All Entries Tagged With: "Ouray"

Water Off at White House

Trump Rescinds Obama Era Edict on Toilet Seat Responsibilities

(Warshington) Service personnel and Administration collaborators arrived at a dry White House this morning in the midst of a torrential rainfall that closed golf courses and prevented lobbyists from getting to work in the nation’s capital.

The parched mansion’s faucets stopped flowing due to the actions of the local water utility. That public concern admitted to the disconnection saying that despite three late notices and several phone calls there had been no response from the White House.

“As is and has been our strict policy when dealing with deadbeats, we will turn the water back on when the bill has been satisfied.”

The municipal water source did not say whether a deposit would be required to insure continued service but did remark that this was the first time they had had to interrupt services to “a standing President that failed to put the seat down” since prohibiting Andrew Jackson’s jacuzzi use before and after the Trail of Tears way back in 1830.

Oddly the office of the EPA was flooded during the previous evening leading Congressional camp followers to demand a thorough investigation. Many said privately that it was a “clear act of sabotage by persons wishing to further embarrass the President.”

“Heads will roll,” exclaimed Press Secretary, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, who also be high a dry these days.

Sanders has been out of the limelight after accusing her boss of textual harassment on more than one occasion in March. Although those charges have yet to be countered it is expected that she will be replaced by one of the President’s caddies, a graduate the Hearst School of Yellow Journalism at San Simeon, who is an ardent admirer of illustrious showman, P. T. Barnum.

The current Press Secretary, a graduate of Ouachita Baptist University (and Little Rock High) was forced to confirm that no one had been tagged with the periodic task of paying the White House water bill. What other duties, missions and daily responsibilities have been left unmonitored was muddled.

“If they can’t pay the phone bill each month what can we expect on follow-up domestic priorities and in the international arena,” asked Les Spine, a Democrat from the Provinces. “I can assure you that Russia, China, Iran, Turkey and yes Syria and North Korea each have paid phone bills due this month. I know because I did the research.”

Whether Huckabee would return to her Annie Get-Your-Gun ministry near bad-country-music-loving Branson, Missouri was not clear.

“It could have happened to any Administration,” she said, moving on the next question before it could be reviewed on instant replay. “The President is mentally fit,” she clamped down clumsily and out of context.

Concurrently Trump has threatened to hold back paychecks at the water department still headquartered in clammy, liberal Washington.

“No water –No checks!” was the despotic Trumpian retort, presented in familiar candor “becoming to this frightened, pampered bully” according to a slew of former employees.

Close aides — quick to remind their tufted idol that the people at the water office did not work for Trump Industries or the federal government — were quick to defuse the threat lest it be manipulated by the evil leftists at CNN or MSNBC.

This seemed to ease his tirade although the Commander in Chief flew into another self-induced spasm when told his television connection would be disconnected in the morning if funds were not received by the end of the workday.

Emergency water supplies have been forwarded and Marine helicopters will water the lawn starting Friday. All White House dependents are in the process of relocating to Trump International Hotel near Freedom Plaza. The American taxpayer is expected to cover for the undetermined tariff.

“All this because job descriptions were not made clear, said a Trump loyalist. “This is a unavoidable  occurrence when we see such turnover.”

Detractors say the water bill thing is nothing compared to the diplomatic snafus coming down all over the world due to a dangerous marriage of arrogance and incompetence residing within the current gov’ment.

In other news President Trump has rescinded an Obama-era decree that calls for White House toilet seats to be returned to seating mode after use.

Saying that none of his female staffers were fence sitters on the issue, architects of the move suggested that indoor plumbing would become a thing of the past anyway soon to be replaced by the Dark Age privies of Plutocratic parlance.

-Fred Zeppelin

ROCK SOUP

New Rage: Canine tattoos – Subtle yet alarming! Non-Partisan! Tariff free! Say something to someone you love. Dag Katz, Auras and Firmaments, Pinkyville Armory.

Odor de Carne Perfume selling well in many South American cities. Franchises now available in U.S. and other emerging countries. Look for our colorful bottles where you buy tar and feathers.

