All Entries Tagged With: "humor"
Swimming Hippies Kill Fish At Festival
Special from The New York Times
Hippies swimming the San Miguel River near Telluride were blamed today for the deaths of over 400 fish in what authorities are calling the strangest case on record. A music festival was in progress on the banks of the river and the festival is cited as a major reason for the hippies’ presence in the area.
About two hours after the hippies finished bathing in the river fish began to float to the top, certifiably deceased. A group of about fifty hippies id wanted for questioning but none have been located. Although no motive has been discussed police intend to charge the swimming hippies with leaving the scene of a crime.
Ridgway Dam To Provide Water Mains For Valley
RIDGWAY UNDER WATER?
From The Ouray Herald September 5, 1963
(Montrose) Tri-County Water Conservancy District Directors at a meeting last week gave final approval for the inclusion of 15,000 acre feet of storage for a domestic water supply in the proposed Dallas Creek Project at Ridgway.
According to local engineering firms this amount of storage will provide ample domestic water for rural, suburban and municipal use for the Uncompahgre Valley from the dam, just northeast of the flooded town of Ridgway, to the junction of the Gunnison River near Delta.
This includes the town of Olathe and the cities of Montrose and Delta, at their discretion, and provides for future growth and expansion of the entire area. A direct benefit of the proposed system would be the available resource of domestic water at a very economical rate.
The dam is currently under feasibility study by the Bureau of Land Reclamation. That study is scheduled to be completed by December.
The multi-purpose project wood provide storage for flood control, recreation, fishery, water quality control, municipal water and water for irrigation.
“Sometimes we have to flood a town or two yielding to the onward march of progress,” said a Tri-County spokesman.
Meanwhile residents of Ridgway watch and wait as the river is expected to rise any time now. Most have stopped mowing their lawns and painting their house opting to spend free time building arks.
Toole Wins Colombian Lottery
(Salento, Colombia) Transparent journalist Melvin Toole, who has been held captive in Colombian jungles since 2003, has reportedly won over 3,800,000,000 pesos (COP) in the Colombian Lottery. Toole has been working as a non-commissioned camp cook somewhere near the town of Mitu, having been abducted by an unidentified revolutionary group after crashing his 1939 Henway Multi-Prop during a volcanic eruption on October 3.
Toole, third from left, with FARC in Putumayo near the Ecuadoran frontier in 2006.
Despite valiant attempts to convince the guerrillas that he was Che Guevara’s first cousin or, in one desperate case, to pass himself off as the reincarnation of Joseph Stalin, Toole was pressed into culinary service, chained to the cookstove.
Now it appears the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia will release its prisoner who has agreed to split the cash 50-50.
“Señor Toole has contributed a great deal of cash to our effort,” said a spokesman for FARC. “It’s too bad we are leaning hard across the peace table. That’s a lot of loot. Let’s hope we don’t have to return the money.”
FARC, which began as a guerrilla force intent on peasant land reform and redistribution of wealth, has in recent years become no more than a narco-terrorist group, wreaking havoc with the population and destroying the mountain and jungle environment with extensive cocaine processing plants. Millions of displaced campesinos now live in city slums due to violence perpetrated by FARC and Colombian right-wing militias, who have now surrendered their arsenals as part of the peace process.
The War on Drugs, sponsored by the United States has done little to eradicate coca since it is a high yield cash crop which is often the difference between a peasant family keeping its land or losing it to taxes or seizure by the militias employed by large land owners.
Toole will be released quickly since he must claim the prize in person in Bogota sans captors who are not invited to the ceremony. The winnings amount to about $2.3 million dollars. Attempts over the years to raise ransom money failed repeatedly although several friends have now come forward “offering Toole religious counseling, organic coffee or a ride into town”.
Known in Colorado as a combination Carlos Gardel-Mickey Mantle, the lean, sunburned journalist told reporters via the phone that he was damn lucky to win the money and that he had grown tired of gourmet cooking for beans and rice militants in the Amazon. He is scheduled to be airlifted out of Puerto Inrida on Friday.
One FARC soldier remembers the meals fondly.
