All Entries in the "Soft News" Category

Gov’ment warning placed on fast food

(Montrose)—December 12, 2014) The United States Food and Drug Administration has extended a warning as to the consumption of fast food within its sovereign borders. The caution advisement, a major breakthrough according to consumer protection advocates, states simply that eating this type of food will lead to health problems, shortened life span and massive weight gain.
“We may just as well drop the “s” from fast food and call it fat food,” said Melvin Toolini, of the USFDA. “In addition to the health caveat most of us here are also concerned with uniformity and laziness within our population. We see people acting as robots, sliding into drive-throughs, repeating their behavior, feeding their kids this crap,” aid Toolini. “It’s a law that children must wear seat belts because they are deemed too young to make their own decisions with regards to life threatening situations. What do you call eating this product?”
Consumers will soon see printed warnings on cardboard packaging, chicken buckets, and wrappers. If they choose to eat the stuff anyway the gov’ment is off the hook.
“What will we do with all the veteran fast food junkies when they get old and the effects of their diet start coming back on them?” posed Toolini.
It is unlikely that this development will have any immediate affect on the eating habits of the country over the long run social scientists and nutritionists feel it may cut back on health problems associated with poor eating habits. One critic of the plan, a population control advocate, condemned the warnings as another ploy to keep people alive longer.
“We have too many people now,” said a spokesman for Eat Yourself to an Early Grave. “And we have too many warnings out there. What ever happened to the concept of natural selection and the strong surviving the weak. It’s even in the Bible. A greasy taco or a chicken wing from hell are great population control devices.”
Another opponent of the campaign suggests that the gov’ment has embraced the concept of fast food as a method of repression and containment.
“Elements within that framework have been experimenting with mind control for decades,” said another unreliable source. “It only stands to reason that encouraging uniformity and repetition will create a population that can no longer make choices when confronted with the big picture. It’s a bullet-proof concept. Why would the feds abandon this philosophy in favor of public benevolence?”
– Fred Zeppelin

A SOMEWHAT BEAT NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

‘Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the castle
Not a hep cat was stirring
It was just too much hassle.
(Most of us had been down at Golden Gate Park all day diggin the music and were too wasted .)
The stockings were flung on the floor and the chair
Grab me my pants, there’s a party somewhere.
(Despite chronic fatigue the cat upstairs was making some kind of racket but soon he’ll be cool since his woman gets off work by seven.)
The horn men were nestled with notes in their heads
While visions of reefer waltzed with second hand threads.
(Word of the street has it that the North Beach Good Will has just received a new shipment of duds, the kind afforded by unemployed jazz musicians.)
And momma come home to see all this crap
She settled his brains and I don’t hear no rap.
(As expected the lady upstairs arrived home at the usual time and found her man engaged in extra-curricular diversions with an assortment of new friends. A gunshot. Another.)
When out on the highway there arose Dharma batter
The straights cruised on by engulfed in their chatter.
(Why do you want to show up to work everyday when there are places in this very galaxy that you have never been?)
Away to the window I flew like jack flash
Pulled down the Venetians, securing my stash.
(I wanted to see if the cat upstairs was alive or dead but I thought I’d better hide my stash before the North Beach Gestapo started asking a lot of questions.)
The moon and the rest of the ash-ridden snow
Convinced me that midday was too late to go.
(This place is nowhere. With a little luck and the right boxcar I could be in Mexico City for the New Year.)
When what to my wandering mind should appear
But San Francisco’s finest from the front and the rear.
(Somebody in the building must have called up the heat when they heard the shots. They were everywhere, responding in their noted Zen vigor in this neighborhood infested with home sapiens of the discarded variety.)
At my door an old sergeant, with stick of the night
I can’t wait till morning…it’s exit…stage right!
(My duffel bag lay packed in the corner. Once on my back it was out the door leading me to more tolerant horizons.)
More rapid than accurate I headed uptown
Grabbed a bus for the freight yard and waited around.
(The midnight train ride down the coast to LA would be a cold one but I could sleep on the beach in Santa Monica in the morning.)
A weathered old brakeman called out in the rain
If you’ve got ample dollars you’ll be riding this train.
(The tired, old drunk wanted some bread for letting me ride the boxcar. I promised him some Mexican grass and offered him a hit off my Thunderbird and, cursing, he wandered off.)
As wilted, dry leaves before hurricanes fly
I am one with the boxcar, fused to the Pacific sky.
(Finally headed toward Southern California, I polished off the wine and fell asleep despite the chill and the cold metal floor.)
So up through the mountains cola coursers they flew
With a cargo of nothingness as their time clock punched two.
(We hit the Coastal Range in the middle of the night as the full moon made another cameo appearance.)
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof
The brakeman, another…resenting my spoof.
(The railroad cops didn’t appreciate my travel arrangements for the evening and when we stopped at Salinas they tossed my ass off the iron beast and into an unlikely Christmas Eve.)
As I brushed my self off and was turning around
Down the tracks dragged a hobo not making a sound.
( I had just seen this bum down in the Tenderloin last week. He was snoring away in a skid row hotel lobby, too drunk to make it up the stairs to his two-dollar flop.)
He was dressed all in rags from his head to his foot
His clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
(A bad dream Kris Kringle in the freight yard of America’s last brush with authentic culture?)
His meager belongings he had thrown in a sack
He smelled like a junkie and let out a hack.
(His personal hygiene didn’t improve with closer proximity.)
His face was one wrinkle, all haggard and hairy
He clung to Wild Roses and a jug of sweet sherry.
His droll, little mouth was drawn up like a bow
The fuzz on his chin as gray as winter So-Ho.
He rolled up two skags, “To you I bequeath”
The smoke pouring out from his cave on no teeth.
(The cat had played out his future in baggy pants and shoes force marched through an alcoholic haze.)
His poker face deluded, a bad loser still game
He choked when he spoke but he spoke just the same.
Uncapping his prize he delivered a belt
And I grabbed for the bottle, in spite of myself.
With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Out there in hell’s freight yard the hobo dropped dead.
(Time had run out for this earth-bound angel who had never spent Saturday mornings mowing his lawn in the suburbs or driving kids around in a new Ford Station wagon.)
I picked up his dreams, locked tight with no key
Next stop: Potter’s Field for this snarled refugee.
(A watchman helped me cover him and called the cops. There would be no heartbroken relative to identify him, no one to cry at his grave.)
Then catching the time, I watched for a freight
Skillfully boarding, make LA by eight
Back on a boxcar, I slept on my duffel
Agonized at the thought of that wino’s last shuffle.
But desolation’s despots on angles take toll
One long ago Christmas deep deep in my soul.
– Paradise Stolen, 1959

