All Entries in the "Fractured Opinion" Category

This formula proves that masks work in controlling elements of the virus

If some of our countrymen still don’t get the picture take a few moments to show them this. They won’t get it but it might frighten them into wearing protection.

Nuns Have Nuclear Weapons

(Santa Fe) In a shocking disclosure the U.N. Atomic Energy Commission today confirmed rumblings that a remote sect of Catholic nuns has developed nuclear weapons and is working on a sophisticated system of delivery.

The Little Sisters of Hopeless Causes, a cloistered order located in a secret compound in Northern New Mexico, has allegedly isolated a source for plutonium and has conducted extensive tests with live warheads says the world body. Although no direct threats have been made it is surmised that the sisters will use the weapons as educational aids in lieu of ruler slaps on the palms, ear locks and bat kneeling, effective methods held over from the Spanish Inquisition.

In an anonymous letter, with perfect punctuation and penmanship, a group calling itself Nuns With Nukes, not only admitted to possessing the warheads but taunted incorrigibles around the world to “step up to the plate” if they didn’t like it.

“We have a right to defend ourselves from sectarians, anarchists, atheists and especially students who can’t sit still in class,” said one sister. “We are putting these disruptive elements on notice: Straighten out or else!”

The news, which understandably has students at Catholic schools in a heightened state of anxiety, was met with alarm by religious leaders all over the world.

“These sisters still wield a lot of power behind the scenes,” said a Papal spokesperson. “Even the Pope doesn’t know what to do with them when they get in this state.”

At press time negotiators are attempting to convince the more moderate elements of Nuns With Nukes to give up their weapons in return for a shot at the priesthood.

– Sir Otis of Liver

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with this country and therefore nothing to fix. So, if elected I’m just gonna sit on my butt, collect a nice paycheck, utilize the great health care and enjoy life at the top. Then I’ll start collecting my well deserved pension.”    

– Big “Johnny” Ladron, candidate for the House of Reprehensibles

Museum Gets Nod

(Silverton) The final blueprint for the new 100% aluminum Silverton Surf Museum has gotten the nod from San Juan County Commissioners, two of whom have yet to wake up from the meeting. The proposal, which calls for a self-contained collection of local surfing memorabilia to be put on display during the summer months, could be easily be financed with funds created by parking fines and private donations.

The museum will grace the now abandoned Silverton Navel Station on the way up to Howardsville. The base, a strategic barrier to armed Japanese excursions during World War II, has been used to warehouse snow since the Fifties.

Several surfboard manufacturers have pledged donations and the historical society has been busy selling cookies to pay for decorative sand. Sources at the local chamber would not verify plans to rename most local streets.

“We are not yet ready for Ocean Avenue, Beach Street or Sand Dollar Road,” said the source. “The only waves you’ll see here are from motorists greeting each other on Greene Street.”

The Silverton Surfing Museum has been housed upstairs at the American Legion building since 1978 but all that displaced  water has caused severe leaks in the old building and the floor is at risk. In addition crowding and competition for retail space continues to create cranial swells and serious rip tides within the community.

– Gabby Haze

“Bad Haircuts”

just a trim before the last time….

so that there was little left on top and a healthy harvest of grey strands on the side. For the finishing touches Wally shaved a six-inch semi-circle around the left ear and applied bootblack to the right temple. When he swung his victim around for a look into the cloudy mirror he sat back in anticipation.

“Kill him,” said Black Bart to the members of his gang who had now succumbed to laughter. “It’ll take two months for my scalp to recover and maybe a year or two before I can rob banks again. No barber, even one who says he’s from St. Louis, is worth this!”

Wally was quick to react.

“I’m awful sorry Bart, about your hair and all. I’d be happy to start from scratch and throw in a case of this hair tonic, which, if you ain’t too picky, tastes all right besides.”

Bart took a sip, snarled and motioned toward his men to do their duty. When they got Wally outside he talked them into a simple tar and feathering instead of the termination. The entire town, especially the ones who had gone under Wally’s scissors, turned out for the event. It was the first excuse for the ladies to don their finery and the men to wear their church-going suspenders since Old Man Rathboone was lynched back in ’88.

When Wally finally came to he was stuck to a barrel cactus some 10 miles from Rodentville. He was covered with tar, scattered with feathers and someone had shaved his head.

“I wonder who did the barbering,” thought Wally. “I could use an assistant.

Wandering off toward bright lights and barber poles Wally, engaged in some much belated soul searching.

“I think I actually enjoy giving bad haircuts,” he mused. “How sick. No wonder I’m always getting beat up or driven out of town. Maybe I should look for another line of work,” he thought looking down at his travelling barber kit.

“I’ve been trampled in Topeka, worked over the Wabash and had both legs broken in Marietta,” he shrugged. “But I’ve seen a lot of country and met a lot of great people in my travels. Some of them even let me cut their hair!”

Wally’s barber kit was comprised of six scissors, an assortment of combs, two mirrors, a straight razor and a dozen bottles of hair tonic. It had miraculously survived his most recent ordeal

“I can’t quit now,” he said to himself. “I have too much invested.”

After five lonely, thirsty days on the road Wally arrived in Muttontown, on the banks of the Dirty River. He walked into the Broken Dreams Saloon and ordered a beer.

“Howdy, stranger,” said a saloon hall girl from the corner. “What brings you to Muttontown?”

“I’m a traveling barber,” said Wally. “I’m in search of work.

“Really?” asked the girl sincerely. “That’s right amazing, since our last barber was killed in a gunfight last night.”

