All Entries in the "Featured Peeks" Category
HORSESHOE TO AUCTION UNUSED TRUMP HEADS
Moved by the efforts of Donald Trump to sell Presidential pardons, we proudly present a public sale of Newly Generated But Never Used Headlines from the Trump Era. Collect them all! These artifacts that will surely be worth a fortune in the years to come, you can bet on that!
Trump Era Unused Headlines-Auction
Inspirational headlines we won’t be using now since the Golam* is kind of gone (*dragon ruler, not to be confused with Golam in Farsi which means My Dear)
Russian Moles and Some Republicans Continue to Defend Trump
Even rodents know when to quit
$26.99 with tank rental when you bunch Congressmen
Trump Waving at No One in Press Photos
Thousands of MAGA hats abandoned in WH basement
$300.00 with smudged handicap and “etch-a-sketch” scorecard
Trump pushed for Doctor Pepper in initial Covid power struggle
Why such low prices? – If we don’t move it we have to inventory it! Buy today!
$139.00 with deposit. No ice.
Trump’s Mysterious Phone call to Hessians downplayed by Supreme Quart
Other than the Deutsche Bank who else did Donald owe?
$66.99 incl. photo of Biblical Trump in front of Reichstag
Black man claims direct lineage to Trump, Crazy Horse and Billie Holiday
(Selma, AL) It’s strange enough to see a 106-year-old black man in a full war bonnet walking around downtown with his medicine bag, singing the blues, his orange hair sparkling in the sun…
$650.00 with unpublished photos and lyrics
Extreme Right Applauds Trump Fire Sale on Death Row
Private Prisons Feel Slighted According to DOJ
Only $70.00 in Bodoni bold
Trump denies stiffing DC moving company on Jan 20
Pence Paid Bill Cries Ex-Leader – VP Says No
$177.99 unsigned with Presidential seal intact
DID TRUMP PARDON HITLER ON WAY OUT THE DOOR?
We didn’t see the name Adolf on his pardons roster but…
$200 – Subhead at no additional charge.
All of our one-of-a-kind headlines arrive at your door framed in a special Top Secret envelope just like ones they use over at the State Department. Easy assembly with replacement adjectives and adverbs available. Some sizes run big – Check our typeface chart. Prices not compatible with other offers. Warning: Could cause eyestrain and gas. Sorry no returns. Buy today and receive 5 Death Row Lotto Tickets that could win you up to $2,000,000!
Local Man Admits to Packer Slayings
(Crested Butte) G. Roscoe Lovinggood, 99, has admitted to the slayings of his companions and to cannibalism during a gold seeking venture near Lake City in 1874. Taking “full responsibility” for these notorious acts, blamed on Alferd Packer, Lovinggood said he shot Israel Swan and George Noon in self-defense and later gunned down Shannon Bell, James Humphrey and Frank Miller in a rear-guard action following the trios’ objections to his bloody behavior.
Local police remain skeptical since Lovinggood’s age does not match up with the admissions and that he has a history of taking responsibility for other lawless behavior, including the murder of William Julius Barney outside Telluride’s Smuggler Mine in 1902, and for the sinking of the Titanic in 1912.
“While his connection with the Titanic is mathematically feasible, he would have been 4-years-old at the time of the disaster and not a likely suspect,” said one investigating officer. “Besides that foul play was never a consideration in the sinking of the ocean liner. The other two events, however, happened before 1908, his legal date of birth, and therefore must be discounted,” he smirked.
Due to repeated demands that he be taken seriously on this matter, Lovinggood spent one night in the Crested Butte dog pound compliments of the local police force. He remains on limited probation and a fixed income as of this morning.
– Small Mouth Bess
“God knows when you don’t tip,” – Pepper Salt, veteran waitress
HISTORY OF THE CLAP
Ever since homo erectus strolled these shores ritual of clapping in approval and/or appreciation has been with us. Why did such an odd ritual gain such favor within societies as remote as the Maori in New Zealand and the Utes in North America? Were ancient peoples really only trying to kill flies when the curtain went down? What did early entertainers from places like the Fertile Crescent think when the audience began slapping their hands together at a particularly moving moment on stage? We have no idea. Maybe they thought it was locusts. Nonetheless, here are some of the more pronounced developments chronologically introduced through the ages.
5000 BC a clumsy Bornean orangutan (spanking monkey) falls from a branchwater eucalyptus tree while applauding a traveling mango juggling troupe near the Mount Kilimanjaro. Millenniums later, his straw-hatted ancestors ritualistically repeat a version of the same act at national political conventions.