According to a new directive from the Fascist Cartoon Coalition (FCC) everyone must have an Official Big Boy and Girl Journalist’s card to blog in 2019. Yes, we sell them here Tuesdays and Thursdays from 9 till noon. Please be advised that coffee breaks, branding sessions, flapjack competitions, field trips, weddings, employee parties, retirement celebrations, wine tastings, birthdays, surprise pregnancies, professional seminars, and early lunches take precedence over your silly attempts at creating lasting communique or heaven forbid, lasting literature. $99.99. Now go away.

Off- Season in Aspen! Cro-Magnon Ski Weak has been canceled due to conflicts with other special interests such as Thai Realtor Ski Week, Open-heart Surgery Survivors Ski Week, Pandora Double-wide Ski Week and Bad Decoupage Ski Week. We regret the interruption of our rituals dating back to the Druids and the Book of Kegs.

Gout sufferers get 20% off all Norwood motel accommodations through April. See our ad in the Jello Pages.

Genuine Salvation Army issue Apex Meatloaf conveyor. One owner. Was $7706, now haul it away for as little as $379. Also looking for elk foot manipulation device, antique coal-fired engine block heater and someone to work Sundays. Specializing in sun shoes and snow glasses. Motion For Motion and Lotion, Gunnison.

Aerial color photos of your ego! Inflation slightly extra. Colona Barnstorming & Supply.

FDA, the Future Deadbeats of America will be hosting a benefit dance for Minnie the Moocher followed by a field trip to Minnie’s jacuzzi. Everyone is invited.

Notice: March 7 is/was Polaski Day. You may have missed it again.

Now you can workout over the internet without all that time consuming sweat equity and commitment to regular routines. No trolls, clones or robots. For more go to www.workoutonline.org

Regain some sense of balance in your life by portraying famous Saturday morning cartoon characters at grocery store openings, barbecues, birthday parties, lynchings. Weekend work. Will train. Elmer Fudd Agency, Wimpton By-Pass.

Lose weight through exercise and a balanced diet. Too good to be true? Send $50 for complete program with easy to follow directions. Send cash only to Mother Cline Slides, 2121 Shriner’s Convention Way, Dysphagia, PA.

Is your dog or cat having trouble falling to sleep? Read them the San Juan Horseshoe. It’s chucked full of articles and features produced with pets, and all animals, in mind. Pick one up where you buy canned pet food room freshener.

Will the woman who purchased the Holy Grail at a weekend garage sale please call us and let us know who wrote the lyrics. We’re a rock and roll band and we need to learn some new songs. The Rectal Thermometers, Sapinero. PS: We need a bass player for this weekend. No zits or bad attitudes. Musical abilities forgiven.

The answer to our February Semantics Challenge is orgiastic carnival. Please hold onto your pink receipts. A winner will be announced on June 32.

Anyone possessing information regarding illegal sheep shearing operations in Montrose County should call the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco and Television before noon on Thursday. You may remain analogous. High level security clearance necessary to claim reward.

Attention hackers: tarzanandjane.com will be shut down until July 15. At that time we will restart as cheetahandjane.org. We regret any inconvenience that we have caused ourselves over this matter. Ungawa Google. No cell phones. No Irish.

Mercenaries/carpetbaggers needed to man heavy equipment as part of Mike Pence’s Invasion of Canada. The entire operation should last until the hockey strike is settled or until the entire Canadian National Health Care Program can be dismantled and hauled back across the border somewhere between Antlerand Lignite, North Dakota. Anyone wishing to secure hotel accommodations in Oxbow, Saskatchewan is encouraged to call the local chamber of commerce. Send resume to Toronto or New York offices in Indianapolis or just show up ready for work on May 15.

Lost: Family size tub of salsa near Ironton Park Transit System last Wednesday. If found please return to E. Muffin, c/o Rasta State Food Bank of Boulder.

Red: I checked the work release list for May and you’re not on it. Still want to take me to the prom? I get paid on the 15th – Happy.

Reasonably attractive Voronezh weight lifter seeks submissive male for field trips, possible dinner. American preferred. Blind Box 445, Voronezh, Russia.

Sick of credit card reps crashing your funeral? Pay before you go with IDIOT CARD. It’s simple: We take out the exact amount of money that we think you might spend per month and put it away for estate settlements, unforeseen medical bills, late in life barmitvahs and gambling debts. Offices in major cities worldwide and in Grand Junction.

Need someone to walk my plants while I’m in California for spring run-off. Nikkie at San Miguel Symbiotics.

