All Entries in the "Soft News" Category

REINDEER NOT ALWAYS HAPPY ON YULE

It has long been a human trait to take for granted that, although the wheels have long since fallen off our own wagons, everyone else is doing just fine. If you are a reindeer at Christmas, it’s all but a given that things are looking up. Surely, as one of Santa’s anointed eight, the laborious joys of the solstice would establish peace and harmony. Maybe not. Let’s eavesdrop on a little soul searching, compliments of Blitzen, a veteran point man in Santa’s annual entourage. Nobody knows the trouble he’s seen. Here’s Blitzen:

     Damn. Another cold night out here fooling with these reins. I wish the fat boy would spring for new tack this Christmas but he’ll probably settle for carrots and green apples like last year. Where in all of creation did he read that reindeer like that sort of thing. What we need out there in the dark is a cup of rum and eggnog. Where’s Donner? She was supposed to be back from the hardware store an hour ago.

     Legend tells it that we beasts of burden are happy pursuing a life of service to this obsessed elf in a red suit. That’s history for you. The winners write it down and the losers suffer from cold feet. I’m so tired of little kids with dreamy eyes waiting by the chimney while we’re up on the roof freezing, our hooves slipping. How many people still use fireplaces? Don’t they know wood smoke pollutes the ozone? Why can’t they hold Christmas in July like all those greedy furniture stores?

     If I hear that carol one more time I’m gonna puke. Can’t someone play something a little more progressive. Hell, I’ll even take Elvis or Brenda Lee over this syrupy saga that Santa pumps out over the loud speakers. Maybe he’d lighten up if we could get the internet at the North Pole. WiFi rarely works in the snow.  I think they can’t make any money up here what with polar bears, codfish and crazy elves with those pointy red noses.

     And speaking or red noses the old lady, Mrs. Claus, has been flown down to Canada for another round of rehab. I can’t blame the woman for hitting the bottle. You try living with a benevolent elf that can’t afford a second suit of clothes but insists on giving away the farm every December 24. I don’t mean to be bitter but everyone has his limit.

     And then there’s the favorite son, Rudolph. Before some flatlander came up with the song, you know, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, there was parity, solidarity in this job. Now we have the privileged one and a host of extras. It’s not like we’re in it for the notoriety, or that most of us care. We just want to finish our jobs and get back down to Greenland for winter carnival. It’s tough enough to find a suitable mate in the Arctic but try it up here where we’re up to our butts in blizzards and sleigh bells.

     He hates to be called Rudy. Rudy…Rudy…more Rudy. Hey, you don’t sign my pay check, you pompous flit. Where did you get that red nose from anyway? At least Mrs. Claus drinks out in the open.

     After all these years I’m still fifth man on a string of idiots. When I first started this gig I figured I’d be into management by now. In fact I was promised a promotion following the Christmas of ’02, or was it ’04? The years all blend together when you’re working on the chain gang here in the Great North. Maybe this year Prancer and Cupid will brush their teeth before we go out on our journey. Maybe Dasher will bring a map and Vixen will wear those  naughty red tights again. I still think Dancer swiped my flask somewhere over Scotland iback in 2024.

     Sure, we could have joined the herd union but then we’d have to go to all those smoky meetings with burned-out antelopes, arrogant zebras and yoked oxen. I’d rather sit through one of the fat boy’s sermons. At least he provides health insurance. Oh, here comes Donner, back from the hardware store. I hope she got the right…what? A package in gold with red ribbon? Under the tree in the stable? My name on it? Who…are you pulling my leg. If you are I’ll…we all got presents?

     I’ll bet it’s a new collar, or some dry boots or maybe some decoration for my antlers. And a present from Comet? Another from Prancer? A card from Vixen? They shouldn’t have. I thought we agreed not to buy presents anymore. I thought I’d been forgotten.

     Even Donner got a pile of presents and she’s only been with us for a little over a century. Christmas morning will be quite the festive occasion this year but I’d better get busy. Maybe I’ll buy us all Christmas dinner or a spring trip to Antarctica for the penguin races. Maybe I’d better go to town. I know what all the reindeer want. I’ve heard them talking and it is far better to give than receive but combined the action is dynamite. Dasher wants a basketball and Cupid a cell phone. I’ll get Santa new underwear and Donner a nightcap. And, speaking of nightcaps I know what I’ll buy Mrs. Claus too. What the hell she deserves to make merry before another seasonal  brush with temperance. Hospitals can be so dreary in January. It’s only a few days away. I love this time of the year.

Snoring Elk Relocated

(Galt’s Gulch — Bull Moose Gazette)

Several hundred elk have been removed from the southern fringe of North Carne Canyon in Edith Bunker National Forest today. The animals will have a new home in Gladstone.