“We will miss him,” said Sadie Martinez, a 18-year-old FARC recruit who befriended Toole over the years. “His fried three-toed sloth in corn glaze and mashed potatoes were, if you’ll pardon the expression, to die for, while his Guapi heart of palm goat pie was unbelievable, especially when one considers kitchen capacity and availability of exotic spices.
After paying off his hosts Toole plans to return to Colona and resume his duties as dog catcher by mid-May.
In another odd twist Syrian President Basher al-Assad has come forward to claim the Colorado Lottery which has risen to 1.4 million dollars. By virtue of economic sanctions imposed on Assad and his family he will not be able to collect at this time. Instead the money will be used for relief efforts in the war-torn country.
The FBI is currently investigating an alleged paper trail so as to determine who purchased the lottery ticket for Assad.
-Kashmir Horseshoe
Heeny Tick Festival Recipient of Grant
(Breckenridge) The fiscally troubled Heeny Tick Festival, held in late summer “when the monsoon grass is just right”, has received a $100 grant from Eddie’s “Clean Mouth” Bait Shop and Grill in nearby Kremmling. The funds, which were deposited immediately in the official festival account, will be dispersed throughout the summer prior to the actual competition, flame-throwing events and semi-formal dinner dance.
Having lost an estimated $86 since 1990, the executive directors had decided to scrap the affair in favor of a day trip to the outlet stores over in Silverthorne . However, due to the infusion of hard cash, it looks like the popular extravaganza will once again grace the shores of Green Mountain Reservoir.
Ticks were introduced to the area in 1888 in an attempt to keep drunks from knocking over sluice boxes on the Blue River, which was considered sacred by gold seekers of the time. Since mining days the insects have propagated leaving a sort of bug tailing problem that has yet to be undressed by the Environmental Protection Agency down on the prairie below.
Over 20,000 ticks are expected to join in the three-day festivities which also include black flies, earwigs and cameos by the region’s mosquito cartels.
Persons seeking more information on participation, franchise options, investments and lodging should contact the Heeny Boosters.
CHENEY ACTIVE IN WYOMING CULT
(Cody, WY) Former Vice-President Dick Cheney has been linked to a right-wing Wyoming cult that calls for the calculated plunder of the American West. The primarily Caucasoid group, known as the GOP, or Republican Party, intends to log, drill and mine what is left of the wilderness with little or no consideration for conservation, future generations and quality of life.
“It’s all about the rich making money in this country,” said rancher Eliot Rosewater. “It’s always been that way. All the glorious wars, the justice for all and the freedom rhetoric are just patriotic trimming.”
Although not technically a secret organization, the Wyoming GOP has for decades been less than public in its dealings. Supported by special interests, the cult has been alarmingly successful getting its members elected to legislative positions within the commonwealth. Ritualistic practices often associated with this cult include back-slapping, glad-handing, making large bank deposits, good-old-boyism and handy, pseudo-religious affiliations Occasionally an adversary, or coyote as they are sometimes called, has to be shot when he gets “too close to the sheep”, but that, as was noted, is quite rare.
Known for extreme veneration of accumulated wealth, members exhibit a me first ideology as well as an arrogance toward other cultures, even within their own country. According to the official gov’ment position citizens are in no danger from the Cheney sect just so long as they do not disagree with its basic principlesor bring up subjects such as war crimes tribunals and off-shore bank accounts.
Other cults, calling themselves everything from Democrat to Tea Party, attempt to paint a distinct picture of themselves so as to distance their agenda from that of the GOP are basically identical, and answer to the same puppet masters wrapped in the American flag.
FRIDAY NIGHT FISH FRY
(Centerville, Ohio — 1956)
Perhaps it was because my front teeth had only recently returned as viable chomping tools. Maybe it was because I hadn’t eaten since lunch, but I was hungry as hell in a room full of heaven-bound perch partisans. The large, brightly lit grade school auditorium remained rather bleak with drab tile, chilly echoes and dusty curtains, separating the saints from the sinners.
At the far north end, adjacent to the stairs were the heralded cooks…The Knights of Columbus. They looked more like the Knights of Hudepohl* sipping away at one hopped diversion that would never be declared even a venial sin. As the fish sizzled, the men of the parish drained their mugs, keeping a watchful eye on hush puppies and slaw.
