Ash Tray Surplus Undressed

(Paradox, CO) The abundance of unused ash trays currently serving as memory knick-knacks will be decreased significantly thanks to several suggested recycle programs adopted at the highest levels today. The ash trays, once a major component of the smoking culture, are no longer in demand with the demise of puffing and diminished tobacco use.

Suggestion #1: Get the government involved. Persons anxious to rid themselves of these items are instructed to send them to the thousands of tobacco lobbyists currently working in the nation’s capital. Maybe they can give them as gifts to the Congress.

Suggestion #2: Take action yourself. Many of the ash trays are plastic which make for easy recycling, whereas glass and metal cinder keepers present a more serious problem due to the length of decomposition. Antique and classic ashtrays, as well as spittoons and earthenware creations often fetch a high price and can be sold to collectors.

“We are happy that so many have given up smoking,” said one health official whose expertise appears essential to the cleanup. “We all remember the smells associated with dirty ash trays. Some day our descendants will perceive these objects as disgusting and negative yet historically important mementos, and may store everything from keys to candy to safety pins in them.”

Up till now authorities had been concerned that the ash trays might fall into the hands of terrorists or used by marijuana smokers.

Anyone bogged down by the presence of these soot and ember depositories can now recycle safely and easily. It’s the patriotic thing to do,” said the source. – Ripple Van Winkle

 

Jingle Bells Banned by Religious Zealots

(Salvation City) The age-old Christmas carol, Jingle Bells is under fire from an ultra-right religious cult headquartered deep in the Snake Oil Mountains of Southern California. The People, a newly established sect that has condemned everything from dancing to driving a car after dark, made the announcement during a revival at Bakersfield last night.

“First of all,” began Rev Juan Wonge, leader of the group, “we have no problem with most carols but this song encourages sin and deprivation. Citing such expressions as “going all the way” and “bobtail”, Wonge feels that the relaxation of morals in the continual use of “spirits” will eventually cause the faithful to take a drink or worse over the holy season.

“Maybe we could negotiate, change a few lines and still include the song on our Christmas pageant, if we still believe in that sort of think by then,” he laughed. “In the interim anyone from this flock caught humming or singing Jingle Bells will be flogged.”

Empty Congress to House Homeless Over Holidays

(Warshington) Some 800 of this city’s homeless and downtrodden will at least be warm over the holidays thanks to a compassionate and innovative arrangement sponsored by Sen. Oral Noise (Unitarian-CA).

Passed overwhelmingly by the House and Senate yesterday the plan calls for the indigent to be housed in vacated Congressional chambers until the legislative body returns for work in January. By turning meeting rooms into dorms and hallowed halls into storage areas the 800 unfortunates can be accommodated quite nicely according to proponents here.

“The homeless don’t often have a lot of accessories so storage is not usually an issue,” said one neighborhood organizer on the scene. “There are the hoarders and the bag ladies with the shopping carts but we intend to enforce strict regulations as to who stays and who goes.”

“Considering the recent status of our government maybe the elected officials will not come back.,” said Noise, a self-appointed long-term, non-essential government worker. “If that phenomenon were to occur these poor folks may be living downtown and that might result in more production.”

Input from both sides of “millionaire’s aisle” was limited with liberals lauding the program and conservatives slamming it as another socialist giveaway. They blamed Obama for future failures of the “sub-lease”.

Flea Party voices were dimmed with several leading idolatries rising to the surface suggesting that once the poor move in the government would never get them out.

“Let’s be candid here,” stressed Noise. “Our accomplishments recorded in this building have been nothing to shout about. Maybe we should let our congressmen meet in cold parks, under bridges and in blazing hot alleyways. Maybe they should debate the controversies of the day while huddled around burning trashcans or consider the worth of a bill standing outside in a freezing, windy parking lot wondering where “bed” would be tonight. Maybe then they might get a grasp of the real cycle of poverty in this great country.”

Meanwhile over at the White House a Presidential aide told reporters that Barrack and Michelle Obama would not participate in the Homeless Housing since they had done Christmas entertaining early and would be at Camp David through New Years.                  – Dinty Moore

OLD MACDONALD HAD A FARM

Old MacDonald had a farm

EE-I-EE-I-OH

And on that farm he owed some cash

EE-I-EE-I-OH

For equipment here

For the spring seed there

Here a buck

There a buck

Everywhere just rotten luck.

Old MacDonald kept his farm

EE-I-EE-I-OH

And on his farm there came the bank

EE-I-EE-I-OH

With a “Pay me now”

Or we’ll take the plow.

Harsh debates

Broken gates

Higher interest rates.