2750 BC Early Hitites disguised as edible crustaceans receive the first recorded standing ovation after a lackluster performance of Don’t Cry For Me Hattusa!
1523 BC Nefertiti is applauded by Egyptian talisman after acquiring her own checking account despite the protests by hubby and noted Vaudevillian, Akhenaton. Popular Nile Valley punk band, The Pharaohs, jam for an additional fourteen hours after a third ovation (or was that played for three after 14 ovations). Sadly, fruit loops and canned laughter were hurled at the musicians toward the end of the performance, resulting in injuries to the fourth buffoon and the bass player.
900 BC Sumerians invent beer and sell it in cardboard 6-packs to the chagrin of many who have not yet mastered mathematics or the Mesopotamian shekel. Profits were said to be “immoral”. Gobshites with cumbersome wind-generated clapping and stomping machines first appear on the Peloponnese.
401 BC Xanthippe, wife of Socrates appears in public wearing kid gloves made from Cyprian bat guano and impotent polyester. While stifling unwanted crowd noise, the fashion accessories effectively limit the pain inherent to excessive clapping by other Greek philosophers. In 402 she showed up with Khandian ear plugs hurling her and her entourage into periods of scorn and insignificance while in exile in the mountains of Karpathos.
559 BC – Confucius releases his classic One Hand Clapping Backwards. 2500 years later it becomes the film Karate Kid.
522 BC Prophets Ezekiel and Zoroaster simultaneously predict the emergence of Elvis and snow making. Spanking, called subdued applause by the Druids, replaces crucifixion as punishment for misdemeanors on the Isle of Man.
200 BC After a tedious reading of Reconnoiter My Arse, Gaelic warrior Courvoisier, bows from the waist and is beheaded by Roman legions. The clapping lasted well into the next century.
11 BC First case of fruit throwing at in indoor venue, Carthage. See The Pharaohs above. Perpetrators were arrested after Cairo police performed a juice scan and a mean soft shoe. Wordsmiths in Constantinople disavow crude slang words associated with an appreciative audience.
2 AD Invention of the trash bag heralded as man’s finest achievement up to that point in history. Clapping after the main meal gradually disappears in the Urals, replaced by a convivial, boisterous burp.
Continued on Page 45
Missing Mule Deer Program Nixed
(Manana) A fledgling search effort aimed at locating and returning lost or runaway mule deer to their homes has been scrapped after only two seasons. The well-financed plan ended without fanfare after biological social workers failed to impact the status of so much as one of the forlorn.
In its defense, the recovery strategy was hampered by savior syndrome with a side of pettiness. Like many upstart directions the program seemed more about pecking order and hierarchy than desperate mule deer. After a few months insiders were asking whether anyone was taking the matter seriously at all.
Now most of the sensitive date is stored in sugar beet crates in an unmarked basement office of some grandiose cathedral to implied democracy.
Many good Samaritans, working overtime, say the problem lies within familiarity in that every mule deer looks the same.
“There are large and small, fat and lean, young and old but basically they all have that same stupid look on their face,” said Alana Jardin, an animal behaviorist on loan from Colombia. “We used to have deer problems too but in 1600 we relaxed our hunting restrictions and allowed the second generation of Conquistadors to “have at it”. Clearly after 400 years there are almost no deer and almost no deer to locate or recover,” she said.
“Flank ‘em,” says Antler Tom Gilhooley, who favors putting a mule deer in charge of the entire investigation. “Contending that all mule deer look the same is the most ignorant, bigoted, sexist, even polarizing statement I have ever heard. I intend to go home, tune up my Martin, and write a country song about it.”
-Tommy Middlefinger
Pagan Manger Wins Fruitcake Sculpture Prize
(Tin Pan Alley) The winner of the prestigious 2020 Fruitcake and Dry Wall Festival is Syd Fardt of Delta for his controversial pagan manger scene. The entire composition was made from fruitcake harvested from old barn walls all over Colorado and New Mexico.
The festival, thought to be a strictly a Christian event, decided to officially reach out to non-believers this year in an attempt to relieve their suffering as they march hand-in-glove through hell’s gates.
The normally popular celebration, which began way back in 2019, recorded slim crowds despite free soft drinks and discounted mutton sandwiches. After the show many attendees returned to their parked vehicles to find tins of fruitcake piled high in the backs of pickups, crammed into trailers and abandoned in unlocked cars.
“I even had sliced pieces stuck under my windshield wipers,” said one attendee.
