appear as a talking rat in all but one nude scene filmed on board the USS Elon Musk, in the Sea of Japan.

“Sessions brings a little light into an otherwise dark period in our history,” said director Hector Mongol whose resume includes such standout films and plays as “Gutless of Guilty”, “The Huckabee Hillbillies” and the epic play “Nancy Pelosi is Coming to Your House for Christmas”.

“I like the clever racist asides cracked by the little elves coming back to the prison camp at the end of the workday,” said Mongol. “Comic relief, often awkward, comes at the expense of the non-European extras bused in every day from the Yalu Valley.

The producers of the Yuletide presentation hope that President Trump will attend along with Mississippi’s favorite daughter, Cindy Hyde-Smith in tow.

-Tommy Middlefinger

Visiting our Civil War battlefields

In recognition of the 150th Anniversary of several major battles in the American Civil War, Lake City residents Sam and Matilda Heartfelde traveled to Chancellorsville, Virginia; Vicksburg, Mississippi and Gettysburg, Pennsylvania to view the once heavily contested terrain. Little did they know that we installed a secret listening device in the ash tray of their Flexible Fleetwheel Lamsteed Kampkar so as to keep close tabs on their conversations for the three week trip.

Week One: Chancellorsville, Virginia.

We pick up the action upon the arrival of the Heartfeldes:

Matilda—“If Union general Hooker would not have been so hesitant and had showed some calm under fire  standing firm rather than  retreating to the confines of the town he might have easily defeated Lee who had already split his undermanned army and could not have had the punch to knock out an overwhelming force,”

Sam— “Nonsense. Hooker was simply being cautious and adopting a defensive position. Look at the Confederate casualties and you will see that he was right. The South may have won the day but at a terrible cost of men and supplies.”

Matilda—“You think that just because you caught a few History Channel segments you are some expert. It was my relatives who fought while yours bought their way out of inscription.”

Sam—”And that was probably the last honorable thing any of your worthless relatives accomplished since…

Matilda—My family fought a Celtic war for the glory of the South while yours hid behind mother’s apron just like you. I must have been out of my mind to marry a man who has no sense of history much less a sense of the present. I must have been mad to think I could spend three weeks on the road with an imbecile. You sleep on the pull out couch tonight.

Week Two: Vicksburg, Mississippi

Sam—”Sure is hot this morning.

Matilda—”No it isn’t. It’s balmy for this neck of the woods.

Sam—The thermometer on the camper says 95 and its not even noon.

Matilda—That thing isn’t accurate. I told you not to buy the cheap one. What’s up with the air-conditioning? It doesn’t seem to be functioning.

Sam—Oh I forgot to refill the freon. I figured we could rough it for a few days in honor of the men who fought here.

Matilda—What a stupid idea. Don’t ever do that without asking me first.

Sam—According to this map the siege began in May and six weeks later the Rebels surrendered giving the Yankees control of the Mississippi and effectively splitting the South in two.

Matilda—History always looks simple to simple minds. You just love to hear yourself talk, don’t you. Your knowledge of this battle could fit inside a bottle cap and your choice of campsites is particularly annoying. Look how far we are from the bathrooms.

Sam—But we’re self-contained

Matilda—In your dreams. You forgot to flush the system and it’s backed up, moron. I’m spending the night in a hotel and far away from you.

Sam—Good. I won’t be here when you come back.

Week Three: Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

Matilda— If Lee would have adopted a more defensive position from day one he might have won a victory instead of having the high-tail it back home.


Matilda—What do you mean Maybe? It’s clear that charging into a fortified position with fewer troops is a recipe for military disaster.

Sam―Not always.

Matilda: Oh, I see you’re still pouting from Vickburg.

Sam—I am not pouting. II’ve never pouted in my life. If I did it wouldn’t be over the likes of you. I’m just tired of listening to you go on about things you don’t understand. I’m sick of the way you dress. Your food stinks, you wear to much makeup and you snore.

Matilda—You’re one to talk. You scurry around in those bib overalls with that stupid Rockies’ hat, with chew spilling out the side of your mouth. You never had the least bit of ambition and your dog is worthless.

Sam—Your dog ran away.

Matilda—No she didn’t. You purposely ran her over with the car.

Sam―That’s not true. I was watching out for your mother in the driveway when that dog started yapping…

Matilda—Don’t blame my mother for this. She was right about you. No backbone. No integrity. The poor woman has been depressed ever since I married you.

Sam—Why don’t you just shut up and watch the battle reenactment. Maybe a stray bullet will find you and I can enjoy the rest of my life in peace.

Matilda—Why must you be so hateful. Oh no…look at the gas gauge. You forgot to get gas! We’ll be stranded.

Sam—There’s enough gas to get back to town. If not you can walk in for fuel. Maybe you’ll shed a few pounds in the process.

Sam and Matida will present a slide show of their wonderful trip at the Lake City Armory this fall.

Everybody needs a wall!


A rural harbor. A pier


Estragon, sitting on the beach, is trying to take off his flippers and catch a fish with a spear. He pulls the flippers with both hands, panting. He gives up, exhausted, rests, tries again. As before. Enter Vladimir.

Estragon: (Giving up again) Nothing to be caught.