Old MacDonald saved his farm

EE-I-EE-I-OH

And in the town he ran a tab

EE-I-EE-I-Oh

With a dollar there and I’ll pay next year

Profit to the middleman

Farms an also ran.

Old MacDonald gives up hope

EE-I-EE-I-OH

His last chance is you and me

With our gadgets, can’t you see

For the fields we care no more

All wrapped up at the grocery store

Old MacDonald’s farm is sold

EE-I-EE-I-OH

Corporation here…corporation there

Build cheap condos quick

Land is money…Ain’t we slick?

We’ll grow food up on the moon

EE_I_EE_I_OH

GARDEN OF EDEN

The stormy spring morning on Mulberry Street takes a peek at a drenched Lucifero setting up his ragtag vegetable stand like always. For the last week or two he’s been expanding his inventory to include summer fruits arriving by the truckload from New Jersey. Soon a warm sun burns the clouds away. He looks to the heavens and registers his still sour mood with the cynical snap of a wet Sicilian.

“Idiots. They are all idiots, running to their own funerals. None of them ever ask the right questions. They don’t even know where they came from, and have certainly never faced the prospects of where they are going,” he chanted. The most unoriginal sinners in the world live in New York.

“I’ve sold to new potatoes to Nebuchadnezzar II, corn to Cleopatra, snow peas to Pontius Pilot, gourds to Genghis Khan, string beans to King Henry whatsisname, and honeydew melon to Napoleon, not to mention one bright shiny, red apple to a woman named Eve,” he smiled. “And here it is 1939 and I’m stuck negotiating the price of traumatized Brussels sprouts with comatose peasants.”

Just then, a large, slightly overweight fellow with a snow white beard, wearing a faded red plaid hunting jacket came humming around Lucifero’s leafy corner. As he passed the stand he waved good day an grabbed an apple. Before Lucifero could say “Old Scratch” the man had disappeared.

“Damn, he did it again,” spat Lucifero. “I might make a living it it weren’t for thieves, taxes and fruit flies.”

“Hold the moralizing, Lucifero,” rasped a white-bearded whisper from a nearby doorway. “I pay my fruit and vegetable tab at the end of every week, now don’t say I don’t.”

A stooped Lucifero swung around to a contorted response, lowering his head, watching the apple snatcher chewing away contentedly.

“And hold your head up, boy. How do expect to project the proper image with that posture! Good apple, though, Lucifero,” he chomped. “No worms for a change.”

“Or snakes,” said Lucifero, tempting divine providence on that charming spring day. “I do my own work best, without any input from your pack of thugs,” he slurred. “Is that your car?

“Yeah, it’s a Cadillac. Gabriel bought it for me last month. He says I need to drive something befitting my station in life. I think he’s social climbing in his own angelic way.”

“That can get you into trouble, heh?” answers Lucifero. “But some of us did survive, and then there are the human extensions. Look at my boy Adolf. He’s kicking some butt in Europe. Did you see the way he seduced the Austrians and marched into Czechoslovakia?”

“We’ll see how you do after Winston and Franklin get their ducks in a row. One thing’s for sure, you could be striking it rich like the other angles if you’d have just been patient. They went corporate, sure, they showed up for work every day. They bought the eternal plan. But look at Michael, he’s semi-retired to the celestial suburbs, has a summer home in the Hamptons, and buys a new set of wings every year. Thugs like him are sipping the nectar of the gods, while you’re own here sorting cauliflower, arranging sweet potatoes and bitching about your lot.”

“Who’s bitching? I’m just telling it like it is. I tried working for you. There were those philosophical differences. You try working this stand all day and see if you still love all these people so damn much. I’d like to see you in this apron with all your all-knowing, all-forgiving omni-presentness and all that,” said Lucifero, noticing a frown forming on the man’s forested face. Thinking better of incurring his wrath he changes his approach.

“Here, have a pear. They’re very nice today…”

“…But I’ve just had an apple,” said the white beard. “A pear would be a sin, and don’t be so defensive.”

“Just pay up, then” says a rearmed Lucifero holding out his hand. “Put your money where your mouth was.”

Just then a couple waltzes down the street, their odd, magic ballet explainable only in one silly word: Love.

Although they appeared to be adrift, they dropped their amorous anchor right in front of Lucifero’s vegetable stand.

“Good morning,” offered Lucifero. “Nice morning. Are you looking for something special?”

“Not really, sir,” said the young man. “Beautiful pears, though.”

“Yes. Beautiful pears,” said Lucifero thinking back to a moment ago. “Do you live around here? I have not seen you before.”

“We live in the Garden District,” answered the young woman. “I’m Eve and this is Adam.”

This time Lucifero’s gaze in the direction of the bearded man was met with one of equal surprise. Ancient eyebrows were in full tilt. Both hurled themselves back into the conversation.