Will the dashing mariachi bagpiper who stole my purse please return it to the Happy Face Meat Packing Plant before noon. I know you only borrowed it because it matched your kilts. I’ll buy you lunch – Baghdad Betty

Found: Expensive looking wedding ring. Still attached to left hand of large, ill-tempered woman who refuses anything that’s reasonable. Need the assistance of experienced surgeon. Will split take. Mack the Hack in Ridgway.

Learn to talk like someone from the north woods. $15. We bring the beer, you bring the fish – unless you can’t swim. Hurdy-hurdy. Terrell LaBatt.

Don’t miss The Lost Horizon performed live by the original cast during the Ides of May. For tickets and information call the Shagrila Theater in Pea Green.

Sick of all the hassles associated with bourgeoisie recycling and related mantras? Call Renaissance Man Refuse and we’ll sort your trash for you. That’s correct! In just four short days all your debris will be delivered back to your residence or business in handy, clean, compact, hermetically sealed little garbage bags ready for the recycling bin. Our rates are reasonable and our technicians are college educated. Why fool with messy recycling ever again! Renaissance Man Debris, Wimpton Bay Road.

For sale: Genuine backwards alphabet flash cards. Perfect gift for the drunk driver. Buy before June 1 and we’ll throw in a license and registration rolodex. Syd Farhd Enterprises, Delta, CO 81416.

FOR SALE: Heavy duty perambulator. Used only during the Cultural Revolution. Will trade for sleazy capitalistic rock and roll recordings in comparable condition. Jim Bob “Slim” Wong’s Trading Post, Manana.

Antique piano to give away. This baby may have seen action at Chancellorsville for all we know. We can’t stand to see it just sit here collecting dust humming a sick rendition of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic”/”Dixie”. It won’t work with barbershop tunes but could be a fine addition to the parlor. Eats hay and oats but has a keen attraction to Dutch caviar when nobody’ around. Box 8, Horseshoe.

Schleswig-Holstein bull seeks mate for companionship, possible romance. No dairy cows. Send photograph and short bio to Alsace or Loraine, Colona Tenderloin.

Our locally grown hens lay humidor baseballs at the rate of about sixteen per nine innings. (Slightly more during night games.) Winner take all. Can be stewed too. Don’t believe me? See for yourself. Major Fields, Denver Bears.

One coconut…three Polynesian quasi-conversions. Can’t believe it? Send $25 and find out today!

Part-time organist needed. Send resume to Colorado Rockies. Prefer someone well versed in relief pitching analysis. Bud at Coors Field.

Communist Party Girls for any occasion. Some looking for rich, good looking men in fur hats. Phone Sexists welcome. Pravda Night Scene, Moscow.

Surrogate joggers needed to fulfill health fantasies of workaholics. Send recent times in the 440 and mile relay to Armageddon Athletics, Roadtown.

The state of Colorado is seeking bids for the acquisition and deployment of some 2000 gallons of that blue toilet stuff before tourist season. Rivers affected are as follows: The Gunnison (400 gallons), The Uncompahgre (300 gallons), The San Miguel (300 gallons), The Slate (150 gallons), The Animas (600 gallons), The Dolores (300 gallons). A successful summer tourist season starts with clean rivers and streams!

Telluride Time Tips by Tina will not be appearing this month as Tina is still busy getting her 2018 Christmas gifts in the mail. “The post office is so slow, you know,” said Tina.

Bagpiping enthusiast seeks potential mate familiar with a cappella performances sans kilt. Stable Charley at Buffalo Loins.

Don’t forget: May 25 is the final deadline for refunds from the 2017-2018 Unused Firewood Tax Credit Act. Stop by your local cornhouse for more.

FREE fertilizer. Well aged through the winter. Some believed to be lynx and bull moose. Silverton Town Park. Open dawn to dusk. Bring a bucket.

Scapegoat milk and cheese. Will deliver in county. Crossfire Farms. Located just north, west or south of the Montrose Airport runway.

The Gunnison County Association for Fallen Away Irishmen is holding its annual bake sale during National Tavern Month. Free pickled eggs, bean dip and a ride home with purchase over $50.

Druid folk tales analyzed by official looking persons in white coats and plastic stethoscopes filled with custard-like substance akin to menudo with braised haggis. Want to know more. Call the Plow and the Star Tavern, Cambridge, MA  02139.

Jane: I want to sleep with you in the desert tonight. You bring the cheesecake – Martin.

