RSSAuthor Archive for M. Toole

Apostles not Jesus’ team says Lackluster

(Narrow Frontal Plaza) Never does the Christian Bible refer to the 12 renown Apostles as a team. What are these revisionists thinking? Apostles are loyal, dedicated,  esteemed, often fanatic followers while teams are made up of players who might get traded to Cleveland tomorrow.

These people where never a team in any respect. They were not simply players. To classify them as sixth men or taxi squad or utility persons does them a serious injustice. To do so diminishes their importance in the early folklore of the sect. 

Dr. Simon Lackluster, a nocturnal geologist (aka “the sidearms reverend) on loan from the University of Caucasoid (Norway) sees a wide chasm between apostle and team.

“Superstition has a life all its own. Those years when I ran the mega-church people always wanted me to answer their questions about mortality, so I did . Later when they asked me to preach in their churches and pulpit their Bible studies I opted out for a brief, but concentrated drunk in downtown Rifle. Guilty? Certainly. Poor? No,” he coughed.

“The use of corporate lobotomy skid words like team, whatever and especially reach out is so blisteringly trite and insincere that it makes me want to vomit,” adds Sister Suzie Sinbad, a former Mother Superior on Lake Ontario who was disbarred from the convent for allegedly torturing squirrels in the nearby forests while the other nuns were at vespers.

“Cock-A-Doodle-Doooo…!”  – Conor Sturgeon upon seeing Rica Merluza for the first time

Thanksgiving in Turkey

Continued from in front of you

so that Bob (is that his name?) and I and the kids were pushed down onto the pavement and told to keep our eyes to the ground as the entourage passed by, snaking its way toward Mount Ararat and the grave of the Apostle Paul.

     “Hey, mom,” said little Bennie, “says in this brochure that Turkey is larger than Texas. Is that for real?”

     “No, stupid, it’s just all that jihad propaganda,” piped sister Beatrice from the pruned position. “Where did you get that brochure anyway?”

     “Shut-up bitch,” said little Bennie. “Nobody’s talking to you!”

     “Now kids, let’s try to put our hatreds aside. We’re miles from our hotel and not out of this yet,” said Dad. “These people are naturally friendly and engaging. They just have to get to know us. I thought St. Paul was buried at Lookout Mountain…”

     No, that’s Buffalo Phil, fool,” said mom.

     Finally, and not without more fanfare, the procession passed. The strange men in robes told us to get up and walk to the east and we would find true enlightenment…and our hotel.

     “I wanna see Noah’s Arc,” said Beatrice, “and the ancient city of Troy. What a beat vacation. All my friends in Chicago will laugh at me if they find out I came all the way to Turkey without…”

     “Wait, daddy,” I said to my husband, “isn’t that the road to Istanbul, or is it the road to Constantinople? They must sell ottomans there. I just have to have an authentic Turkish Ottoman or I’ll just die.”

     “What about dinner?” whined Bennie. “We’ve been here three days and I haven’t seen a taco anywhere. Today is Thanksgiving. Where’s the stuffing?”

     “Now Bennie,” said my husband, whose name eludes me just now, “this isn’t America. One has to adapt. Sure, all of these rugheads wish they were in America, the land of the free, but they aren’t. They’re marooned here in Asia Minor…have been for centuries. I thought you liked the filberts in barley sauce that mom cooked up last night.”

     “I want pizza,” screamed Beatrice much to the chagrin of a large angry crowd that had now gathered, blocking our exit from behind one of a hundred mosques that crowd the cobbled square. “I hate filberts!”

     “And where is the football!” demanded little Bennie. “Don’t these Tartar savages know that it’s Thanksgiving?”

     “I hate tartar sauce too,” mumbled Beatrice, “and Kurds and whey…

     “Stop!” cried daddy. “Look a fez stand right out here in the middle of nowhere. I think we should all take home a fez as a souvenir from this lovely trip. Say there sahib. How much for four fezzes…is that the proper term? Yeah, four…and don’t try to screw me. I’m an American and I have rights.”

      At that he pulled out a U.S. fifty which the man selling the fez hats quickly grabbed and stashed in his robe. He smiled and then let go of the hats.

     “Those hats look stupid,” said Beatrice, and for once her little brother agreed. We must have looked quite the sight wandering down those snarled filthy streets, sipping a Raki looking for some familiar signs of home.

     “I have to pee,” said Bennie.

     “We need to find a halkevi, or house of the people. Surely they will have indoor facilities…

     “And cleanliness,” I crisply quipped.

     “And a make-up mirror,” added Beatrice.

     “And some good old American toilet paper,” smiled Daddy.

     “We could ask someone,” I said melodically, swept up in the worldly banter of a man I no longer knew.

     “None of these bozos talk American,” said Bennie

     “Turkish isn’t so hard to learn,” said Dad as he wagged his finger at a would-be thief. “The Turks borrowed many Arabic and Persian words during the Ottoman Empire, then Kemal Ataturk changed the whole shootin’ match over to the Roman alphabet in 1928.”

     “How does he know all that?” whispered Beatrice in my direction.

     “Daddy was once a Middle East expert in of the Bush Administrations, dear,” I explained.

     “It’s worthless information about a country that prefers figs to cranberry sauce, olives to pumpkin pie…”

     “Shhhhh,” Bennie. Here come the mashed potatoes!”

     As I looked up I saw thousands of men in the street. There were Turks from Ankara, Turks from Izmir, Turks from Cyprus. All were working together pushing a massive vat of freshly mashed potatoes, thinly veiled in Seljuk mohair, toward the largest of the mosques to the east of the square.