Since last summer campers have complained that the elk’s chronic snoring has kept them up at night. Many have already broken camp and moved to more civilized spots up Jackass Flats and along Valentine’s Ridge at the Old Maid Mine.

“Money talks. Nobody snores,” said one federal biologist who has yet to be fired by the current administration.

“We sent special agents up into the contested region and they could not sleep either,” said Max Poltroon, of the DOW task force. This here’s a Code Three. Some of these elk need to have their tonsils removed but just try to get a plumber on Sunday, heh?” 

Poltroon said it was a shame that the entire herd had to be inconvenienced by a few bad apples. Elk are special here. They are protected. Other bothersome species often face deportation if it is determined that they are incompetent or in need of constant supervision.

“Running an outfit like the DOW is no walk the park,” he nodded.

– Simian Tilte

Diplomat Forced to Cook Turkey

(Hodeida UPS) Recently kidnapped and then released U.S. diplomat, Haynes Mahoney, was allegedly abducted solely to cook a traditional Thanksgiving dinner for Yemeni tribesman according to a State Department release. Although certain items were scarce in the remote desert region, Mahoney, drawing heavily on culinary training absorbed in Soggy Bottom, managed to provide his hungry captors with turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce and a delightful marshmallow-yam concoction.

     After dinner they drove him back to his hotel, set him free and hurried back to an undisclosed oasis to enjoy several pumpkin pies baked by Mahoney in a dutch oven that morning.

     “What we’re dealing with here is a band of Islamic fundamentalists who would never consider going out for dinner on such a day,” said government spokesman, Perewinkle R. Parvenu. “We’re just relieved that our associate is safe.”

     It was not clear at press time whether the United States would reciprocate by bombing Yemen or inviting the tribesmen over for Christmas dinner.

-Merv Ditchwater

Banks Militant About Going Green

(Manana) Leading local banks have joined the green jousting at a traveling circus pace. Over the past 35 years the nod toward a more environmentally conscious marketplace has gained measured momentum, defining how daily commerce is conducted. Financial concerns were early responders when it came to projecting goals and setting realistic parameters for a symbiotic exchange with the natural order.

“We didn’t really want to engage in window dressing when it comes to the politically correct,” said Abner Bond, president of Eco Green National Bank. “There is a direct link between the type of customers we want and the way we treat the world round us.”

This emerging sensitivity has the earmarks of a grand competition. These days it is not enough to recycle everything and upgrade to alternative energy methods. Now the banks spend plenty of time and money to convince their customers that they are the good guys when it comes to the natural walk and talk. This shift has become a crucial part of image and reputation, not to mention credibility.

Whether the sincerity meter goes up or down, even the stodgiest are all in on protecting the environment. Eco Green announced today that it would offer solar-powered safety deposit boxes before the end of the year while Pachamama Savings and Loan will no longer embrace fossil fuels in daily transactions.

“It’s just friendly scrimmage,” said a high-ranking teller at All Saints Credit Union. “We are simply much more hipster than the other banks and it shows. Employees there must wear at least one article of clothing made from hemp and, in addition to the self-sustaining aqua-terrarium in the lobby, the bank has adopted a makeshift plan for paperless restrooms.

Some banks have taken matters further with solar panels on automatic teller machines and the use of candles and cigar boxes in lieu of wasteful computers and energy deficient lighting. Plant-based on-line banking and telepathic overdraft notices have been discussed.

“I for one welcome the climbing wall and the exercise bikes,” chimed in the always merry Dolores Alegria, eternal board member at Who’s On First? State Bank. Alegria is recognized as a pioneer in clean off-shore, dryland investments. Her puppetry with progressive food banks, snowbanks and blood banks all but landed her privileged posterior in the calaboose*at the turn of the last century.

Who’s On First takes sustainable business practices seriously, featuring green roofs designed for longevity and a limited impact on the earth. Reduced carbon footprint, transparency and community engagement are the keys to generational success here, according to stockholders.

In the interest of waste reduction tellers at Eco Green have reportedly been instructed to throw away $1 bills at the end of the workday while Pachamama has issued little lapel pins exclaiming “I walked to my bank today” to customers who disengage from motor vehicles in favor of their feet.

-Sterling Bidet

*Alegria was pardoned by his highness King Leopold of Belgium who, as it turned out had no authority to pardon so much as a church mouse. A hesitant bank examiner, frightened of losing her job if she did not comply with the amnesty, destroyed a critical response, court document and the matter was forgotten.

Giants on the Subway

(New York – November, 1955)

     It was a perfect day for football. The two New York Giants who ducked their hulking heads hopping the Bronx train at 34th Street knew that. It would be bloody, bone-crushing. It was the Bears coming to town.

     Al Donovan and Billy Macheski were linemen. They played both ways…offensive and defensive. As the signed autographs for little kids they talked about the afternoon’s competition.

