All Entries in the "Lifestyles at Risk" Category
Cigar Smoking Not Hobby
(Moline) The practice or habit of cigar smoking does not deserve hobby status according to the North American Diversion and Needlepoint Consortium here. The committee, manned by people with nothing else to do all day, reversed a previous decision made back in March and reported by this newspaper.
During an emotionally charged meeting several proponents of cigar smoking lit up and then stormed out of the hall.
The final vote of 5-0 refused to recognize cigar smoking as a legitimate hobby. In further action the group did a crisp about-face on the status of stamp collecting which was deemed immoral almost three months ago as well.
“There is nothing obscene about placing stamps in a scrapbook and then forgetting about them,” said the group.
As expected the announcement skirted comment on the use of airplane glue in close quarters and the raising of dangerous herbs. A harsh response on the part of cigar chompers and the National Brotherhood of Humidors is not expected.
-Fanny Fumes
Horseshoe Will Check Emotional Baggage
(Gunnison) In keeping with regulations set down by Homeland Security Agency, the San Juan Horseshoe will check the emotional baggage of all readers at the time of publication. The procedure, much like that at the airport, is particularly aimed at prohibited items such as weapons and expletives, but will also be looking for people smuggling cynicism into the paper as well.
Indications that potential readers harbor ill will toward security charades will be reported to the authorities immediately while any uncooperative attitude such as whispering, laughing at security personnel or negative body language will likewise be noted.
“We are particularly offended by persons rolling their eyes in response to questioning and chewing gum while in line,” said General Kashmir Horseshoe, publisher of the paper. “Last month we discovered Nicolas Maduro’s mustache attempting to sneak onto page 4. As it turned out the thing was in search of political amnesty but the very thought of terrorist activity sent shivers down our spineless accounting department.”
Readers accustomed to easy access will be inconvenienced with the boarding times lengthened by only a few minutes. Persons who fight the system will be detained and very likely denied entry altogether.
“We don’t care if you have a ticket and have never committed a felony,” continued Horseshoe. “As far as we’re concerned you are all potential terrorists and have no rights. The very fact that you might be reading is an indication that you do not support the efforts of the current Administration and should be deported.”
The paper will reportedly hire some 10,000 security people to man various departments where subversive element may linger. Subscription and advertising costs are expected to skyrocket but as Horseshoe says, “Unlike the gov’ment we cannot operate within a deficit spending mode. The new expenses are bad enough but what’s worse is going through all those suitcases. Our people aren’t trained for that sort of thing.”
-Pepper Salte
Deadline for hibernation permits draws near
(Bland Valley) Residents who wish to hibernate this winter have until Thursday to obtain official Colorado Hibernation Permits. The procedure is simple enough, as applicants must only stop by the nearest Division of Wildlife office to pick up the needed forms.
“We have begun to closely monitor hibernation since more and more people have expressed interest in this winter diversion,” said Melvin Toole, Director of Latent Dormancy for the Western Slope. “This, combined with the population explosion here, has made cave space a premium and has threatened to disrupt the peace and quiet enjoyed for centuries by innocent fur-bearing animals.”
In addition to a small fee, persons wishing to enter this torpid state must also undergo a hibernation safety course, which is offered on Saturdays until January.
“In effect, this is an extended deadline,” smiled Toole, “and we hope participants will be kind to our clerks when registering. We know you’re tired but getting testy with our people will only make matters worse.”
-FRED ZEPPELIN
“Thanksgiving in Turkey”
TRAVEL ’25
Continued from in front of you
so that Bob (is that his name?) and I and the kids were pushed down onto the pavement and told to keep our eyes to the ground as the entourage passed by, snaking its way toward Mount Ararat and the grave of the Apostle Paul.
“Hey, mom,” said little Bennie, “says in this brochure that Turkey is larger than Texas. Is that for real?”
“No, stupid, it’s just all that jihad propaganda,” piped sister Beatrice from the pruned position. “Where did you get that brochure anyway?”