New proof: St Patrick goes perch fishing with Santa Claus, Kid Valentine and the Easter Bunny all summer.

Chronic Sandbaggers: Apply today for seasonal work in Gunnison, Delta and Durango. Bring a shovel, boots and that winning smile.

Beginning June 10 local police units will apprehend suspected enemies of the state for deployment to summer camps all across this great land. If you are an enemy of the state kindly be packed and ready to go by late June 1. If you do not know if you are an enemy of the state please call your local law enforcement cartel. Thanks.

PIZZA DELIVERY INDUSTRY LARGEST ON SLOPE

(Montrose) With more than 7,000 persons currently employed, the pizza delivery industry has overtaken agriculture as the number one industry on the Western Slope. According to recently released records, some 44,712 pizzas are delivered between Hiawatha and Pagosa Springs, placing the western half of the state 16th in national pizza consumption per capita, and the industry itself 20th in overall gross national product.

     “That don’t count the pizzas that is picked up at the counter neither,” said one recent high school graduate enrolled in a local management program.

“I send the rockets up; where they come down is not my business.” – Werner von Braun

Silencing the Mango Man

Devolver bien por mal.

Juan worked as a bartender long into the evening, six nights a week. He went to work in the late afternoon and returned to his home after closing the bar in the early hours of the morning. During his normal shift he dealt with demanding boozers, the constant smells of the bar and keeping count on the money in the register. When it was all over he refurbished the liquor, stocked the coolers, mopped the floor, arranged the furniture and secured the door before leaving the place to the light of day.

He always slammed a parting shot on the way out the door, fired up a smoke and coughed his way through the winding streets back home to his peaceful bed. Exhausted, he fell usually asleep in moments. That was before the Mango Man.

For months the morning offered quiet solitude. The world of the bar seemed millions of miles away. He could pull the heavy curtains, don his sleeping mask, turn on the ceiling fan, and pull the covers back. Sometimes when the town crew was repairing the streets or on a festival day he would use earplugs, but he hated them. After the ceaseless bar noise and the repetitious music the earplugs did little more than cause an echo affect with a sprinkling of acute irritation in his right ear.

“Most mornings I’m so tired I could sleep through hurricanes, jackhammers and the abrasive car alarms,” he said. “It’s all a matter of developing a workable pattern. Besides, I have no choice. My work hours are my work hours. The bar wouldn’t make any money if we opened from eight to five. “

Juan could survive on six hour of sleep but combined with the drinks, the stress and the tobacco he was clearly on the verge of a collapse. His only redoubt was his room on the second floor where his smoky, rum-soaked world had no sovereignty. For a few hours each day Juan could escape to this tiny realm. Safe from the sins of the night it was the only immediate remedy but it’s walls were slowly crumbling, chipped away by another puff, another swig.

“Who wants to live forever anyway?” coughed Juan.

Then one day the Mango Man expanded his territory to include Juan’s neighborhood. Before that there were fruit venues to be sure but they called irregularly at best and with much less fanfare. The Mango Man was not so subtle. He was a blaring presence every morning at six with his familiar “Mango! Mango! Mango” careening off the sidewalks and the concrete structures. “The man must be from high in the Andes to have grown such lungs,” thought Juan. “I wish he’d go back there.”

Now every morning the noise began anew. “Mango Mango Mango!” kept Juan awake. “Mango Mango Mango!” overwhelmed the fans, the curtains, even the cumbersome earplugs. Juan now tossed and turned in what had been his one refuge from the daylight insanity around him. Although the Mango Man was quick to come and go, his chant was becoming a plague. Tomorrow I will talk to him. Maybe we can work something out.

As the sun broke through the next morning Juan was waiting out on the sidewalk. He spied the Mango Man, approached and purchased two ripe mangos. After the small talk was suspended Juan explained his predicament to the Mango Man who listened intently shaking his head and frowning. Now, enveloping the conversation, was a brewing confrontation.

“Can’t you visit this neighborhood later in the day toward the end of your route?” he asked after the purchase. “I work at night and I’m trying to sleep during the period that you visit. If you will do this simple thing for me I promise to buy five mango per day, even while you work out your logistics.”

The Mango Man told Juan that he fully appreciated the situation and that he was terribly sorry but that he picked up his morning cargo just a block from here and that if he didn’t call right away he would have to double back in the afternoon. Besides, Juan’s neighborhood offered a new, lucrative market and the morning was the time people bought mangos!

