All Entries in the "Lifestyles at Risk" Category
Montrose Rancher Eats 99 Pancakes
(Montrose, CO — Pomona Peeper — September 21, 2016)
Spring Creek rancher Ed Hempleman will no doubt be skipping breakfast for a while, maybe forever. After consuming 99 pancakes, or flapjacks as he calls them, in just three hours, he has the right. The saga began at Red’s Gravy Heaven on North Townsend when Hempleman and a few buddies began bragging about their appetites.
“Once I ate a steer in one sitting,” said one liar. “Then I had desert!”
“One September I ate a field full of potatoes,” snapped another.
“That ain’t nuthin’ howled a third. “My daddy ate up all the rainbow in the river from Gunnison to Delta, then took mom out for sushi.”
Arrogance led to challenges and soon a pancake-eating contest was set for the next morning. (Pancakes being easier to count than steaks and trout.) The match drew 13 participants eyeballing the $500 prize put up by Aunt Jemima Orchards of California Mesa.
The rules were simple: Every contestant would eat in 15 pancake increments and would be given a five-minute break between plates. Whoever ate the most pancakes from 8 – 11 would be declared the winner. If the competition ends in a tie there will be no sudden death overtime.
We pick up the play-by-play live from Red’s: lined up in a trance behind their designated stacks, they looked like plumped birds on a wire, dangling from plate to plate until just Hemp leman and 77-year-old Harvey Birdseed of Pea Green were the last pan-cakers standing. Then, like the egg scene from Cool Hand Luke, Hempleman began stuffing pancake after pancake into his gobbler, leaving Birdseed in his battered wake…
Already jerky eating, potato eating and pie eating contests are slated for the county fair. Proceeds from the event were not announced. Organizers say that the leftover 1000 pancakes would be donated to fill all of the chuckholes between Cahone to Gypsym.
“These people are gifted athletes,” cried one microphone man. “The public just doesn’t know.”
– Small Mouth Bess
“Never trust a man who agrees with you. He’s probably wrong.” – traditional cowboy saying
GPS system developed for better sex
(Mañana, CO— Better Halls & Bedrooms —September 19, 2016)
The new blue tooth, preloaded global positioning system looks to be the most innovative sexual breakthrough since the birth control pill arrived on the scene in the Sixties. No more getting lost. No more searching for your destination in the dark.
It’s the romance map for joyful love making – Just light the candles. chill the champagne, fluff the pillows and let your love light shine. You can even turn on your smart phone for continual suggestions and creative positions “on the road”. The GPS covers navigational moves in bed, lane assist and turn-by-turn pre-coital recommendations.
The most popular of the GPS gizmos, Naughty Routes, actually goes all the way, cutting down on getting lost or disoriented, even in rush hour traffic. If one loses his place in bed he can simply look up at the handy accessory screen for audio visual examples.
No more unresolved sexual energy. No more sexual wilderness. No more confusion as to high road or low. It’s all there in a handy, compact, concise presentation backed up by the highest technology known to man or woman. Suction cups, voice activated/drop-down units, are provided for the kinky on the more spendy systems.
Commands carry with them such crisp innuendo as Take Me Home, Drive Me To…, and Open the Champagne! Voice recognition allows participants some sense of security while coded mounting discourages identity theft on most models.
Negative side affects include the speeding of stupidity and the inability to apply logic, chronic blockage of brain waves, and the desire to make wooly sheep sounds.
The cost of the Lover’s GPS Series Operator’s Aid runs between $100 and $500 depending on a slew of accessories and power adaptors. Now you can enjoy pharmaceutical drugs, text and talk on your phone till you puke, never worrying about where you are at a particular time or junction. Turn left in 2.1 miles…Your destination is on the right.
Grandson is literary critic!
Initial response by month old Declan Martin Haley after reading his first San Juan Horseshoe penned by his grandfather. Baby literary critics, although often valid, should keep their opinions to themselves until at least kindergarden. (Kyle Haley photo)
Warning to visitors:
We don’t know how many times people are hit by falling trees in these mountains every summer: AVOID THE RISK OF FALLING TREES!