“Shut-up bitch,” said little Bennie. “Nobody’s talking to you!”
“Now kids, let’s try to put our hatreds aside. We’re miles from our hotel and not out of this yet,” said Dad. “These people are naturally friendly and engaging. They just have to get to know us. I thought St Paul was buried at Lookout Mountain…you know, with Buffalo Phil or someone.”
Finally, and not without more fanfare the procession passed. The strange men in robes told us to get up and walk to the east and we would find our hotel.
“I wanna see Noah’s Arc,” said Beatrice, “and the ancient city of Troy. What a beat vacation. All my friends in Chicago will laugh at me if they find out I came all the way to Turkey without…”
“Wait, daddy,” I said to my husband, “isn’t that the road to Istanbul, or is it the road to Constantinople? They must sell ottomans there. I just have to have an authentic Turkish ottoman or I’ll just die.”
“What about dinner?” whined Bennie. “We’ve been here three days and I haven’t seen a taco anywhere. Today is Thanksgiving. Where’s the stuffing?”
“Now Bennie,” said my husband, whose name eludes me just now, “this isn’t America. One has to adapt. Sure, all of these rug heads wish they were in America, the land of the free, but they aren’t. They’re marooned here in Asia Minor…have been for centuries. I thought you liked the filberts in barley sauce that mom cooked up last night.”
“I want pizza,” screamed Beatrice much to the chagrin of a large angry crowd that had now gathered, blocking our exit from behind one of a hundred mosques that crowd the cobbled square. “I hate filberts!”
“And where is the football!” demanded little Bennie. “Don’t these wanna be Tartar savages know that it’s Thanksgiving?”
“I hate tartar sauce too,” mumbled Beatrice, “and Kurds and whey…
“Stop!” cried daddy. “Look a fez stand right out here in the middle of nowhere. I think we should all take home a fez as a souvenir from this lovely trip. Say there sahib. How much for four fezzes…is that the proper term? Yeah, four…and don’t try to screw me. I’m an American and I have rights.”
At that he pulled out a U.S. fifty which the man selling the fez hats quickly grabbed and stashed in his robe. He smiled and then let go of the hats.
“Those hats look stupid,” said Beatrice, and for once her little brother agreed. We must have looked quite the sight wandering down those snarled filthy streets, sipping a Raki looking for some familiar signs of home.
“I have to pee,” said Bennie.
“We need to find a halkevi, or house of the people. Surely they will have indoor facilities…
“And cleanliness,” I crisply quipped.
“And a make-up mirror,” added Beatrice.
“And some good old American toilet paper,” smiled Daddy.
“We could ask someone,” I said melodically, swept up in the worldly banter of a man I no longer knew.
“None of these bozos talk American,” said Bennie
“Turkish isn’t so hard to learn,” said Dad as he wagged his finger at a would-be thief. “The Turks borrowed many Arabic and Persian words during the Ottoman Empire, then Kemal Ataturk changed the whole shootin’ match over to the Roman alphabet in 1928.”
“How does he know all that?” whispered Beatrice in my direction.
“Daddy was once a Middle East expert in of the Bush Administrations, dear,” I explained.
“It’s worthless information about a country that prefers figs to cranberry sauce, olives to pumpkin pie…”
“Shhhhh,” Bennie. Here come the mashed potatoes!”
As I looked up I saw thousands of men in the street. There were Turks from Ankara, Turks from Izmir, Turks from Cyprus. All were working together pushing a massive vat of freshly mashed potatoes, thinly veiled in Seljuk mohair, toward the largest of the mosques to the east of the square.
“Wow, dad!” said Bennie.
“Where are all the women?” asked Beatrice.
“Maybe they do celebrate Thanksgiving in Turkey,” I flinched.