STATE TO JERKY FALL COLORS

Special to Western Colorado newspapers – Nov 28, 2014
(Denver) In an attempt to stretch the dramatic fall colors far into November state officials have implemented a plan to jerky aspen, oak and cottonwood trees still in their splendid state. Already teams of botanists have been busy in an attempt to isolate and expedite the most effective formula for the approved extension.
“First we’ll focus on the aspens since they are far and above the most popular with autumn tourists,” said Melvin Toole who holds a third degree in Popular Venison Culture from Cal Amari. “The oak and cottonwood are far less fragile and we think we can jerky them later in the month and still come up with a hardy supply that may last through Thanksgiving.”
The process of jerking the fall colors involves a lengthy drying process which has been proven to extend the life of other entities such as wild game and the terms of Congressmen. Aspen leaves in particular conform to the rigid properties necessary for the current jerk thinking.
“We have experimented with canning and applied freezing since the Sixties,” says Toole. “What’s important is to harvest the chosen leaves and introduce them to our methods before the natural process takes hold. Rest assured that we have gone to great lengths to protect the birds and fury little animals who call the trees their homes. They have until tomorrow to evacuate.”
Even though leaves and most bark samples are void of nutrition many desperate people tend to eat them come February or March when other supplies have been exhausted. Unlike leaves from tree farms, where an assortment of fertilizer and additives are employed, these wild trees offer supplement-free leaves, roots and bark.
“Many mammals enjoy a diet comprised of mountain vegetation throughout the winter. We plan to test the jerky on herd animals, state prisoners and even fish before the snow falls,” said Toole. “We’ve already turned the bear on to the spicier blends and they liked it…of course they’ll eat anything that one leaves lying around.”
Residents and visitors are asked to stay clear of jerky operations until the end of the month when the Department of the Interior will join state agencies in presenting an open house to further explain their priorities. For a map of the more concentrated jerky operations contact the gov’ment agency of your choice.
– Small Mouth Bess