“Is that a fact?” gestured Wally.

TO BE CONTINUED

Should feds to bail out DUI squads?

DUI squads are losing money hand over fist with lockdowns

(Manana) State and federal governments continue to wrestle with options regarding the possible bail out of cash-strapped police departments who no longer can rely on lucrative income from DUI arrests.

Law enforcement agencies, that had come to count on the easy money to buy flashy military equipment and hire more poorly paid officers, are now forced to tow the line and adhere to tighter budgets.

The decrease in DUI arrests is also making it tough for the courts and jails to keep their shaved heads above water. Diminished resources have led to an upsweep in arrests for less profitable hate crimes, larceny, narcotic use, and domestic abuse.

Cops Stop Motorist Suspected of Infraction Back in the Good Ol’ Days

“If nobody is driving then it only follows that nobody is driving under the influence of alcohol during these dark days of the pandemic,” said one uniformed source here. “We’re losing our asses. We have carried the torch and now we need an infusion of money.”

The source went on to say that without the police patrolling the highways looking for drunk drivers the whole society would fall apart by the weekend.

“Most of this is an exaggeration,” said a sitting circuit judge, “since some people are still driving with or without a license or insurance. Considering that a great many of them are under stress it would not be a giant leap of faith to consider that some are hammered at the wheel.”

– Marianne Marvelous

Amarillo marcado en un paraíso andino

Debido al virus, el cierre mundial y los vuelos cancelados, hemos estado en cuarentena cerca de una ciudad de montaña de 6500 pies en Antioquia, Colombia desde mediados de marzo. Hace 74 grados, soleado y silencioso.

Después de buscar días por calles vacías y entre los residentes enmascarados, finalmente he aceptado el lamentable hecho de que las tiendas de comestibles en el pequeño pueblo de Jardin, Colombia, no ofrecen Twinkies o Ding Dongs. Puedo lidiar con la flagrante, casi arrogante ausencia de encurtidos kosher, filetes de atún ahi, pizza congelada, champán y caviar, ¿pero ahora esto?

Hoy compramos arroz, frijoles, mangos, huevos, calabacín, jarabe de arce, pollo, ajo, pimientos, yuca, papas, camarones, salmón, cerveza, ron, granola, queso, jamón, chorizo, crema, leche, jengibre, mantequilla de maní. , pasta, maní, papas fritas, tomates, papaya, agua mineral, productos de papel, galletas de soda, Oreos, yogurt, pasta de dientes, tilapia, duraznos enlatados, café, mantequilla, albahaca, salsa, tomillo, orégano, alcaparras, vino para cocinar, aceitunas , salsa de espagueti, mezcla para panqueques, chocolate, cilantro y pepinos.

Todo fue entregado (huevos en el manillar) a nuestra casa de campo a un kilómetro de la ciudad sin cargo adicional. Servicio domicilio ala moto. Incluso la cerveza todavía estaba fría. El alamode de supervivencia puede ser un entretenimiento de alto impacto.

Jardin, Antioquia, Colombia from LaLinda

Esta noche nos deleitaremos con ajiaco o sancocho o tal vez fritanga. Las recetas para estos platos finos se pueden arrinconar fácilmente en una variedad de fuentes.

Sentado en mi oficina al aire libre mirando los plátanos y los mandarines, tengo la idea de que soy un intruso en este magnífico paisaje de abrumadoras verdes y brisas. Mi vecino, Fabio, cosecha granos de café para vender mientras veo pájaros, vigilo las noticias, escribo historias y leo libros. Nunca te aburrirás cuando haya libros.

He leído a Tolstoi al revés y a Joyce en el derecho de retención horizontal y en la fuga. Sí, técnicamente soy un extranjero ilegal debido al cierre de la máquina de inmigración en Medellín impulsado por virus. El pasaporte de mi compañero ha caducado y ya no poseemos un boleto de avión de regreso a los EE. UU. Podríamos alquilar una casa rodante e intentar atravesar el Darién, pero no tienen casas rodantes aquí, como en el norte.

Pero no hemos tocado un embrague en meses. Caminamos hacia la ciudad de arriba a abajo por las lodosas colinas del bosque hasta el puente amarillo que cruza el río que cae en cascada desde el circo chiva y las trucharias en Caldas hacia el sur. Es suficiente ejercicio para lubricar nuestros cerebros y huesos y ganar una cerveza por la noche. En la ciudad, la plaza se encuentra vacía al borde de las lágrimas esperando ser nuevamente el centro de la vida.

Los perros del vecino ahora están visitando esta mañana, mientras las dos vacas residentes muy amigables nos miran desde la línea de la valla endeble, esperando que entreguemos el almuerzo de la hierba dulce fuera de nuestro alcance. Los caballos relinchan en las sombras restantes del anochecer sin preocuparse por la situación humana.

A veces nos sentamos en el patio y miramos la aldea tranquila y desierta, un lugar que hace solo unas semanas estaba lleno de vida. Oh, excepto por el gruñido de altas revoluciones y el estruendo de una motocicleta mal sintonizada que rebota en las paredes coloniales o personas que gritan hola desde balcones o bocinas de autobuses que hacen sonar sus salidas, o el tintineo de botellas de cerveza o campanas de iglesia golpeando a horas impías.

El río se agita y brota después de una lluvia apagada y Rocas chilla en el bosque. Observamos cómo el turno diurno de las abejas y las moscas es reemplazado por la fuerza laboral nocturna de las polillas y los escarabajos.

Algunos días casi puedo escuchar el sonido de los árboles creciendo.

– Melvino Tulavera