Everyone smoked. This was America in the Cold War, the days of Beaver and Wally, Dwight Eisenhower, and muscle cars. Puffing was part of the admission price, I guess. This was before the great enlightenment with regards to first, second, third and fourth-hand tobacco. This was before the insurance companies, losing money on health claims, strong-armed the feds to legislate anti-smoking propaganda in schools like this one.
The scene: Humphrey Bogart takes a bullet in World War I. He’s about to go under. What does his buddy do? He puts a lit Viceroy or Chesterfield in his mouth, and tells him to hang on until the medic gets there. Bogart smiles and sucks in a lung full of smoke…
In no time the hall was full of people wanting to eat fried fish. The cooks now had become servers and plopped the prescribed ingredients down on paper plates. The line was long but, as I said, I was quite hungry.
I looked up toward the action and saw Mr. Petrocelli serving up the fish and Mr. Schultz manning the hush puppy tray. Both had red noses and smiles. Mr. Gillhooley, a man who according to close friends even smoked in his sleep, was standing by in foggy reserve. He filled the glasses of his two colleagues and topped off his own mug for good measure.
Watching as my fellow diners found empty card tables and began to eat I became desperate. There were my mother and sister chowing down. Even my baby brother was gnawing on a piece of fish.
If I don’t get some fish soon I’m going to pass out. I caught another whiff of smoke. The wheels of a seven-year-old’s mind only turn so far. What is the attraction with this puffing? Will I smoke and act like this when I embrace adulthood? I remained perplexed as to the behavior behind the counter. Beer and cigarettes…and maybe laughter in the dark. Probably a lot of converts.
After what seemed as long as the drive across Nebraska I got close enough to pick out a piece of fish. That one, no that one, the one in the front, the big on…and more hush puppies,” I thought to myself. “I don’t remember when I was this hungry. I hope they don’t run out before I can land seconds.”
As I shuffled next to the serving table a terrible thing happened. Mr. Petrocelli switched jobs with Mr. Gillhooley, and Mr. Schultz was up to his elbows in flour and grease. Now the lineup read: Mr. Petrocelli on slaw, with a pinch hitter called in to bat for Mr. Schultz, who had now switched to Schoenling**. By the time I arrived at the head of the line it was Mr. Gillhooley serving up the fish.
I watched in awe as he lit another cigarette. It seemed instinctual, even for a semi-polite seven-year-old to let a few people ahead of me. It was the Christian thing to do. That cigarette… Go ahead Mrs. Gmaz. After you Mrs. Higgins. You were here first Mr. McDuffy…No I’m sure. Please go ahead. The ash got longer. It looked like the beginnings of another Ash Wednesday on his lip. He’s gonna drop it. No. It’s holding firm. Gravity has got to make a play…It’s getting longer. It’s gonna drop right into the batter…It’s gonnna drop into the slaw.
By now my hunger had subsided. Mr. Gillhooley’s cigarette ash now measured about four inches. If he spoke or wiggled his face the thing would have to fall into the plate of some righteous diner. God help us if there’s an earthquake or a sonic boom!
Not taking any chances, I backed up so as to vacate the line that I had once held so dear.
The ash hung there, like a parched worm, like a burned out firecracker.
“Drop! Drop!” I urged silently. “Drop Gilhooley ash! Drop ash of Satan!”
“Wait! Kid, don’t you want some fish?” said Gillhooley, turning abruptly, his cigarette ash floating harmlessly to the floor.
“Sure, Mr Gillhooley,” I said, recovering.
“Aren’t you Walt’s boy? Now there’s a fine gentlemen if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Thank you, sir,” I muttered, checking my fish for dark intrusions. It looked all right. As I walked away from the serving line my appetite miraculously returned. Even though the hush puppies were cold and the cole slaw was warm the meal went down fine.
I made it back into line for seconds thanking divine providence that the good nuns had not been invited to witness this impious fish fry.
– Kevin Haley
* a beer brewed in Cincinnati
**another beer brewed in the Queen City (Cincinnati)