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Most Yeti Are Peaceful Herbivores

Summer campers received some good news today as a long-awaited study has concluded the most Yeti (also spelled Yetti) are not a threat.

The Himalayan Bigfoot that roam the Rockies from Canada to Mexico can however be provoked, and present a formidable adversary in the forest.

Campers advised to leave the canned fruit and fresh vegetables at home and barbecue steaks and fish on their grills. There have been only a few recorded incidents of contact this summer mostly in the San Juans. All of them have occurred due to humans leaving Yeti yummies and Bigfoot bites unattended when they turn in for the night.

Our large midnight intruders are not thieves by nature and would prefer to ask before helping themselves to a skillet of caramel carrots, curing kale or a plate of unfinished salad. Usually campers are already dozing when the munchies hit and courageous Sasquatch enter a tent site.

Most Bigfoot are content to chew on sagebrush and down copious amounts of skunk cabbage while grazing on high meadow grasses. They love baseball and quiet, well-behaved children while disdaining dogs, small four-wheelers and fireworks.

The appearance of teeming marmot herds often herald the arrival of Yetti to an isolated camp or even a cabin. It is not clear whether the large rodents are driven by the larger Yetti or if the marmots are trying to get out of the way of what they perceive as potential trouble. Outdoorsmen know this. Tourists should take heed.

“Don’t hassle the Yetti or stare in the direction of the beast since this kind of behavior is regarded as aggressive by the mythical creatures,” said one park ranger. “Big Foot is not a name they appreciate. Would you? In addition these creatures do not trust humans. Do you?”

The mindless tourist economy has all but spelled the end to the Yetti, whom, like the bear and the lion are running out of elbow room.

“People worry and moan about reintroducing predators to Colorado and yet leave the gates open during tourist season,” warned one unreliable source. “Frankly I’d rather have a moose or wolf in my front yard than one of those monster RV units.”

– Uncle Pahgre

Summer 2018 Tourists Face Designated Visitor Days

(Crested Butte) Restrictions on who and how often people can walk the streets of Elk Avenue or stroll in downtown Ouray are expected to pass as the Colorado Senate winds down for summer recess.

Lawmakers met first thing this morning to hammer out an 11th-hour solution to a growing problem of too many people in one place. Calling it the Tough Love Amendment the assembly called for simple application of Designated Visitor Days that run a lot like Limited Watering Days, in the dryer parts of the country, during seasonal drought.

“If you are coming from out-of-state you will be informed long in advance of what days you can wander a given town or county,” said Victoria Crabbie, a spokesman for the Colorado House Republicans that passed the bill last month.

“The classifications are based on the first letter of the tourist’s name. For example: If your name starts with the letter A – F you will be welcomed on Mondays while a family whose name begins with G – L will be allowed to visit on Tuesdays and so on.

“People with names beginning with odd letters like X or Z are most likely foreigners and must register upon arrival at Colorado Welcome Stations that may still be operating in rural areas,” she said.

“People should not take the action personally since it is the culmination of many frustrating hours of balance and comparison by lawmakers who fully support the modern tourist state.”

Insiders say the program is tampering with the golden goose and that it creates a bureaucratic nightmare.
Meanwhile several popular Colorado towns have pad-locked their gates until further controls are established. These are Wimpton (site of the Giant Turd Museum), Gladstone, Pea Green (excluding the academy) Mañana and Fort Roubideau Bay.

Herds of sheep and flocks of poultry are not expected to be inconvenienced by the plan and local food truck access will remain the same.

– H L Menoken


(Montrose) Every night hundreds of people play bingo here in this Western Colorado hub. It’s fun and it gives many of them a chance to socialize without spending a fortune on other forms of entertainment. Of late, zealots in the community (fresh from knightly jousts with evil gargoyles) have decided that bingo is a sin, due to associations with numerology.

“We knew it was gambling, in a sense,” said Margot Rotweiller, executive director of the Central Rockies Recreational Bingo Coalition, “but we didn’t really think we were committing immoral acts here at the hall. Sure, cigarette smoking is permitted and coffee is served, but the only drinking done off the premises.”

Critics insist that not only the bingo callers but the board itself are in league with the devil.

“Haven’t you heard about numerology and the application of negative powers?” asked a clearly frightened, confessed former drug addict turned righteous overnight. “Don’t you even watch the television evangelists? They need your money more than this bawdy bingo parlor.”

At present no one has come forth to be saved or to respond to the accusations of this vocal minority. It is not know whether people take their pleas seriously or if they are simply asleep.

“We’re functioning completely within the law,” said Rotweiller, who added that over 200,000 people have passed through the doors of the her bingo emporium since it opened in 1994. “In Salem they burned witches, in Nazi Germany they burned books, today they bomb abortion clinics. I suppose it was naive of us bingo fans to think we’d be exempt from the terrible swift sword.”