Over in Pouting Gulch, convenience stores describe drowning in fruitcake after a snafu sent 24 semis full of the dessert for morning delivery to one remote location. That site sold 3 fruitcakes in 2019 and only 2 in 2018.
“We even put it out on racks in front of the store but no one steals it, even with the above-mentioned enticements,” said one employee.
Fardt, the winning sculptor, was awarded a partial scholarship to the electoral college of his choice for the next academic session.
– Suzie Compost
One Christmas Eve
Standing over the hot stove cooking supper, the colored maid, Arcie, was very tired. Between meals today, she had cleaned the whole house for the white family she worked for, getting ready for Christmas tomorrow. Now her back ached and her head felt faint from sheer fatigue. Well, she would be off in a little while, if only the Missus and her children would come on home to dinner. They were out shopping for more things for the tree, which stood all ready, tinsel-hung and lovely in the living room, waiting for its candles to be lighted.
Arcie wished she could afford a tree for Joe. He’d never had one yet, and it’s nice to have such things when you’re little. Joe was five, going on six. Arcie, looking at the roast in the white folks’ oven, wondered how much she could afford to spend tonight on toys. She only got seven dollars a week, and four of that went for her room and the landlady’s daily looking after Joe while Arcie was at work.
“Lord, it’s more’n a notion raisin’ a child,” she thought.
She looked at the clock on the kitchen table. After seven. What made white folks so darned inconsiderate? Why didn’t they come on home here to supper? They knew she wanted to get off before all the stores closed. She wouldn’t have time to buy Joe nothin’ if they didn’t hurry. And her landlady probably wanting to go out and shop, too, and not be bothered with little Joe.
“Dog gone it!” Arcie said to herself. “If I just had my money, I might leave the supper on the stove for ’em. I just got to get to the stores fo’ they close.” But she hadn’t been paid for the week yet. The Missus had promised to pay her Christmas Eve, a day or so ahead of time.
Arcie heard a door slam and talking and laughter in the front of the house. She went in and saw the Missus and her kids shaking snow off their coats.
“Ummm-mm! It’s swell for Christmas Eve,” one of the kids said to Arcie. “It’s snowin’ like the deuce, and mother came near driving through a stop light. Can’t hardly see for the snow. It’s swell!”
“Supper’s ready,” Arcie said. She was thinking how her shoes weren’t very good for walking in snow.
It seemed like the white folks took us long as they could to eat that evening. While Arcie was washing dishes, the Missus came out with her money.
“Arcie,” the Missus said, “I’m so sorry, but would you mind if I just gave you five dollars tonight? The children have made me run short of change, buying presents and all.”
I’d like to have seven,” Arcie said. “I needs it.”
“Well, I just haven’t got seven,” the Missus said. “I didn’t know you’d want all your money before the end of the week, anyhow. I just haven’t got it to spare.”
Arcie took five. Coming out of the hot kitchen, she wrapped up as well as she could and hurried by the house where she roomed to get little Joe. At least he could look at the Christmas trees in the windows downtown.
The landlady, a big light yellow woman, was in a bad humor. She said to Arcie, “I thought you was comin’ home early and get this child. I guess you know I want to go out, too, once in awhile.”
Arcie didn’t say anything for, if she had, she knew the landlady would probably throw it up to her that she wasn’t getting paid to look after a child both night and day.
“Come on, Joe,” Arcie said to her son, “let’s us go in the street.”
“I hears they got a Santa Claus down town,” Joe said, wriggling into his worn little coat. “I wants to see him.”
“Don’t know ’bout that,” his mother said, “but hurry up and get your rubbers on. Stores’ll all be closed directly.”
It was six or eight blocks downtown. They trudged along through the falling snow, both of them a little cold but the snow was pretty! The main street was hung with bright red and blue lights. In front of the City Hall there was a Christmas tree-but it didn’t have no presents on it, only lights. In the store windows there were lots of toys-for sale.
Joe kept on saying, “Mama, I want …”
But mama kept walking ahead. It was nearly ten, when the stores were due to close, and Arcie wanted to get Joe some cheap gloves and something to keep him warm, as well as a toy or two. She thought she might come across a rummage sale where they had children’s clothes. And in the ten-cent store, she could some toys.
“O-oo! Lookee….,” little Joe kept saying and pointing at things in the windows. How warm and pretty the lights were, and the shops, and the electric signs through the snow.
It took Arcie more than a dollar to get Joe’s mittens and things he needed. In the A. & P. Arcie bought a big box of hard candies for 49¢. And then she guided Joe through the crowd on the street until they came to the dime store. Near the ten-cent store they passed a moving picture theater. Joe said he wanted to go in and see the movies.”
