Author Archive for M. Toole
24-hour dispensaries grace Crested Butte
Sparkling 24-hour dispensories like this one are cropping up all over Gunnison County. This one, just off Elk Avenue in Crested Butte features an assortment of cerebral treats, real and imagined. Sorry but some blackout days still remain until technicians figure out last minute glitches.
Hitchhiker handing out $100 bills
(Ridgway) A gregarious hitchhiker has reportedly been handing out $100 bills to unsuspecting motorists travelling along Highway 62 through town it was disclosed today. According to a plethora of happy recipients the hitchhiker presented the money with a reminder that “all thumb cruisers were not bad and that it is safe to give them a ride in their time of need”.
The stunt is part of a nationwide public relations campaign to present all “winging it” voyagers in a good light and play down negatives in the motorist-trekker relationship. In many cultures hitchhiking is considered a valid means of travel. Often passengers of this type are expected to pay a small stipend toward expenses.
“The price of petrol severely affects this once smooth exchange. Today a lot of people cannot afford higher priced gasoline,” said Sissy Honkshaw, an expert of some sort, “while on the other end of the steering wheel, drivers can often resent what they consider to be deadbeat behavior in trying to bum a free ride.”
Anyone knowing the whereabouts of this endowment rambler is asked to call local police and this newspaper immediately. A $10 reward is offered.
The Original Rock Soup
Once upon a time two drifters, a bear and a fox wandered into a small, peaceful farming village on the edge of the great forest. They were quite hungry. Along with their meager belongings was a rock the size of a lemon tied carefully to a long string. They were quickly approached by curious residents who appeared a bit suspicious of the two.
“Greetings from far away across the planet,” said the fox
“Your village was chosen as our destination because it is among the most beautiful,” smiled the bear.
The village listened skeptically.
“And we are quite hungry,” said the fox, “but we have no gold to pay.”
“What about the magic rock,” whispered the bear to the fox just loud enough so that he could be overheard by those closest to him.
“A magic rock!” perked one resident. “What is a magic rock?”
The fox looked at the bear in disdain.
“I guess our secret’s out,” he said. “We might as well tell them now…”
“We are alchemists in possession of a magic rock which can make delicious soup!” explained the bear sheepishly. “We cannot use it often for fear that it will lose its power therefore…”
He held the rock protectively in his hand, dangling it partially on the string, exposing just enough of it to encourage their interests.
“…Therefore we invite you to dinner!” blurted the fox to the surprise of even the bear.
The villagers were perplexed but anxious to experience the wonders of this rock.
“What can we do?” they asked, returning to trust.
“Well. first we need a large pot of water and…”
Before he had time to complete his sentence a large pot appeared. A fire was started and the pot placed above it. The fox and bear stirred the water, enriching the village with delicious chatter as to the fine meal that they would eat. They carefully placed the rock, on the string into the pot of water and waited. Then the fox frowned.
“What is the matter, friend,” asked a villager. “Why do you frown, sir?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” interrupted the bear. “He’s just sad because the soup might be so much better with just a bit of garlic.
In no time another hungry village resident was back with a clove or garlic. The fox threw it into the pot and continued to stir. Now it was the bear who dropped his shoulders and said:
“If we only had an onion or two…Remember the soup in the mountains? It was the best and only for the onions.”
Quickly onions were produced without question by another of the now mesmerized villagers. The onions were cut up and deposited in the pot. The bear and fox smiled and stirred.
“I have a bushel of carrots,” offered one resident. “Would you like some of my carrots for the soup?” he asked.
The fox and bear looked at each other without cracking so much as a smile.
“That would be a great idea, my friend,” said the fox.
When the carrots were added the bear mumbled something about celery and it too appeared as if from thin air.
Then the sheriff appeared and after a few shaky moments, under the eye of the law, a bag of potatoes was delivered.
“I’m going to get my wife,” said the sheriff. “She won’t want to miss this.”
“Ask her to bring some tomatoes,” pushed the bear earning a dirty look from the fox.
“Don’t overdo it,” he said. “We’re almost there.”
The bear and fox took turns stirring and exhorting the crowd that has assembled in the center of the village. The aroma of the soup was now enticing.
Then the sheriff returned with his wife and the tomatoes.