Vladimir: (advancing with short, stiff strides, legs wide apart)

I’m beginning to come round to that opinion. All my life I’ve tried to put it from me, saying, Vladimir, be reasonable, there are other fish to fry. And I resume the struggle. (He broods, musing on the struggle. Turns to Estragon.) So there you are again with a line in the water.

Estragon: Am I?

Vladamir: I’m glad to see you back. I thought you had gone fishing on that boat forever.

Estragon: Me too.

Vladimir: Together again at last. We’ll have to celebrate with a fish fry. I have French wine. But how will we catch such? (He reflects) Get up till I embrace you.

Estragon (irritably) Not now. Not now. I think I have a bite.

Vladimir: (hurt, coldly) May I inquire where His Highness spent the night?

Estragon: On the boat.

Vladimir: (admiringly) A boat! Where?

Estragon: (without gesture) Over there.

Vladimir: And they didn’t make you clean fish?

Estragon: Clean fish? Certainly I cleaned fish.

Vladimir: The same lot as usual?

Estragon: The same? I don’t know.

Vladimir: When I think of it…all these years…but for me…where would you be…(Decisively) You’d be nothing more than carp bait, a little heap of bones at the present minute, no doubt about it.

Estragon: And what of it?

Vladimir: (gloomily) It’s too much for one fisherman. (Pause. Cheerfully) On the other hand what’s the good of losing your catch now, that’s what I say. We should have thought of a net a million years ago, in the nineties when the whales still roamed.

Estragon: Ah stop blathering and help me pull this bloody one in. We’re going to be in an underwater film.

Vladimir: Hand in hand from the top of the Eiffel Tower, among the first. We were respectable anglers in those days. Now it’s too late. They wouldn’t even let us throw out a line. (Estragon tears at the flippers) What are you doing?

Estragon: Taking off my oxygen tank. Did that ever happen to you?

Vladimir: Diving equipment must be taken off each day, I’m tired telling you that. Why don’t you listen to me?

Estragon: (feebly) Help me!

Vladimir: It hurts?

Estragon: (angrily) Hurts! He wants to know if it hurts! A spear hurts!

Vladimir: (angrily) No one ever suffers but you. I don’t count. I’d like to hear what you’d say if you were bitten by a barracuda!

Estragon: It hurts?

Vladimir: (angrily) Hurts! He wants to know if it hurts!

Estragon: (pointing) You might button it all the same.

Vladimir: (stooping) True. (He buttons his fly.) Never neglect the little things of life.

Estragon: What do you expect, you always wait until the last moment to set the hook.

Vladimir: Well? Shall we go?

Estragon: Yes, let’s go

They do not move.

Continued next month

“Loosin’ up your breeches, grab a hunk of chew, turn your skis downhill. Now go for it.”

– advice from early ski instruction manual, Red Mountain, 1907

They’re ruinin’ pro wrastlin’

by Cowboy Earl MacAdoo

Years ago come Saturday afternoon or even Friday night we’d all gather round the TV and watch as our favorite wrestlers fought it out to see who was really the toughest. Ain’t like that no more. Now we got foreigners up there on the mat a-spoutin’ off in Chinese or French. Where’s all the American boys…collecting their welfare checks? We got all kind of nose biting, throat squeezing, soap rubbing, Kung-Fu heroes sneakin’ a peek at the camera while they waddle and somersault their way toward the next paycheck.

Back in the Fifties them wrestlers didn’t punch out no camera men neither! They had respect for sports casters and respect for themselves. It ain’t that way no more. Most of these boys is just looking for riding time, in front of the cameras, that is. They’re too fat to feud and too dressed up to fight. It’s all a shabby damn donnybrook that’s akin to  sweaty soap opera, though nobody’s tossing in the towel…yet.

Wrestling, like all other sports has changed over the past thirty years. Fans have to be fans and accept these changes as part of the evolution of the sport. But I’ll tell you here and now…there’s one change that threatens the future of pro wrestling and could destroy the sport for generations not yet hatched! And I ain’t talkin’ about no gamblin’, I’m talking about women sashayin’ around in the ring taking all the limelight away from the real stars of the contest.

When the Sheik, Chief Sun-Moon and The Crusher were just breaking into the sport as rookies, did you ever see a woman on stage? Hell no. Wrestling, along with just about everything else, was sexy enough to suit back in those days. (There were no women sports casters either telling you what their male counterparts served for dinner last night). Now every lame grappler has got his wife or girlfriend or sister or even his momma up there with him and some of them’s real damn mean too. Why just the other evening I watched stunned as one of the Hillbilly Brother’s girlfriends knocked the hell out of The Masked Marauder.

Sure as flies at a cattle drive, soon after the release of that Hulk feller’s next movie we’ll be seeing even more pre-packaged sex in professional wrestling. He’s got no scruples. My little niece could whup that bleach-blond blimp! He’ll have groupies hanging all over him from start to finish. What kind of a message is that sending to our youth? I think it stinks.

Is nothing sacred? Why can’t women leave wrestling to the men and stay on the roller-derby track where they belong?

(Copyright, 2018, Good ‘Ol News Services)

Cowboy Earl MacAdoo appears compliments of the Good ‘Ol Boy News Service. Recognized as the “Groucho of the Pasture” Earl now lives on Spring Creek Mesa west of Montrose. His opinions are not necessarily those of this newspaper.