Arcie said, “Ump-un! No, child! This ain’t Baltimore where they have shows for colored, too. In these here small towns, they don’t let colored folks in. We can’t go in there.” “Oh,” said little Joe.
In the ten-cent store, there was an awful crowd. Arcie told Joe to stand outside and wait for her. Keeping hold of him in the crowded store would be a job. Besides she didn’t want him to see what toys she was buying. They were to be a surprise from Santa Claus tomorrow.
Little Joe stood outside the ten-cent store in the light, and the snow, and people passing. Gee, Christmas was pretty. All tinsel and stars and cotton. And Santa Claus a-coming from somewhere, dropping things in stockings. And all the people in the streets were carrying things, and the kids looked happy.
But Joe soon got tired of just standing and thinking and waiting in front of the ten-cent store. There were so many things to look at in the other windows. He moved along up the block a little, and then a little more, walking and looking. In fact, he moved until he came to the white folks’ picture show.
In the lobby of the moving picture show, behind the late glass doors, it was all warm and glowing and awful pretty. Joe stood looking in, and as he looked his eyes began to make out, in there blazing beneath holly and colored streamers and the electric stars of the lobby, a marvelous Christmas tree. A group of children and grownups, white, of course, were standing around a big jovial man in red beside the tree. Or was it a man? Little Joe’s eyes opened wide. No, it was not a man at all. It was Santa Claus!
Little Joe pushed open one of the glass doors and ran into the lobby of the white moving picture show. Little Joe went right through the crowd and up to where he could get a good look at Santa Claus. And Santa Claus was giving away gifts, little presents for children, little boxes of animal crackers and stick-candy canes. And behind him on the tree was a big sign (which little Joe didn’t know how to read). It said, to those who understand, MERRY XMAS FROM SANTA CLAUS TO OUR YOUNG PATRONS.
Around the lobby, other signs said, WHEN YOU COME OUT OF THE SNOW STOP WITH YOUR CHILDREN AND SEE OUR SANTA CLAUS. And another announced, GEM THEATRE MAKES Its CUSTOMERS HAPPY – SEE OUR SANTA.
And there was Santa Claus in a red suit and a white beard all sprinkled with tinsel snow. Around him were rattlers and drums and rocking horses that he was not giving away. But the signs on them said (could little Joe have read) that they would be presented from the stage on Christmas Day to the holders of the lucky numbers. Tonight, Santa Claus was only giving away candy, and stick-candy canes, and animal crackers to the kids.
Joe would have liked terribly to have a stick-candy cane. He came a little closer to Santa Claus, until he was right in the front of the crowd, And then Santa Claus saw Joe.
Why is it that lots of white people always grin when they see a Negro child? Santa Claus grinned. Everybody else grinned too, looking at little black Joe-who had no business in the lobby of a white theater. Then Santa Claus stooped down and slyly picked up one of his lucky number rattlers, a great big loud tin-pan rattle such as they use in cabarets. And he shook it fiercely right at Joe. That was funny. The white people laughed, kids and all. But little Joe didn’t laugh. He was scared. To the shaking of the big rattle, he turned and fled out of the warm lobby of the theater, out into the street where the snow was and the people. Frightened by laughter, he had begun to cry. He went looking for his mama. In his head he never thought Santa Claus shook great rattles at children like that – and then laughed.
In the crowd on the street he went the wrong way. He couldn’t find the ten-cent store or his mother. There were too many people, all white people, moving like white shadows in the snow, a world of white people.
It seemed to Joe an awfully long time till he suddenly saw Arcie, dark and worried-looking, cut across the side-walk through all the passing crowd and grab him. Although her arms were full of packages, she still managed with one free hand to shake him until his teeth rattled.
“Why didn’t you stand where I left you?” Arcie demanded loudly. “Tired as I am, I got to run all over the streets in the night lookin’ for you. I’m a great mind to wear you out.”
When little Joe got his breath back, on the way home, he told his mama he had been in the moving picture show.
“But Santa Claus didn’t give me nothin’,” Joe said tearfully. “He made a big noise at me and I runned out.”
“Serves you right,” said Arcie, trudging through the snow. “You had no business in there. I told you to stay where I left you.”
“But I seed Santa Claus in there,” little Joe said, “so I went in.”
“Huh! That wasn’t no Santa Claus,” Arcie explained. “If it was, he wouldn’t a-treated you like that. That’s a theater for white folks – I told you once – and he’s just an old white man.”
“Oh . . . .,” said little Joe.
-Langston Hughes, 1933
