All Entries in the "Soft News" Category
Bake sale to preserve our traditions
(Montrose) A gala bake sale to save our traditions is slated for May 28 at Lion’s Park. Attending the gathering will be Martha Stewart, James Brown, Hugo Chavez, Miss Snow Princess 2005, Governor Bill Owens, and Senor Pepino, the Sage of Carnival. It is not clear whether the new Pope will make it in time as he has a flat tire on his throne. A replica of the Montrose Wal-Mart will be set ablaze along with several captured developers from Telluride. The sale runs from 8 am to 4 pm. A slide show follows. Look for us on the web at www.goatropersneedlovetoo.com
Anchor found at bottom of Irwin
(Crested Butte) A long forgotten television news anchor has been salvaged from the bottom of Lake Irwin this morning according to local police divers. The discovery, which interrupted a national ice fishing competition for three hours, brought throngs of interested onlookers from as far away as Lake City.
A phony smile plastered to the anchor’s face provided some comic relief in what was otherwise a solemn, chilling scene.
Although no positive identification has been made, authorities are quite sure the anchor is the infamous Theodore Head, who had been missing from Denver’s KBOP-TV since 1999. Although he did not survive the incident, his hair was still perfectly in place at the time of the recovery.
Head disappeared moments before 2022 after predicting that the world would end before the late news that evening.
Link: And like Maurice Hearne so eloquently explains in Night Boat to Tangiers it was “as though he was laid out for the deadhouse.” (mortuary)
CB, Gunnison and Almont among best towns in county
(Gunnison) Crested Butte, Gunnison and Almont were among the top places to live in Gunnison County, a survey by the Reluctant Economist Review has found. The Boulder-based fiscal watchdog ranked 15 locales in terms of personal risk, infrastructure and the availability of goods and services.
The worse places were Pittsburgh, Baldwin and Jack’s Cabin where many aspects of daily life present challenges such as staying warm in winter and providing food. Since none of the above have detectable infrastructure, they took a beating in the scoring.
These locales are charming but they don’t cut it over the 365-day cycle,” said the RER. “There are no stores, no police and no real government in place to help these people. If a resident gets his car stuck in a snowdrift in December he might have to wait until April to dig it out.”
Sapinero, Powderhorn and Pitkin fell in the middle range due to the presence of skeletal services and distance from main population centers.
Icy roads, the presence of deer and elk on the highways and location in remote regions worked against these towns causing them to finish poorly in the survey according to the review.
The county’s three main population centers scored well partially because, even though they are in the United States in name, they are off the grid and are not considered targets for terror and are virtually unpolluted. In addition to ranking high in the Gunnison County survey, they matched up well with other rural towns across the country despite climate-related issues, high prices and an economy based on tourism, cows and real estate.
No location manages to present ideal living conditions but these three are close, especially if one factors in daily stress, traffic and the outdoor lifestyle. The review fell short of equating the dog population with happiness and the air quality with general life expectancy.
“There is no place better to live than anywhere in Gunnison County in the summer,” said the review, “although technically, that may only last for 6 days.”
– Fred Zeppelin
Tourists Warned of Blood-Thirsty Wildlife
(Crested Butte) While the bright lights sparkle in the snow of another day in another paradise, tourists are warned that just outside the resort perimeter hungry creatures lurk. One only has to venture forth, more than an inch but less than a mile, from this fortified perimeter to realize that wild animals, not humans, control the night.
Yes, while a false sense of security permeates the daylight hours, at dusk predators jockey for position on the food chain. Hungry cats, groggy bear and an occasional moose wait in ambush for the hapless straggler, the meandering drunkard, the inattentive cross-country skier returning from a day’s jaunt.
“It may look calm, collected,” said one local police deputy, “but it’s a wilderness out there. Even though there are a lot of us we can’t be everywhere at once, especially in the back country. They don’t put it in the tourist brochures, but we cannot guarantee the safety of our visitors anywhere outside the town limits after dark.”
