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Absenteeism No Longer Tolerated in Congress

(Washington) Chronic Congressional absenteeism may finally be undressed with bold new restrictions and guidelines expected to impact the way our elected officials do business.

Despite the fact that these often privileged elite received swollen pensions and amplified health insurance for life we have far too many of these clowns playing hooky. Where are they? Do their constituencies know what they do all day?

Starting in January all Congressmen absent without a legitimate excuse (very amicable at press time) will receive three whacks on the posterior with a hickory cane once thought to be the property of Andrew Jackson. Further malingering will result in senators and representatives forcibly inhabiting small rooms (cells) with the very people with which they disagree.

A third digression could result in deportation and a loss of all lucrative benefits granted to the nation’s “leaders”. 

“Many of the more vocal mouthpieces are too busy grandstanding and spewing hate to show up for work,” said a veteran newsman who covers the governing body. 

“If that was your average worker he would be fired and would have to start over without anything to fall back on,” he continued. “The rich make the rules.”

A new poll conducted by strongly suggests a growing resentment within the electorate. Some 72% of Americans say the system is broken while another 20% favor a work/legislate program that has worked well in Latvia and Taiwan.

“Imagine a world without politicians,” he laughed.

-Fred Zeppelin

In Oregon voters approved a change to the state Constitution that will disqualify lawmakers from re-election if they have 10 unexcused absences from legislative sessions, The Associated Press reported. Republicans had in recent years walked out of the Legislature to prevent the Democratic majority from advancing key bills.   

Dump Trump Not Ukraine

Meanwhile many Republicans are insisting we betray Ukraine due to the bottom line. These soulless zombies don’t deserve to be on the same planet with the exemplary Ukrainians. 

 The US screwed the Kurds, abandoned the Vietnamese, conducted a “war on drugs” that has resulted in millions of  peasants living in urban poverty, kissed Saudi ass, created an even more volatile Somalia and continue to crucify Cuba. When will we show some integrity? 

The Ukrainians are fighting our fight against totalitarianism. They re fighting for real freedom not just the word. This freedom is not the kind one finds plastered on idiot campaign signs. Most of the pampered politicians on both sides of the aisle would not know this.

It is blood and guts freedom. Willing to die freedom. If we abandon Ukraine we abandon faith, hope and future. These plastic, magic Christian GOP devils in our midst the will then inch that much closer to stealing our republic.

“Royals are Irrelevant – The King is a Bozo.”   Finn McCool

“The Royals are irrelevant.”  – Yogi Berra, Hall-of-Fame baseball great.

Christmas Eve On Lonesome

It was Christmas Eve on Lonesome. But nobody on Lonesome knew that it was Christmas Eve, although a child of the outer world could have guessed it, even out in those wilds where Lonesome slipped from one lone log cabin high up the steeps, down through a stretch of jungled darkness to another lone cabin at the mouth of the stream.

There was the holy hush in the gray twilight that comes only on Christmas Eve. There were the big flakes of snow that fell as they never fall except on Christmas Eve. There was a snowy man on horseback in a big coat, and with saddlepockets that might have been bursting with toys for children in the little cabin at the head of the stream.

But not even he knew that it was Christmas Eve. He was thinking of Christmas Eve, but it was of the Christmas Eve of the year before, when he sat in prison with a hundred other men in stripes, and listened to the chaplain talk of peace and good will to all men upon earth, when he had forgotten all men upon earth but one, and had only hatred in his heart for him.

“Vengeance is mine! saith the Lord.”

That was what the chaplain had thundered at him. And then, as now, he thought of the enemy who had betrayed him to the law, and had sworn away liberty, and had robbed him of everything in life except a fierce longing for the day when he could strike back and strike to kill. And then, while he looked back hard into the chaplain’s eyes, and now, while he splashed through the yellow mud thinking of that Christmas Eve, Buck shook his head; and then, as now, his sullen heart answered:

“Mine!” The big flakes drifted to crotch and twig and limb. They gathered on he brim of Buck’s slouch hat, filled out the wrinkles in his big coat, whitened and his long mustache, and sifted into the yellow, twisting path that guided his horse’s feet.