Fracking releases dangerous levels of THC
(Nebraska, OK — Baa Baa White Sheep — Sept 10, 2016)
Fracking for oil in this region threatens to upset fragile and ancient Tetrahydrocannabinol beds existing symbiotically with local oil shale. The “contaminated” layers of herbal plant life stretch for thousands of square miles below the surface of the earth. Despite the popularity of fracking, particular among mentally challenged, this potential release of THC has people around here scared to death.
The volatile THC beds have existed under Nebraska and Oklahoma as well as parts of Kansas, Wyoming and Utah for centuries. For decades many elected leaders have been aware of this rare, potentially explosive geological formation. Most prefer not to talk about it, leaving the condition buried under mounds of soil and minerals employed to build infrastructure, insulate lifestyles and grow crops without incident.
Extractions of cannabis have been used since BC by a host of progressive cultures for an assortment of maladies. Fracking was invented only recently to prop up the days-are-numbered, destructive fossil fuel culture which makes men rich at the expense of other men and Mother Earth.
“Whatever the corporate pirates are telling us is bullshit,” according to the North Dakota Journal of Medicine. “They convince the unlearned that everything is safe and that they will make money too if they simply turn their heads, go along and don’t make a fuss.
“All the THC in the sky and on earth is less harmful than the cancer producing remnants of this dangerous exploration procedure,” said Orem Schneller, spokesman for Legal Pot, a consumer education council with offices at border crossings into the Red State of Things. “Americans as usual are concerned about the wrong things. They are told marijuana is bad and tracking is harmless. Both are lies.”
Persons are risk include the righteous, the hateful and frightened. They ain’t coming for your guns fool. But they be com in’ for your Social Security! Americans need to wake up and dissolve sitting Congress.
Meanwhile politicians and clergy continue to warn constituencies as to the inherent dangers of smoking pot, as well as thinking for themselves.
With the THC deposits are buried the mummies of pagans, demons and probably witches according to spiritual and civic bosses here. At present no one has ventured a guess as to the complications that may arise from this clash of these two parallel, yet distinct ant hills.
Persons afraid of marijuana should not smoke it. Persons living in fracking areas should not think, breath or drink anything not fermented for at least 16 – 20 hours after minimal exposure to shifting sands.*
Despite these warnings Corporpot, Puff-Mart, THC Bell and McReefer’s are expected to begin packaging and selling cannabis by spring. A full fledged public relations campaign is in the works to convince people pot (like tobacco and alcohol) is safe. The move has been accelerated of late, especially in light of the recent non-aggression pact signed by AMA -NRA.
for more please see Bong Voyage Losers on Fractured Opinion
*If this faint and embalmed description of frightened humans includes you or a family member please send hair and saliva sample to Tar Sands Medical Unit #611, Myopic Plaza West, Suite 6, Border-of-Virtue, ND.
CREATION OF THE IRISH MADE EASY
“Small chins and all!”
Despite desperate genetic reshuffling and stodgy literary denial, it remains clear to the cultured that the Hibernians (Irish) have inordinately small chins. The Italians have big mustaches, the Africans have curly hair, the Incas have enlarged lungs and the Russians have large foreheads. Everybody looks in the mirror. Everyone goes on. This little story offers the real truth of the matter but does not attempt to tie small chins to large thirst.
The day that the Creator made the Irish was drizzling and a bit chilly. He had made the Italians and the Chinese the day before without incident, and sent them on their way. He had made the Brazilians and the Egyptians Tuesday while completing the Indians, the French and the Nigerians on Wednesday, or was it the other way around?
Sitting down at his favorite bench in his favorite chair, he closed the shop door so as not to be interrupted. This creation business was not to be taken lightly, even by the Creator himself.
After laying out the parts of the first Irishman on a clean piece of parchment paper he began. He took the torso and the legs and glued them together. Then he added the arms and the head. This was the easy part. The interior work would be more difficult since he had not paid attention during high school biology, preferring to meditate on the mysteries of the Universe and the curious fate of this obstacle of rock that he called Earth.
He carefully placed the kidneys and the liver, then oiled the knee and elbow joints and added hair in the appropriate spots. After several hours, the Irishman was coming together. His head was secure but he had yet to create a suitable face.