– Kashmir Horseshoe


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Snoring in Church Annoying At Best

To: The faithful

From: Rev. Phil Pharisee

Subject: Disruptions in the process of salvation

As much as I hate to bring it up I am acutely concerned with the lack of discipline within the ranks of my fruitful congregation. One Mr. Martin Ballywagge, a newly immersed member of our flock in Ouray, has, through no fault of his own, upset the ox cart, tipped the scales of righteousness and even rocked the boat during a moving chorus in Rock of Ages.

Let me give you a little background on Martin.

It was not, so far as I can determine, with the arrival of adulthood that Martin Ballywagge, an black Irishman in good standing, developed his chronic nasal maladies. He’s had them all of his life as his doctor Hugh Piller has assured us. By the time he was 8 he had snored through his first three years of academic life, constantly disrupting classes at Harry S. Truman Elementary back in Moline. The teachers complained to the principal who then complained to the parents who turned to Dr. Piller who prescribed drugs. Unfortunately the drugs only put little Martin back to sleep, a condition which encouraged more snuffling and snorting.

During one Sunday evening service (we didn’t get enough that morning) Martin snored his way through 3 hymns, 16 baptisms, 25 confirmations of faith and my well placed sermon as to the dangers of propane fumes.

“Maybe he’s allergic to something inside the church,” said Mary Ouana, who hasn’t had a drink in three months and looks great, although she still doesn’t have a date for New Year’s Eve.

The next day we scrubbed and polished the pews, vacuumed the drapery and went over the carpet with a fine tooth comb. We collected $3.87 in change and found a gold wedding band, lost by the late Abner Silvers back in 1989. The deceased (hit by a Rainbow Tours bus on his way the gym on his 97th birthday) had no heirs and the orphaned ring made its way to the collection plate.

Last Sunday the crisis deepened. I had just completed a soul-searching epistle on religious tolerance and magazine subscriptions when one of those pushy Baptists knocked on the back door. Since the congregation had already fallen asleep I answered. It was Parson Edith Quelle who complained of snoring coming from the back of her tabernacle. She identified the noisy culprit as our Mr. Ballywagge. Was he attending services at the Baptist church too? Was he stepping out?

Then Wednesday night, just as I finally got the that night’s gathering off to sleep, Ballywagge stumbles into the front pew. He crosses his legs, tilts his head, adjusts his coat and wanders into dreamland. This time his snores were like an earthquake. The entire temple shook. It sounded like a rogue freight train that had all at once gotten a spoonful of that old time religion.

In no time he had woke up Sarah Camarone, who was imprisoned for embezzlement in 1994, and disturbed the aging Clyde Shrapnell, a former member of the Ku Klux Klan. Then to make matters worse his nasal explosions chased the sand from the beady eyes of Doris Maltfeather, a retired exotic dancer and left Roberto Guerrero, a Columbian terrorist sponsored by the church, frighteningly wide awake for the duration of the service.

I have written to my bishop and even recommended Martin to a hypnotist. One pagan lost soul, whom I met at a ecumenical barbecue last summer, may have provided a temporary solution. Active in an unidentified Eastern religion, where chanting, banging and an accomplished brass section are an integral part of the services, the monk has offered to take Ballywagge off my hands in return for Saturday parking privileges in our lot.

Until that day I hope that you, the faithful, will persist in angelic patience and use the earplugs which I have placed in your stations of worship. Now go back to sleep.

Study for a career in weed management

(Montrose) The Montrose County Extension Service has announced a dramatic increase in the demand for qualified weed managers in this region. The lucrative field of weed management has expanded recently due to the ability of various strains of weeds to survive everything short of nuclear attack. This high-paying, low stress, career has developed in response to the growing problem.

“We need an entire generation of educated warm bodies to thwart the onward march of weeds and their allies,” said one extension agent. “If we don’t do something about the weeds today they will be at the gate tomorrow.”

Several powerful Western Slope weed families have defied all attempts to eradicate them, with one or two even surviving ditch fires and air strikes by the 1st Armored Crop Duster Brigade, based at Pea Green Field.

“We surprised them (the weeds) at dawn and let them have it with everything we could muster,” said Col. Wellington Bulbous, Adjunct Commander at the underground airfield. “It was really beautiful, man. The napalm climbed high into the air and the strafing had them all sitting back on their heels. The place was black with the smoke of our terrible, swift swords.”

However, after an hour long barrage, even Bulbous admitted that the attack had been less than successful, as most of the weeds survived and continued their stranglehold on the more respectable plants in the immediate area.

“We need to find out how they are doing it,” said Bulbous. “The next step is a sweep of the region and some down-home interrogation. We’ll get to the root of this problem even if we have to blow up the rest of the planet to do it,” he said. “I really don’t care either way. I’m just happy that I finally have a place to wear my camouflage outfits.”

-H.L. Menoken