High above he could see through the whirling snow now and then the gleam of a red star. He knew it was the light from his enemy’s window;  but somehow the chaplain’s voice kept ringing in his ears, and every time he saw the light he couldn’t help thinking of the story of the Star that the chaplain told that Christmas Eve, and he dropped his eyes by and by, so as not to see it again, and rode on until the light shone in his face.

Then he led his horse up a little ravine and hitched it among the snowy holly and rhododendrons and slipped toward the light. here was a dog somewhere, of course; and like a thief he climbed over the low rail fence and stole through the snow-wet grass until he leaned against an apple-tree with the sill of the window two feet above the level of his eyes.

Reaching above him, he caught a stout limb and dragged himself up to a crotch of the tree. A mass of snow slipped softly to the earth. The branch creaked above the light wind; around the corner of the house a dog growled and he sat still.

He had waited three long years and he had ridden two hard nights and lain out two cold days in the woods for this.

And presently he reached out very carefully, and noiselessly broke leaf and branch and twig until a passage was cleared for his eye and for the point of the pistol that was gripped in his right hand.

A woman was just disappearing through the kitchen door, and he peered cautiously and saw nothing but darting shadows. From one corner a shadow loomed suddenly out in human shape. Buck saw the shadowed gesture of an arm, and he cocked his pistol. That shadow was his man, and in a moment he would be in a chair in the chimney corner to smoke his pipe, maybe – his last pipe.

Buck smiled – pure hatred made him smile – but it was mean, a mean and sorry thing to shoot this man in the back, dog though he was; and now that the moment had come a wave of sickening shame ran through Buck. No one of his name had ever done that before; but this man and his people had, and with their own lips they had framed palliation for him. What was fair for one was fair for the other they always said. A poor man couldn’t fight money in the courts; and so they had shot from the brush, and that was why they were rich now and Buck was poor – why his enemy was safe at home, and he was out here, homeless, in the apple-tree.

Buck thought of all this, but it was no use. The shadow slouched suddenly and disappeared; and Buck was glad. With a gritting oath between his chattering teeth he pulled his pistol in and thrust one leg down to swing from the tree – he would meet him face to face next day and kill him like a man – and there he hung as rigid as though the cold had suddenly turned him, blood, bones, and marrow, into ice.

The door had opened, and full in the firelight stood the girl who he had heard was dead. He knew now how and why that word was sent to him. And now she who had been his sweetheart stood before him – the wife of the man he  meant to kill.

Her lips moved – he thought he could tell what she said: “GI up, Jim it up!” Then she went back.

A flame flared up within him now that must have come straight from the devil’s forge. Again the shadows played over the ceiling. His teeth grated as he cocked his pistol, and pointed it down the beam of light that show into the heart of the apple-tree, and wailed.

The shadow of a head shot along the rafters and over the fireplace. It was a madman clutching the butt of the pistol now, and as his eye caught the glinting sight and his heart thumped, there stepped into the square light of the window – a child!

It was a boy with yellow tumbled hair, and he had a puppy in his arms. In front of the fire the little fellow dropped the dog, and they began to play.

“Yap! Yap! Yap!”

Buck could hear the shrill barking of the fat little dog, and the joyous shrieks of the child as he made his playfellow chase his tail round and round or tumbled him head over heels on the floor. It was the first child Buck had seen for three years; it was his child and hears; and, in the apple-tree, Buck watched fixedly.

They were down on the floor now, rolling over and over together; and he watched them until the child grew tired and turned his face to the fire and lay still – looking into it. Buck could see his eyes close presently, and then the puppy crept closer, put his head on his playmate’s chest, and the two lay thus asleep.