Lease -A-Liver Opens in Delta

(Just for laughs? – Nov 28, 2014)
A spanking new business has opened its doors in downtown Delta at the former site of Ed’s Beds on Main Street. It’s Mel’s Lease-A-Liver! Although the ribbon cutting is not slated until November, the facility will begin taking applications for its services this week.
Strictly leasing and not renting these imperative, curious glands, the innovative service seeks to offset liver damage caused by any number of abuses.
“We are prepared to lease a customer a new or used liver for up to six months with a one month minimum,” said owner-operator, Melvin Toole. “When a client comes to our offices he chooses one of a dozen livers hanging from the ceiling. If he finds one that fits, he leaves his own liver as collateral, pays a deposit and signs an agreement saying he is responsible for its safe return.”
Toole said most people couldn’t destroy a healthy liver in six months, although some have tried and a few have succeeded. Alcohol abuse is the number one culprit although other factors, such as regular prescription drug use and simple aspirin can do irreparable damage.
Since 2009 Toole has been performing liver transplants in his dark, shoddy office underneath Maybell’s Bar on the river. Many locals see him as a witch or warlock but he says he’s just a regular guy trying to make a buck.
“We aim to undress every possible aspect of the classic metabolic process,” smiled Toole. “We have had much success with parallel treatment of blood flow disorders using maggots and leeches to do the real work.”
Only a few centuries back the leeching process was a principle means of dealing with an array of maladies and avoiding such final verdicts such as amputation, osteoarthritis and long drawn-out diagnosis leading nowhere.
“It was in vogue back in the 1800s,” smiled Toole. “In those days the gland supposed to be a seat of love and violent behavior. How far we’ve come.” – Muffy Hollandaise

Fur to play CB

(Crested Butte, CO – Nov 28, 2014) The controversial rock opera “Fur” will travel to Crested Butte in late December where it will play for four nights at the Center for the Arts. The socio-political drama, based on the radial street theater of the 60s, features tidbits from every social phenomenon common with that period of readjustment. But there’s no need to worry, anarchism will not get you since everything has returned to a safe and sterile 3.2 status in the United States of the 21st Century.
The play features naked animals, engaged in obscene dances and frivolous song,” said the Almont Pilot.
“Fur” is a banal portrayal of the free spirited life in the pumped up Sixties by people who have only been around since the Eighties,” said the Pilot. “It should be banned from the county at least until the tourists go home.”
The plot, if any exists, involves the plight of the hero, Smokey Bear, who, after ingesting a healthy dose of marijuana, attacks and eats three ditch whale snaggers near Yellowstoned Park. The action then shifts to a Brooklyn tenement house, a Hell’s Angels’ pancake breakfast, and finally to Nancy and Ronald Reagan’s second Inauguration in 1984.
One noted critic, who spoke on the condition that he would not be quoted, told the Horseshoe “Fur was recognized as a classic in muffled dialogue and lighting intertwined with the cutting edge use of minimal props and audience participation.”
 He has seen the play over 200 times in three years saying it was the best thing to come out of the animal kingdom since Cheetah.
Fur will be presented at Kochevars Ballroom on December 28 and 29 and at the Talk of the Town’s Little Theater on the 30 and 31.
– Harvey Birdseed

Famous quotes from the Ancient One:
“Nihil et bene cum trae sul vestra stricta!”
Translation: “Nothing goes right when your underwear’s too tight.”
“Primum wienorum”
Translation: “First among weenies.”

Obama Chose Biden For “Peace and Quiet”

Direct from the Democratic Natural Committee – November 13. 2014
Sources at the White House confirmed whispers that President Obama’s pick for Vice President, Joe Biden, was based more on comfort than practicality.
Obama apparently decided on Biden because he was chilled and minded his own business, say close aides who added that the assessment was pretty much right on and that the arrangement was common knowledge since the first convention.
“With all the stress associated with the position of Chief Executive nobody needs some hyper-active, chat-happy, know-it-all,” said Charlie Charles. “The calm, collect listener is rare in the annals of Irish politicians.”
Close friends say Biden is one of the most relaxed people in Washington.
“Sometimes we think he has dozed off and the next thing you know he moves his head or scratches his nose,” said a former intern.
Some days the entire White House staff takes a nap in Joe’s office and spills out onto the West Lawn, leaving diplomats and White House staff perplexed but often quite relaxed. Reportedly the only rule is: No talking.
“Imagine trying to get in a nap with Dick Cheney or Al Gore running around pushing their agenda. Nobody would get any sleep.” the intern continued.
Meanwhile, House Republicans blamed Obama for controversial early hit-the-sack parameters for junior/freshman representatives and, in some extreme cases, no bedtime stories or tuck-ins at all.
– Rex Montaleone