     “Wow, dad!” said Bennie.

     “Where are all the women?” asked Beatrice.

     “Maybe they do celebrate Thanksgiving in Turkey,” I flinched. 

     “Look, kids. Look! It’s the march of the turkeys,” said Dad. “Look, honey, they’re coming this way. It’s going to be a wonderful holiday just like I told you. Honey? Honey? Hey, kids, where’s your mother?

     “Oh, she was forced into that black Mercedes by two men who have been following us since yesterday,” said Beatrice.

     “What? Forced into a car? gasped Daddy.

     “Relax, man she’ll be back for dinner,” said Bennie.

– Luanne Julienne 

Ms Julienne is a free-lance writer who lives in a big house in Connecticut. In addition to writing travel articles she raises amphetamines, which are then sold to collectors in New York. She hates yard sales because they contain tidbits of other peoples’ messy lives.


(Badger, MN) In a gesture to the Biden Administration, Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau has offered to lend its neighbors to the south Canadian Thanksgiving in 2022. 

That holiday, which is celebrated on October 11 up north, is pretty close to the American version especially if one substitutes poutine for nachos, hockey for football or a Caesar for a Bloody Mary. 

“The country got screwed out of the only holiday that is real anymore, the only one that isn’t hyped out of its red holiday suspenders,” said a statement from Ottawa. “We simply want to give them some options for the coming year.”

Both countries expressed hope that the virus would no longer be an issue by next fall and that the US could again make use of its own longstanding day of thanks.

Many here expressed gratitude saying that they did feel robbed of a joyous Thanksgiving last year. Some insist that establishing a surrogate date lends stability in a world of black and white surprises on both sides of the border. Others think the matter is completely absurd.

Traditional feasting, watching football, tending the fire and dreaming about the coming holidays are not the heart of the celebration. It is the warmth of family that we crave. This year many people have been absent with gatherings cancelled due to virus concerns.

Some ignore precautions and continue to fight over drumsticks and mask wearing while others rely on vaccines and the government to save us. 

It was not clear if Washington would offer The Commonwealth any of its holidays on loan in 2021. Non-franchise “festival dates” such as Colombus Day, sold to Italy in 2019, and April Fool’s Day, scuttled by lies and mistruths, are no longer on the butcher block. Religious observations were not part of the conversation at the time of this writing.

– Fred Zeppelin

Masks not politicized during Dust Bowl

Masks not politicized during Dust Bowl

(Amarillo, TX) Persons attempting to survive dust storms and choking here in the 30s did not discriminate when it came to wearing all sorts of masks for protection.

Masks were often employed during the Dust Bowl without mindless political ramifications.

“Nor did they differentiate when it came to breathing,” said Jerald Tinte, 86, who was 2 years old when the worst of the storms hit town.

The Dust Bowl, the greatest ecological disaster ever to befall the United States was part nature and part greed. Prairie grass thrives here, even with cyclical droughts whereas plowing the earth to plant wheat has been detrimental since plowed up soil blows away.

“Nobody’s saying these precautions are fool-proof but covering your mouth should always be an option, especially when it comes to circulating falsehoods and clinging to unsubstantiated opinions.” he said.

-Pepper Salte

GOP Gerrymanders Counties Back To Mexico

GOP Gerrymanders Counties Back To Mexico

(Brownsville UPS) Unsettling rumors that abortive, paper Christian Texas lawmakershave returned at least 5 Texas counties to Mexico were confirmed this afternoon. 

The accidental shift, an attempt to prevent people of color from embracing the power of the vote, was called “our mistake” by an embarrassed, yet continually ignorant class of politicians not seen since the Third Reich.

The counties shipped back to Mexico include Jim Wells,  Dimmit, Willacy,  Patricio, and western parts of Arnsas and Kleberg. All have had high Latino populations since the 1700s.

“We are certain that something can be worked out to alleviate this mishap,” said spokesman Rory Alamo, a non-elected official with impressive sway in the House. If not we’ll have to invade again. Remember Vera Cruz!”

The affected counties will have until January to legally respond to the changes. Residents there will most likely vote in a special election to determine future nationality. Will they stay in the US or join Mexico? 

Nobody knows.

– Red Greene  

“Fortune favors the already rich. If the peasants rises the wealthy will simply hire the Moors.” 

– Roscoe “Chepe” Mola


(Casper) The Commonwealth of Wyoming will retire from public service effective June of 2022 it was disclosed today. Wyoming, known as the Equality State to close friends, became associated with  United States in 1890. During that extended tenure Wyoming functioned in a host of capacities generally associated with mining, logging and ranching.

Instrumental in the establishment of several national parks and monuments the state saw the nation’s first woman governor, Nellie Taylor Ross (1925); the discovery of petroleum in the Wind River Range and the origins of Cheyenne Frontier Days, the nation’s longest running rodeo.

Although it will relinquish its’ commonwealth status, Wyoming will remain on the state payroll as a consultant and will appear as a dignitary at state affairs on a limited basis. The rest of the time the state will spend fishing, hunting and catching up on favorite movies from its longtime summer home in Eureka, Montana.

An honorarium is slated for next spring at Gillette, the state’s official cultural hub, where a gold watch and chain will be presented by an adoring public. Later in the year an official portrait, composed by a group of bad western artists from Cody, will be unveiled.

No replacement has been named as of press time and applications for the position are still being accepted. Requirements include wind, diverse topography, water and U.S. citizenship.

– Small Mouth Bess