And still Buck looked – his clasp loosening on his pistol and his lips loosening under his stiff mustache – and kept looking until the door opened again and the woman crossed the floor. A flood of light flashed suddenly on the snow, barely touching the snow-hung tips of the apple-tree, and he saw her in the doorway – saw her look anxiously into the darkness – look and listen a long while.

Buck dropped noiselessly to the snow when she closed the door. He wondered what they would think when they saw his tracks in the snow the next morning; and then he realized that they would be covered before the morning.

As he started up the ravine where his horse was he heard the clink of metal down the road and the splash of a horse’s hoofs in the soft mud, and he sank down behind a holly-bush.

Again the light from the cabin flashed out on the snow.

“That you, Jim?”


And then the child’s voice: “Has oo dot thum tandy?”


The cheery answer rang out almost at Buck’s ear, and Jim passed death waiting for him behind the bush which was left foot brushed, shaking the snow from the red berries down on the crouching figure beneath.

Once only, far down the dark jungled way, with underlying streak of yellow that was leading him wither, God only knew – once only Buck looked back. There was the red light gleaming faintly through the moonlit flakes of snow. Once more he thought of the Star, and once more the chaplain’s voice came back to him.

“Mine!” said the Lord.

Just how, Buck could not see, with himself in the snow and him back there for life with her and the child, but some strange impulse made him bare his head.

“Yourn,” said Buck grimly.

But nobody on Lonesome – not even Buck – knew that it was Christmas Eve.

Copyright 1901

by Charles Scribner’s Sons

Ouray Poodle Ranch Under Investigation

(Dexter Creek) Since the 50s tourists visiting this lovely spot have been relying on the Poodle Ranch for far more than dog sitting. The canine spa and club has been a godsend for weary travelers, an effective time-out for hyperactive pets and a virtual institution in the valley, enlisting up to 50 full time therapists in the heat of the summer.

       Now the state and federal authorities have shut her down, citing improprieties regarding daily treatment of clientele. Further charges, alleging license violations, the employment of questionable behavior modification techniques and general exploitation, leaning heavily on the punitive approach to house breaking and table manners, have been filed.

     “We really stepped in it this time,” said one investigating officer from Denver. “In all my years on canine patrol I’ve never seen anything quite so bizarre.”

     Heavily armed state and federal officials continue to surround the compound in hopes of securing an indictment. Samples of everything from fur to claw marks has been collected and sent to the lab for examination.

     “If the heat comes down we expect it to involve everyone here from the director down to the shovel corps,” continued the officer. “We are in the process of gathering doggie DNA since the alleged victims of this outrage (despite what owners will tell you) cannot speak.”

     According to a preliminary release a “favors for kibble ring” has also been exposed and, although details are sketchy at press time, it may involve dog handlers, obedience school administrators, even veterinarians all the way to Delta.

     “This whole thing has gotten out of hand,” said Efram Pennywhistle, Director of the Poodle Ranch. “We haven’t done anything wrong. We love our fuzzy customers. Occasionally we have to come down on a yapping Yorkie or isolate a bothersome Pekinese but the dogs usually respond quickly. Just like children they are comfortable with parameters. Many don’t have that kind of relationship with their owners who often tolerate this bad behavior.”

     Pennywhistle went on to explain that the Poodle Ranch often hosts up to 100 toy dogs during the height of tourist season and that strong measures are called for simply to keep order.

     “We don’t even tie them up unless they want it,” he smiled. “Our methods do not withhold meals, walks, or socialization with others within the population,” he added. “Sure, we have time out/solitary confinement but it’s not like in those prison movies. Misbehavior simply nets no scraps with dinner.”

     Defending the facility were several longtime customers who say they will have to leave their charges in the car or on leashes during certain episodes of their summer vacations.

     “My little Poo Poo barks incessantly when I tie him up. It bothers the neighbors,” said Evelyn Marmotbreath of Oklahoma City.