Area of major concern through May
At mid-winter authorities say they control Gothic Road, most of the Bench and about three miles up Kebler. In addition tourists are relatively safe from town to Riverbend and Peanut Lake but beyond those markers it’s risky. Wolves, Bengal tigers, woolly mammoths and even an elusive Sasquatch are on the prowl after dark, looking for dinner, or perhaps just a good time at a tourist’s expense.
“Again, we suggest that visitors limit their outdoor experience to the slopes and stay within the gridlock when the sun goes down,” said the deputy, who worked at a Dallas zoom before joining the local police farce.
Local developers, many of whom are working around the clock to expand the sanctuaries of Homo Sapiens, contend that man is making strides in his attempts to take back the wilderness but that it all takes time.
“We are constantly confronted with the element that believes that wild carnivores have a place in the action,” said Alfredo Bastante, a spokesman for the fledgling Crested Butte-Aspen Tunnel Coalition. “Once we begin drilling under Pearl Pass we’ll give wild animals a run for their money.”
The tunnel, not yet approved by officials from Gunnison and Pitkin Counties, would allow speedy travel from the two ski towns and give Crested Butte the much desired access to I-70 while opening up trade routes for Aspen as well as the Crystal River Valley.
– Pepper Salte
Cowboys and Cows: A Frightening Co-Dependency
with Dr. Carl Menudo BFD, LBJ, ASAP, LSMFT
The last cowpuncher I that visited my couch told me about his dreams where all the cows had disappeared. This poor bastard, who had worked as a wrangler all of his life often woke up in a cold sweat with the shakes. It was only after he peeked out of the bunkhouse window at the massive herd of Herefords outside, that he stopped moaning. Tough way to go. I prescribed a handful of barbiturates.
More and more we are finding that as society sidesteps nurturing personal relationships, these kinds of fear-fed dependencies are on the upswing. Little old ladies love their cats because they are the only ones around. Where are their worthless off-spring? They were always around for a hand-out before. Now they can’t get off work for a visit or their car broke down. Excuses. The list goes on. Little boys have pet snakes, little girls like fuzzy rabbits. Old men like their cigars. Sick.
Getting back to the cowpuncher’s problems we find that he is also neurotically attached to his hat. It’s the same hat he’s worn since 1963. First, does he know why the bandanna is a necessary part of the outfit on the range? Although we stop short of suggesting a business suit, we feel he would come a long way to drop the costume and wear a pair of bibs to work, or god-help-us, maybe a pair of shorts on a hot day. (Co-workers might be forced to don sunglasses to protect their eyes from the brightness of cowpuncher legs, unaccustomed to even the hint of sunlight ).
cowboy with a cow
The cows won’t notice and he might gain a certain sense of independence. It’s a damn good thing his boots wear out after a while or we’d have this fashion dependency to deal with as well.
Secondly, we prescribe a break from his regular diet of boiled potatoes and overcooked beef. Sure the plains Indians had a close relationship with the buffalo but they didn’t eat them. The buffalo never wore feathers either. Instead the Native Americans preferred rabbit, horse and fish dishes, especially bivalve mollusks like cockles and muscles. On the weekends they ate cod followed by a fine cigar. On holy days and times of sacrifice the existed only on fish strips and catfish made in Dutch ovens, stolen from the Indian Agency. But I’m getting away from our subject area…
Let’s not pretend to blame this whole mess on the cowboys.
Shall we wander out into the pasture and see what’s going down with the herd. Not too motivated for sure. They just stand around waiting for a cowperson to feed them or drive them somewhere. Branding is traumatic but they get over it. The burning off of horns and castration can’t be much fun but they survive. Freezing temperatures, high winds, the deaths of friends and relatives…they remain vigilant.
Why the cows can’t go out on their own and why the cowboy has become so attached to the herd, the way of life, is OK for a while but both must plan for the day when separation anxiety reaches its zenith. What if the cowboy has to buy a steak at the grocery and the cows are watching? What if the cows tried to fend for themselves without cowhide? Maybe everyone would benefit.