“I know I have plenty of blue eyes lying around,” he thought, and maybe a little more red in the hair, then some well-placed freckles. Yes! Freckles!
The Creator went to work without delay. Seven days was not a long time to create an entire world, especially when one was yet to have a work force to perform the heavy work. He placed the eyes and the forehead, the ears and the nose, the eyebrows and the cheekbones. Then he came to the lower part of the face—the jaw, the mouth and the chin.
Molding the jaw the Creator sat back and admired his art. This one was coming together quite nicely. In a matter of minutes, he would move on to the Spanish and the Polynesians. The he added the Irishman’s mouth with immediate repercussions.
“A fine day to you Holy Father!” said a tiny voice from the bench. “And you’re doing such lovely work here. I just thought I’d take this moment to thank ye for all of the fine creating you’ve been doing. Why we’d be nowhere without…”
“What?” whispered the Creator. “Someone is talking and I have yet to add the voice boxes or tongues!”
“An Irishman doesn’t need all those accessories to carry on a conversation,” said the voice now clearly traced to the unfinished Irishman on the workbench. From the land of saints and scholars it is. We have the gift of blarney. After all, your lordship gave that to us. Just throw a little stardust and I’ll be on my way.”
“All right. That’s enough bejabbering. There’s a lot more to creation than simple stardust. Keep you face still so I can finish the chin. I cannot complete your chin with your lips a flapping. Keep quiet and I’ll be done with you and send you on your way like the others.”
“I like your style. You have a distinct talent for creating people but why did you leave so much water on the planet? With the population on the rise one day land will be at a premium and not all that salt water will be needed. Had ye thought that one out Holy Father? You with the long white beard and the piercing eyes. Had you thought about all that salt water…
“Stove it Irishman! I will not have any more of your babble fouling up my workday. Now shut up or I’ll sew that trap closed!”
“Now you wouldn’t do such a thing would ye? How about I bring some nice cabbages by in the morning. The price is god this time of the year. No? My uncle Paddy sells fine horses. We could go for a look if you like. They’re worth every penny he’d be asking. Maybe you’ll be needing a mount like St. Paul or Joan of Arc? Paddy’s name is O’Neill if that means a thing to you.”
The Creator grabs for a round of thread, grabbing the Irishman by the neck.
“Wait! Wait!” said the Irishman. “Not the needle and thread! No! I can behave!”
“Well see that you do. I cannot get the chin in place when your mouth is moving. I am not interested in cabbages or horses this morning. I only want to move on to the Spanish and the Polynesians…”
“Fine peoples all of them. Clean people!”…
“Can it,” said the Creator eyeballing the thread. Don’t move. I almost have the chin in place.”
“…and they are a lot better than those leprechauns and pucas that ye built. No criticism implied your lordship, but those fairies need a good talking to, arrogant bastards. Maybe you could…”
“That settles it. I will be sewing your lips shut! Then I’ll put you on an island in the North Atlantic Ocean where you can’t bother anyone!””
No, please I’ll be quiet. I’ll be a quiet as a little mouse sitting on your bench. As quiet as a shamrock. As quiet as the ould sod itself. Real quiet. Don’t you think my ears are a bit large for the rest of me?”
“No more talking until I am done or I will skip the damn chin and send you off like you are with a big mouth and only a tiny chin. You will go down through the ages without the final piece. You deserve to go chinless with such a mouth on you.”
“…and so what if we go without chins? We have mouths, good teeth blue eyes and big ears. We have the gift of words. You have made us that way. Why punish us now for what you have done? By the by, when do you expect to get started making Guinness?
“That does it. Get off my workbench. You are finished as you are! Go ye forth into the great abyss CHINLESS!
“One last thing, sir…before I go I’d be wanting to talk to you about changing the venue, you know, the location of the Emerald Isle.”
“What’s the matter with the present locale? It may not look like much now but after the Druids and the Celts show up it should be a roaring good time.”
“Oh no it looks lovely to be sure. It’s just the proximity to England. Surely, they will be trouble there. We would prefer somewhere warmer like Corsica or Sardinia. Go ahead…Skip the chin and deliver us to the Mediterranean!”
– Kevin Haley, September 2, 2016