“Is that a fact,” quipped Lucifero. Well, welcome to the neighborhood. I am Lucifero, and this is my friend Mr…Mr. Smith. Yes. Mr. Smith.”

Adam shook hands, Eve nodded cordially.

“What do you do, Mr. Smith,” she asks politely.

“Oh a little of this, and a little of that…”

“He’s too modest,” shot Lucifero. Mr. Smith is a renown creator of some regard. He has accomplished much in the field of human resources in what has been very little time.”

“Now, Lucifero, let’s not bore these kids with my history…”

“What would you like, then?” asks Lucifero, changing the conversation back to the business of produce.

“Those tomatoes look good. Where do they come from?” asked the young man.

“Upstate,” said Lucifero.

“We’ll take a dozen, and six ears of corn and…what about some apples, honey?” asks Adam. “You’ve been staring at them since we got here.”

“Yes, Eve, how about some nice apples?” smiles Lucifero holding out one of his best.

“You want to be careful of apples this time of the year, dear,” starts the bearded man. “You can’t tell it but most have worms and the fruit’s still mushy.”

“You just ate one,” said Lucifero. “Did you encounter the little serpents?”

“No, but maybe I was just lucky.”

“How much are the apples?” asks Eve, now entranced by the red treasure.

“Maybe a bit more than you’ll want to pay,” cracked the creator.

“Let the lady decide,” schmoozed Lucifero handing her the apple.

Eve looks at the apple, looks at Adam and glances in the direction of the bearded man who is shaking his head from side to side.

“I’ll take it,” says Eve biting down hard on the fruit.

Lucifero completes the transaction, delighted with his sale. The Adam and Eve skip off with their treasures.

“Curses!” says the creator. “I give them a free will but they stumble every time!”

“Now, there’s no need for profanity, sir, “smiles Lucifero. “Here, I have a present for you. It’s a very interesting piece by a fellow named Darwin. Maybe it will shed some light on the behavior of these humans.”

“Darwin, huh?” he answers. “I heard something about him the last time I was in Tennessee.”

– Kevin Haley

 

 

POLKA, OLIVE OIL LIFE ENHANCING

(Gunnison) Persons who regularly dance the polka and consume olive oil will live longer says a study conducted at Western State Colorado University here. The almost alarming result comes as no surprise and the future becomes painfully clear: We need more polka bands and need to plant and cultivate healthy high-altitude olive trees.

Already so many local economic development groups are on it, or at least scheduling a series of meetings to discuss the matter.

Researchers agree that long life expectancy in polka-friendly segments of Eastern Europe confirms their findings. They add that people in the Mediterranean region, whose diet is all but synonymous with olive consumption, live beyond the age of 100. Low stress was also factored in to the formula.                                                 – Melvin O’Toole

Air Guitar Academy Closes Doors

(Escucha al Monte) The Solo Air Guitar Academy, a social fixture in the region since 1955 has announced its closure effective tomorrow morning. Calling the event unfortunate, sources there say the program was simply a victim of the times.

“Kids today are far too abstract to be entertained strumming the air and pressing fake cords for hours no matter how much they like the tune,” said one instructor who has worked at Solo since it’s founding.

Called Berry Institute at the time, in honor of rocker, Chuck Berry, the musical program has undergone little change since that time holding on tightly to traditions and showing a stubborn streak when it came to adopting new techniques, especially the use of 8-tracks and cassettes, then digital recording and ipods.

“Air guitar is air guitar,” stressed another instructor who embraces a more classical approach to the musical mime. “Either you have faith or you don’t. Everyone fantasizes about being the lead guitar picker or even fingering the bass. People today expect to be entertained by outside stimuli like television and the internet. They don’t have time for this kind of nonsense, at least in a social regimentation.”

 

SWAT Team Responds to late flies

(Ridgway) The local volunteer civilian SWAT team has released figures on its celebrated autumn fly offensive that stretched, at high water mark, from Cow Creek to Elk Meadows. Confirmed kills number in the tens of thousands. In Carne Canyon alone the orange-clad troops told of heavy fighting and a complete defeat for the bothersome insects that, affected by recent cold weather, seemed listless and slow to react to assaults.

One local red crack told The Horseshoe that all the commotion was disturbing the local bear, many which already suffer from acute hibernatus interruptus. He called on all sides to cease hostilities until the spring.

In a related piece the local chapter of the Unwed Mother’s of the American Revolution is hosting a rummage sale to benefit operations along the border with Latin America. With over 4000 members patrolling the stretch between Nogales and Naco the UDAR hopes to raise $20,000 to purchase lemonade and cookies given to refugees in the Sonoran Desert.