But today we watch helplessly as many of both species blend into one co-dependent unit unable to distinguish between working together and the chains of obsessive reliance.
Fables for our Time
The Owl Who Was God
Once upon a starless midnight there was an owl who sat on the branch of an oak tree. Two ground moles tried to slip quietly by, unnoticed. “You!” said the owl. “who?” they quavered, in fear an astonishment, for they could not believe it was possible for anyone to see them in that thick darkness. “You two!” said the owl. The moles hurried away and told the other creatures of the field and forest that the owl was the greatest and wisest of all animals because he could see in the dark and because he could answer any question. “I’ll see about that,” said a secretary bird, and he called on the owl one night when it was again very dark. “How many claws am I holding up?” said the secretary bird. “Two,” said the owl. “Why does a lover call on his love?” asked the secretary bird. “To woo,” said the owl.
The secretary bird hastened back to the other creatures and reported that the owl was indeed the greatest and wisest animal in the world because he could see in the dark and because he could answer any question. “Can he see in the daytime, too?” asked a red fox. “Yes,” echoed a dormouse and a French poodle. “Can he see in the daytime, too?” All the other creatures laughed loudly at this silly question, and they set upon the red fox and his friends and drove them out of the region. Then they sent a messenger to the owl and asked him to be their leader.
When the owl appeared among the animals it was high noon and the sun was shining brightly. He walked very slowly, which gave him an appearance of great dignity, and he peered about him with large, staring eyes, which gave him an air of tremendous importance. “He’s God!” screamed a Plymouth Rock hen. And the others took up the cry “He’s God!” So they followed him wherever he went and when he began to bump into things they began to bump into things, too. Finally he came to a concrete highway and he started up the middle of it and all the other creatures followed him. Presently a hawk, who was acting as outrider, observed a truck coming toward them at fifty miles an hour, and he reported to the secretary bird and the secretary bird reported to the owl. “There’s danger ahead,” said the secretary bird. “To wit?” said the owl. calmly, for he could not see the truck. “He’s God!” cried all the creatures again, and they were still crying “He’s God!” when the truck hit them and ran them down. Some of the animals were merely injured, but most of them, including the owl, were killed.
Moral: You can fool too many of the people too much of the time.
The Shrike and the Chipmunks
Once upon a time there were two chipmunks, a male and a female. The male chipmunk thought that arranging nuts in artistic patterns was more fun than just piling them up to see how many you could pile up. The female was all for piling up as many as you could. She told her husband that if he gave up making designs with the nuts there would be room in their large cave for a great many more and he would soon become the wealthiest chipmunk in the woods. But he would soon become the wealthiest chipmunk in the woods. But he would not let her interfere with his designs, so she flew into a rage and left him. “The shrike will get you,” she said, “because you are helpless and cannot look after yourself.” To be sure, the female chipmunk had not been gone three nights before the male had to dress for a banquet and could not find his studs or shirt or suspenders. So he couldn’t go to the banquet, but that was just as well, because all the chipmunks who did go were attacked and killed by a weasel.
The next day the shrike began hanging around outside the chipmunk’s cave, waiting to catch him. The shrike couldn’t get in because the doorway was clogged up with soiled laundry and dirty dishes. “He will come out for a walk after breakfast and I will get him then,” thought the shrike. But the chipmunk slept all day and did not get up and have breakfast until after dark. Then he came out for a breath of air before beginning work on a new design. The shrike swooped down to snatch up the chipmunk, but could not see very well on account of the dark, so he batted his head against an alder branch and was killed.
A few days later the female chipmunk returned and saw the awful mess the house was in. She went to the bed and shook her husband. “What would you do without me?” she demanded. “Just go on living, I guess,” he said. “You wouldn’t last five days,” she told him. She swept the house and did the dishes and sent out the laundry, and then she made the chipmunk get up and wash and dress. “You can’t be healthy if you lie in bed all day and never get any exercise,” she told him. So she took him for a walk in the bright sunlight and they were both caught and killed by the shrike’s brother, a shrike named Stoop.