“I brought along these roasts too,” he offered. “I hope everyone will enjoy them.
Quickly the bear plopped the meat into the soup which was by now thickening like a stew. The fox stirred and stirred watching as the villagers produced nectar, spices and rolls. After another hour he announced:
“Dinner is served!”
The soup was ladled out and everyone had a large portion, especially the fox and the bear who had three bowls each. When all of the soup was gone the villagers began to clean up the mess. Then, just as everyone had reclined for a digestive evening someone remarked:
“Where are our friends the fox and the bear?”
“Have they left without saying good-bye?”
“I am surprised at the rudeness…They would not have just left in the dark…”
After a thorough search was conducted it became apparent that the two had retreated back into the forest.
“Odd.” said the villagers.
“That’s nothing,” said one small resident. “Look. They even left their magic rock behind.”
Respected Editor Is Illiterate Says Publisher
(Colona) Retired news hound, Melvin Bedwetter O’Toole “faced adversity at every turn” according to one newsroom boss. The 60-year vet, who retired Wednesday at 101, could not and still cannot read.
“How he manipulated the printed page with such glaring inadequacies is anyone’s guess,” added the boss. “He brought donuts to work almost every day and his coworkers seemed to have forgiven him his grammatical sins.”
He has had trouble with menus, eye tests, road signs, subtitles, cereal boxes, topo maps, grafiti, and reportedly cannot even read his own birth certificate,” said the editor, “but he could verbally shout out crisp, grabbing heads, one after the other, after grasping the gist of a story.”
“You gotta give it to him,”said the editor. “He never let on that he could not read and his moves around the copy desk assured us all that he was on top of things. Once the publishing industry moved into the digital age he was home free.”
Sources close to O’Toole explained the dilemma in that the stumbling scribe quit school to sell newspapers on the street at age 12 and was simply too busy to learn his letters.
Grateful thanks to Fred, Ted, Ned and Edward and Red Herring for contributing to this report
“Why have so many people joined — and stayed in — a personality cult built around a man who poses an existential threat to our nation’s democracy and is also personally a complete blowhard?”
– Paul Krugman, NY Times
Scribe poised to claim notch in Guinness Record Book
(Continued from Page Infinity)
and, racing across three backstreets, managed to deliver his chatty, oblong fare to her engagement without further incident.
He’s a rather amazing fellow,” said the Spanish Ambassador, who had forgotten to get dressed again and was forced from the seminar leaving his notes and plenty of giggles behind.
A young woman hails a New York cab on a warm St Patrick’s Day, 2023
As was previously stated, His Excellency’s prepared statements were earmarked to honor taxi driver, Melvin O”Toole, who at 117 years of age is perched to shatter a file cabinet of existing records dealing with “the elderly” operating motor vehicles in New York City. If he succeeds on any level he will be a no-brainer for the Guinness Book of World Records.
Only four more blocks to go,” said longtime cabbie pal Everette “Fats” Whitewall, Toole’s stinkball foe for the last 70 years. “I knew him when he came in to the motor pool, a fresh-faced kid. Frankly not real bright. I didn’t think he’d make it through the first week.”
It’s simple: If the ancient hack can cruise four more New York City blocks before midnight tonight (or 2500 blocks by February 29) he will set the all-time record for distance driven by a cabbie over the age of 116. The bonus acknowledgments easily push him over the top, leaving little doubt who is in the driver’s seat. The Guinness distinction does not come with a cash prize. The almost famous cab driver is semi-destitute and hopes to cash in on endorsements as soon as he makes the cut.
The current fit accompli is only the latest feat attributed to this alpine Methuselah (originally from Colona) who was elected to the pages of Guinness in 1943 after he parachuted out of the same cargo plane fifteen times in one business day. He would have done more but he pulled a henway on the 16th jump and had to retire to a nearby tavern for the evening.
Later, in 1980 O’Toole balanced 72 canned hams on his head for ½ hour to set what the insiders say is, and will always be, an unattainable mark. Then in 2009 O’Toole shared sleeping space in a cave of black bear up Blaine Basin for three months, leaving only after a particularly violent argument over a tube of toothpaste. The old record was six minutes established by the ultra-combative Argentine jockey Manny de Mar near the abandoned Baldwin townsite in 1990.
-Pepper Salte