     “I don’t like playing this team,” said Macheski. “Last year Lane bit off a piece of my earlobe after a recovered his fumble. Then later in the game Switzer kicked me when the ref wasn’t lookin’.”

     “You’re a stitch!” laughed Donovan. “Who was it that was voted Mr. Doom at the team dinner last year? Wasn’t it something like Machewly…Macherny…oh, yes, Macheski!”

     “That was for my performance on defense,” barked Macheski. “When I’m on offense I’m really quite polite. After I drive their helmets into the turf I help them up. Rather gallant, I think. Before and after the game I tip my hat to the ladies, whether at home or away, and always send my mom a birthday card.”

     “A virtual saint he is,” smiled Donovan. “The Polish prince himself! I’m just glad I don’t have to play against you on Sundays. Tuesday and Thursday practices are bad enough.”

     “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me, Al,” quipped Macheski rubbing away an imaginary tear.

     A small boy in a Dodger hat toddled up to the two offering them a bite of his apple.

     “Why sure, son,” said Donovan biting off a small piece from the uneaten side of the apple. “How about you, Billy?”

     “Oh, I’m not hungry…”

     “Have a bite of the kid’s apple,” said Donovan.

     “Sure, Al,” frowned Macheski taking a small chomp.

     The giant hauled the kid up onto his lap and asked him the particulars. He told him he lived in Brooklyn too. His young mother sat across the aisle beaming at the two bruins.

     “Are you going to the game today, son?” asked Macheski.

     “No, sir,” answered the kid. “We’re going to see my dad. He’s in jail.”

     At that the mother grimaced.

     “Don’t bore these nice men with your stories, Billy,” she said.

     “Billy, huh,” smiled Macheski. “We’re both Billies…”

     The subway screeched to a halt and the mother and son got off the train. The kids waved good-bye and the monsters smiled back.

     “The kid’s dad in jail, heh. That’s a corker. I remember getting thrown in jail back in 1950 after we beat California in the Rose Bowl.”

     The subway rolled through Harlem, stopping at various points for passengers to enter and depart. Several of those recognized the two Giants and wished them well on the afternoon’s game.

     “You’ll cream those Bears today,” said one man.

     “You’ll smash ’em,” shouted two boys who tossed a football back and forth in their seats.

     “I wonder if you could sign last week’s program for my daughter,” asked another rider who said she lived in Chelsea. “She’s a big fan of yours, Billy.”

     The train reached the Bronx, just as an elderly fan completed his appraisal of the team’s chances for the remainder of the season.

     “Almost there,” whispered Al to himself. “I’m glad I have tomorrow off. I’ll need it to soak this knee. Then I’ll take Saturday to go over the offense for next week’s game in Green Bay.”

     “Oh, hell, we’re going up to that ice box? The $3,000 they pay me to play football just ain’t enough. Frostbite is worth $4,000 at least.”

     “Yeah, and you’ve got two kids to send to college someday,” said Macheski.

     “Why do you think I have a day job down at the Brooklyn Ship Yards. Longshoremen are still paid better than the heroes of the gridiron,” said Donovan sarcastically, “besides they pay a pension.”

     The train pulled up across from Yankee stadium and the two threw their spikes over their shoulders and departed.

     “No matter how many games I play I still get butterflies,” said Macheski, “but I love it.”

     “Sissy,” chided Donovan. “It’s a grand day for football.”

– Kashmir Horseshoe

Joint Military Maneuvers Target Canada

Decades ago in the San Juan Horseshoe

(Washington) The Clinton Administration today confirmed rumors that the planned U.S.-Russian joint military maneuvers may involve a little more than summer war games. The exercise will be held on American soil sometime in July or August.

“Yeah, it’s true. We’re planning to invade Canada,” said one Pentagon/White House liaison. “Hell, it’s just sitting there.”

The surprise attack will most likely come early in the morning, and feature assaults by land and from the sea, with both American and Russian units employed over strategic points along the more than 3,500-mile border.

“We have pinpointed certain objectives, such as the locks on the St. Lawrence River, a brewery in Montreal, government buildings in Ottawa, a salmon canning plant on Vancouver Island and the rail yards at Winnipeg,” said the liaison, who is a recognized expert on polar bear, munitions and ice hockey.

Insiders say that the U.S. government has been planning the punitive invasion since 1993, when the Toronto Blue Jays last won the World Series. According to a high source, they simply needed the Russian commitment to disguise the assault as some sort of a United Nations (allied) effort.

“Hell, we’ve been lusting after Canada since the days of Benedict Arnold,” said one paratrooper, “and the Russians are game. They haven’t had a good brawl since they left Afghanistan.”

The White House refused to comment on reports that Alaska might be returned to Russia in the event of a successful campaign, or that the Blue Jays could be moved to Havana.

-Signelle de Bushe