Moral: Early to rise and early to bed makes a male healthy and wealthy and dead.
The Moth and the Star
A young impressionable moth once set his heart on a certain star. He told his mother about this and she counseled him to set his heart on a bridge lamp instead. “Stars aren’t the thing to hang around,” she said; “lamps are the thing to hang around.” “You don’t get anywhere chasing stars.” But the moth would not heed the words of either parent. Every evening at dusk when the star came out he would start flying toward it and every morning at dawn he would crawl back home worn out with his vain endeavor. One day his father said to him, “You haven’t burned a wing in months, boy, and it looks to me as if you were never going to. All your brothers have been badly burned flying around street lamps and all your sisters have been terribly signed flying around house lamps. Come on, now, get out of here and get yourself scorched! A big strapping moth like you without a mark on him!”
The moth left his father’s house, but he would not fly around street lamps and he would not fly around house lamps. He went right on trying to reach the star, which was four and one-third light years, or twenty-five trillion miles, away. The moth thought it was just caught in the top branches of an elm. He never did reach the star, but he went right on trying, night after night, and when he was a very, very old moth he began to think that he really had reached the star and he went around saying so. This gave him a deep and lasting pleasure, and he lived to great old age. His parents and his brothers and his sisters had all been burned to death when they were quite young.
Moral: Who flies afar from the sphere of our sorrow is here today and here tomorrow.
The Unicorn in the Garden
Once upon a sunny morning a man who sat in a breakfast nook looked up from his scrambled eggs to see a white unicorn with a golden horn quietly cropping roses in the garden. The man went up to the bedroom where his wife was still asleep and woke her. “There’s a unicorn in the garden,” he said. “Eating roses.” She opened one unfriendly eye and looked at him. “The unicorn is a mythical beast,” she said, and turned her back on him. The man walked slowly downstairs and out into the garden. The unicorn was still there; he was now browsing among the tulips. “Here, unicorn,” said the man, and he pulled up a lily and gave it to him. The unicorn ate it gravely. With a high heart, because there was a unicorn in his garden, the man went upstairs and roused his wife again. “The unicorn ate a lily,” he said. His wife sat up in bed and looked at him coldly. “You are a booby,” she said, “and I am going to have you put in the booby hatch.” The man, who had never liked the words “booby” and “booby hatch,” and who liked them even less on a shining morning when there was a unicorn in the garden, thought for a moment. “We’ll see about that,” he said. He walked over to the door. “He has a golden horn in the middle of his forehead,” he told her. Then he went back to the garden to watch the unicorn, but the unicorn had gone away. The man sat down among the roses and went to sleep.
As soon as the husband had gone out of the house, the wife got up and dressed as fast as she could. She was very excited and there was a gloat in her eye. She telephoned the police and she telephoned a psychiatrist; she told them to hurry to her house and bring a strait jacket. When the police and the psychiatrist arrived, they sat down in chairs and looked at her with great interest. “My husband,” she said, “saw a unicorn this morning.” The police looked at the psychiatrist and the psychiatrist looked at the police and the police looked at the psychiatrist. “He told me it had a golden horn in the middle of its forehead,” she said. At a solemn signal from the psychiatrist, the police leaped from their chairs and seized the wife. They had a hard time subduing her, for she put up a terrific struggle, but they finally subdued her. Just as they got her into the strait jacket, her husband came back into the house. “Did you tell your wife you saw a unicorn?” asked the psychiatrist. “Of course not,” said the husband. “The unicorn is a mythical beast.” “That’s all I wanted to know,” said the psychiatrist. “Take her away. I’m sorry, sir, but your wife is as crazy as a jay bird.” So they took her away, cursing and screaming, and shut her up in an institution. The husband lived happily ever after.
Moral: Don’t count your boobies until they are hatched.