     “Puff’s behavior improves every time I bring him to the Poodle Ranch,” said Merv Ditchwater of Aurora. “I can hardly keep him still when I mention the place.”

     Despite the inquiry Pennywhistle continues to oversee the construction of a larger complex just east of the Poodle Ranch. The barns and corrals suggest occupancy by far larger animals.

     “It’s not a zoo that we’re building here but rather an infrastructure for a working dog dude ranch,” he said. “We’ve decided to expand into this new market where larger dogs like German Shepherds and Border Collies can experience a real workday. We will accept an occasional wannabe lab or a Malamute if they have their paperwork in order.”

     Dog owners visiting Ouray are asked to be patient and police have promised a quick and thorough probe. For the time being an emergency doggie day care has been set up in the news room of the San Juan Horseshoe.    – Uncle Pahgre 


US to bomb own infrastructure

(Warshington) The United States Air Force announced today that it would be diversifying its bombing routines. In a drastic departure from policies in effect since the First World War the U.S. military will begin bombing its own bridges, airports and interstate highways.

     “We have decided to attack our own infrastructure instead of spending all that money on jet fuel to deliver a blow in another part of the world,” said General Worthington Bulbous, a Pentagon attachment. “The results are quite the same.”

     Military analysts conclude that spending money on war instead of peace is mad medicine. They say that the U.S. could save millions by pulling in its horns and dropping its payloads on California and Michigan instead of Syria and Pakistan.

     “We see arms salesmen from our own country making immoral profits on death and destruction yet nobody makes a stink,” said activist Hershelle Martini, of Make Breakfast Not War. “What these humanoids do in our name is deplorable. The country is falling by the wayside while these people fill their pockets. Our children are canon fodder. I’d like to listen to the eager hawks when they are homeless or worse.”

     It was not clear if targets would be limited only to structures already in need of repair or if it would be expanded to include functioning facilities.

     “Right now schools and hospitals are off limits,” said Bulbous, “but we all know about those silly clones. Some seem to have a mind of their own,” he said. This is simply a policy readjustment and is nothing to be concerned about at this time.”

     Bulbous went on to say that the results of intensified bombing have never been established, yet with diverted expenditures for bombs and airplanes our infrastructure is falling apart.

     “It’s a wash,” he explained. “We’d be just as far ahead dropping bombs here at home. It’s just a simple shift in logistics.”

     When asked if the operation could be completed without further budget increases the general said, “It’s as easy as dumping Syrian chemical weapons into the sea.” – Fred Zeppelin

Survivalists Like Elkton

(Crested Butte) A survivalist group has named the community of Elkton to its list of the Top Ten Most Liveable Towns in America according to Assault Life, a cult publication out of Northern Idaho. Elkton was named due to its pleasant climate, its ethnic makeup, accessibility in the winter, and proximity to a major third world ski area.

Towns do not qualify for this honor because they support any one group over another or because they have expressed a fondness for any one political or social orientation. They are so listed because of their envisioned potential for riding out a military crisis. The storage of food and weapons as well as the privacy to conduct the business of defense were also major considerations in the voting.

The group calling itself The Lighter Shade of Pale Brotherhood ranked Elkton, located some seven miles north of here up Washington Gulch as number three on its annual register. Beating out Elkton were Deadhorse, Alaska (first) and Ouelette, Maine (second). Other communities receiving recognition in the top five were Grand Isle, Louisiana; Rexford, Montana and Orkney, Saskatchewan as the Pale Brotherhood membership leaves something to be desired in the fields of math and geography.

– Margot Rotweiller

“Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats.”       – H.L. Mencken

The only gas between Montrose and Gunnison

The only gas between Montrose and Gunnison

Newberry’s has been located at the bottom of Cerro Summit since 1940 and has no plans to change that status. If you’re looking for groceries, rocks or cold drinks stop in!