“Look, kids. Look! It’s the march of the turkeys,” said Dad. “Look, honey, their coming this way. It’s going to be a wonderful holiday just like I told you. Honey? Honey? Hey, kids, where’s your mother?
“Oh, she was forced into that black Mercedes by two Turkish men who have been following us since yesterday,” said Beatrice.
“What? Forced into a car? gasped Daddy.
“Relax, man she’ll be back for dinner,” said Bennie.
– Luanne Julienne is a free-lance writer who lives in a big house in Connecticut. In addition to writing travel articles she raises amphetamines, which are then sold to collectors in New York
Theologians warn: Time to stock up on canned* gods
In the event of an eruption, disruption or interruption people need to be fortify and equip their fallout bunkers. This preparation must include storing sustenance as well as water, weaponry and comfort items.
For a simple start we highly recommend Zeus in heavy syrup and packs of well-insulated Vishnu moon pies. A little Creamed Venus goes a long way toward keeping the smiles in place Frozen Shiva for desert? Why not, you only reincarnate up to 40 times before Nirvana.
So as to fight repetition, our cooking editors strongly suggest jerked Odin with rum Thor pudding. Wash it down with jellied Neptune and escalloped Poseidon. MMMM-good.
When the weekend comes we rely on old time favorites like parboiled Xango /filet of Guaraci and artisan Pan. Then wrap it all up with Mars and Jupiter salsa and delight in Nazareth Tea.
Read more in depth in your Candomble’ and Santeria Feijao Banana Leaf pamphlet distributed by Aphrodite Helpers. African recipes (mixed with Colonial Catholicism TV dinners) are easily stored at room temperature below ground. Plan well. You could be living down there for eternity.
If this is too silly to read what can we do? Many of our fellows have preferred to stay on the surface of the planet and reload shells and sharpen their harpoons…By comparison we have a president of the United States that even lies about his height…and why, pray tell, is he making Veteran’s Day speeches.
-Pepper Salte
*The term canned does not always interface well since it implies prerecorded/derogatory. See canned laughter.
Cattle Cars Block Gates, Delay Flights
(DFW) Lines of worn out railroad cars, originally designed for livestock, have wrecked havoc at many of the nation’s airports, blocking airplane access, limiting normal passenger boarding procedures and slowing down what has long been a dehumanizing experience. Critics of the industry contend that humans are routinely delivered to departure points by these less than pristine land yachts.
And that says nothing about understaffed and currently unpaid air traffic controllers.
“Hordes of flights have been delayed and some even cancelled,” said consumer protection advocate Abbey Wingseat. Airports have become less and less user friendly and now these persistent traffic jams in front of gates have created an intolerable almost noxious environment for pilots, flight crews baggage personnel and. Lest we forget…passengers who have paid to fly.”
Cattle cars are often backed up across runways making parking of planes a lengthy disaster, especially for those with tight connecting flights. It appears to be a problem only with US carriers. Despite all the slogans and promises these U.S. based airlines have continued their descent.
“How are we supposed to load the increased throng of passengers if we don’t improvise?” Asked Fardt, of of American Airlines. “Sure, people are unhappy with the conditions right now but they will soon forget about the trials of boarding once they are on the plane.”
Spokesman for United Airlines chipped in saying that what goes on on the tarmac stays on the tarmac. She reiterated that most planes reach their destinations safely and without incident., adding that only malcontents find that the use of this bucolic transportation (provided to passengers at no extra charge) dilutes the flying experience, is dirty and causes anxiety.
“We are not livestock,” said one frequent flyer of Southwest. He then promised that his next trip would be by bus. He then broke into a chorus of moos, baaas, low bellows, snorts and grunts, supported by other quasi-stranded travelers, a chorus of the disaffected. Many wonder what happened to what was once a pleasant experience in the air.
“But we offer more leg room,” chimed in the airline source.
-Tommy Middlefinger
“Is it more secure to surround oneself with unread books or books that you have read 100 times? What about even once?” – Dolores Alegria
