All Entries in the "Fractured Opinion" Category

Looking for God in all the wrong places

To the editor:

Does anyone out there have God’s phone number?

Does The Supreme Being finally have a cell phone?

Does anyone out there have the new number?

I really need to talk to him pronto.

Pistachio Pete, General Delivery, Limbo

No and yes but at this time God ain’t given’ it out.

And for a local Local Twist on the eternal question:

Pharisee to speak

(Montrose) Highly regarded spiritual war monger, the Rev. Phil Pharisee of the Love Temple of Self-Absorption and Sacrificial Assimilation will address the piercing question: Does God Have a Cell Phone? on Friday night at the Armageddon Bingo Hall on East Main. Parking is free and cold cuts will be served. Bring a covered fish.

“There are no windows in tipis.”   – Captain Jack, Ute Chief

Ain’t Gonna Work On Maggie’s Farm No More

“Welcome to Zimmerman’s,” he bellowed. “We have a full line of furniture for your home or office. This month’s specials include sofas and dining room sets. Now through Tuesday if you buy an oak desk we’ll throw in the matching credenza for half price. But enough about that for now. Where are you from?”

     “We’re from over in Duluth,” he responded. “My name is Joey and my wife is Johanna.”

     Well then, welcome to Hibbing. Why not wander around and look at our showroom and if you have questions my son Harold will be only too happy to help you. Harold has decided to take over the family business instead of going to New York to write poetry. His mother and I are quite proud of him. Harold?            

     “Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?”

     “I’ve walked and I’ve crawled on six crooked highways,” said Harold.

     “Yeah, it’s quite a ways from Duluth,” answered Joey.

     OK, I’ll leave you in the capable hands of my son,” said the father.

     “I’ll know my song before I start singin’,” said Harold.

     “We’re looking for a bedroom set but I just can’t make up my mind between redwood and mahogany. Do you have time to show us some?”

      “I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to.”

     “There’s so much to choose from…I’ll never decide…”

     “Just like a woman with her fog, her amphetamine and her pearls.”

     “I beg your pardon, young man.”

     “Her passport shows a face from another time and place.”

     “What?”

     “I have something made of silver or of golden, either from the mountains of Madrid, or the coast of Barcelona.”

     “We’re looking for something made here in Minnesota.”

     “I know that you’re dissatisfied with your position and your place. Don’t you understand it’s not my problem.”

     “Wait a minute. We came all the way from Duluth to look at furniture not to be insulted. People on the Iron Range don’t talk like that.”

     “No reason to get exited. There are many here among us that think that life is but a joke.”

     “Would you show us something in pine. Something in a neutral color?”

     “Tangled up in blue?”

     “Yes, the carpet is blue. Can we look in the warehouse too?”

     “Go lightly from the ledge, babe. Go lightly on the ground.”

     “Excuse me! My wife is not accustomed to be called “babe”. She’s been through a lot trying to redecorate our home and…”

     “Seems like every time you turn around there’s another hard luck story that you’re gonna hear.”

     “What? Enough of this nonsense. Don’t you have any answers? We’re going out to the warehouse…”

     “In the jingle, jangle morning I’ll come followin’ you.”

     “These end tables are nice. How much for the sofa?”

     “Your sister sees the furniture like your mamma and yourself.”

     “This stuff is nice but I rather liked the bed in the window.”

     “Oh, oh, we gonna fly down in the easy chair.”

     “But we’re not in the market for an easy chair. We told you we’re looking for…”

     “Lay Lady Lay. Lay across my big brass bed.”

     Now see here young man. Mind your manners. My husband won’t put up with any more shenanigans.”

     “But tonight I’ll be staying here with you.”

     “In your dreams! That’s enough. We’re going back to Duluth where people have some respect.”

     “There’s nothin’ you wish to be ownin’?”

     “Don’t get pushy. You act as if you were the only furniture store between here and Fargo. We can’t make up our minds right now.”

     “Don’t think twice, it’s all right.”

     “Well that’s better. Thanks for your input. We may be back and when we do we’ll ask to speak to a more knowledgeable clerk. Good-bye.”

     “You just kinda wasted my precious time.”

     “Well, Harold how do it go?” asked  the father.

     “He wants eleven dollar bills and you only got ten.”

     “That’s OK you can’t make every sale. Tomorrow will be better.”

     “None of them along the line know what any of it is worth.”

     “You said it, son.”

     “I can’t stay in here. Ain’t it clear…”

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.”

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.

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

Paradise Copyright Contested

(Crested Butte) It appears that another nasty fight is in the wings regarding copyright violations connected to the use of the term “paradise”. The squabble centers around who, if anyone, owns the standard and how and if any restrictions can be enforced.

In Colorado alone over 2,000 locales claim to be “paradise” but most have never filed for the copyright. Here in the Slate River Valley, Crested Butte has been employing the name/identity since the late, great Chuck Wirtz was a boy. Now, due to newly introduced litigation the town may be banned from using the description.

Yesterday attorneys at Morstern, Hamill and Glick filed suit in district quart claiming that their client, Dr. Emil Turlo, late of Maybell (Colorado) owns sole rights to the above said concept. Furthermore, they insist, communities and organizations currently infringing on his property are liable for fines and penalties so as to be determined by the findings of a judge and jury.

Turlo, a retired physician who once lived in Crested Butte, would not return phone calls because he is too old to use a cellphone.

“Anyone can clearly see that Crested Butte and not Maybell is paradise,” said a Bozo member who pledged a fight. “We won’t take this matter lying down,” she said. “The matter has already been handed over to our attorneys. I can’t believe someone could be so self-absorbed that they would make a big deal out of this.”

The unidentified Bozo member then rushed off to oversee the construction of what has been described as a system of trenches and ravines, built around her trophy cabin, aimed at keeping local dogs from peeing on her rose bushes.

In last night’s town council meeting a proposal that the town save attorney fees and let Turlo have the rights to paradise was vehemently shouted down.

“Why should we relinquish our right to the concept? Isn’t there something about grandfathering in the state code. We’ve been paradise for a long time,” explained one councilperson who favors a fight. “Can you imagine how much it will cost to print new stationary and ski brochures? Will we have to rename Paradise Divide?”

Pro-paradise elements in the town say they’ll hire “other investigators (read: pistoleros from Paonia) if the present one doesn’t have the stomach for the work.”

Although Turlo can no longer use the phone, his attorneys say he is only going forward with the suit so as “to ruin other people’s fun this summer”. A pre-trial hearing is set for July 3.

-Fred Zeppelin

American Taliban followers forgiven in advance

(Colorado Springs) A leader of the growing American Taliban Church told believers not to worry about personal morality since by adhering to the strict dogmas of the organization, they are automatically forgiven up front.

     Bypassing the normal channels of forgiveness, the new sect has attracted many former sinners, too busy to apply for salvation by more traditional methods. Whether the faithful might exhibit remorse was not discussed.

     Speaking from his porch within the state’s first double-gated, gated community, Rev. Carl Chivington told his flock how to eat, sleep and vote if they wanted to embrace the new arrangement.

     “Hell, we’d have even forgiven Judas,” he sneered. “People are far too concerned about breaking a commandment or two when they should be focused on making more money.”

     Chivington, from three generations of circuit riding preachers, operates Sins Be Gone car washes all over Southeast Colorado.

     “Sometimes funds from the church get all mixed up with profits from the car washes and my own personal wealth,” said Chivington, “but I’m forgiven for that too. Anyone you do not see in the pew is out fornicating, drinking and shooting drugs,” he added. There is no gray area in the eyes of righteous. You can be sure of that.”         – Kashmir Horseshoe