“They are like my children. They are used to me coming early, before they go to work,” he whispered. “I cannot risk my enterprise by changing it up in its infancy. Besides I need to cover my expanding route by mid-day since my wife needs me at her restaurant in the afternoon and then I visit my mother near Little Botero Park before calling it a day. She will be 96 next month and relies on me for everything.

“So as you can see I have to sell here early in the morning or lose the income and starve to death.” whined the Mango Man.

“You could eat mangos,” coughed Juan to himself, now trembling from lack of sleep and the booze from the night before.

A groggy Juan returned to his bed, unable to sleep despite his near exhaustion. The next morning Juan intercepted the Mango Man on the way home and bought all of his mangos, every last one. “That ought to keep him off my street until I can figure out something.”

But the Mango Man had upped the ante. He was back in fifteen minutes with a new cargo of ripe mangos. The noise bounced off the concrete and plaster walls, stacked horizontally like squared off and cramped cubicles in a captive canyon of their own creation.

The following day Juan bought all the mangos and the cart as well as the little air horn the Mango Man sometimes used as a first notice the he was in the area. As he was falling asleep with a smile on his face the Mango man returned with a new cart full to the brim with delicious mangos. Juan woke up cursing. The little horn tooted away.

“Ave Maria…What will I do?” he cried.

That afternoon Juan painted two signs in his bedroom. One said, “No soliciting between 5 am and 11 am” and the other read “Baby sleeping-Please be quiet.” Although the signs were attractive enough and didn’t bother any of his neighbors they did not detour the Mango Man who, sadly, was quite illiterate.

Exasperated, Juan consulted with his contemporaries at the bar. As might be expected some suggested cunning while others suggested violence. One particularly loud man who always sat near the doorway said he had friends that could “strongly encourage the Mango Man to change his venue and habitual routine”. Of course Juan would have to cover their expenses and might owe them a favor down the road. Juan shook his head.

“I don’t want to hurt him. I just want him to stop yelling the repetitious Mango Mango Mango! at 6 am. Besides,” frowned Juan, bullying barrio icons will backfire. My neighbors love him.”

“What then is the core of your problem?” asked another of the barflies. “Mangos,” he thumps on the bar like a college professor, answering his own speculation. “With no mangos there is no Mango Man. So, clearly, we have…”

He then stopped mid-sentence and returned to his dark rum and jovial ice cubes. He swished his drink around incessantly, attempting to punctuate his postulate. Then he ordered another and sat quietly not offering further half-baked wisdom to the now boiling pot.

Others joined in, vaulting the place to intellectual heights not seen since the last round was lovingly consumed. It was if Socrates and Plato had, unbeknownst to Juan, stopped in for a shot and a beer.

“Steal his cart,” offered one man.

“Sic your dog on him,” gestured another, his arms swinging wildly barely missing several of his loopy fellows. “Even barking alone might make your noisy interloper think twice about disturbing the dawn.”

Bad ideas from breaking legs to releasing bees were introduced over the next few hours. Juan again rejected violence and added that “bees preferred a bouquet in a rich man’s lapel than a beggar’s banquet in the middle of the daybreak street”. The clientele seemed quite impressed with such metaphors, then finally started to go home.

As he stepped into the doorway to light another cigarette Juan sighed.

Looking at the sordid collection soggy philosophers and failed dream engineers, clutching their glasses like lifeboats, he said: “You people are crazier than I am.”

Unfortunately Juan had not considered that his job at the bar might be the problem. He drifted back to a mound of solutions when he closed for the night. He lit up and walked home thinking about setting a trap for the Mango Man. In his growing madness Juan thought that if he could catch him out of the view of the neighbors he could then haul the fruity intruder along with his machinery of chaos to the suburbs and away from his street. He would then gingerly push him out the door of whatever kidnaping conveyance he was employing. The Mango Man could sell mangos in a better neighborhood and make more money. He’d be helping him out. He’d need a car.

Setting yet another conspiracy on the back burner, he decided on immediate action. Tomorrow he would let an ambulant and less than instinctive Chihuahua out onto the cockcrow street. When he did so it became clear as Aguardiente that the strategy would fail. The dog soon loved the Mango Man and especially the chicharron that he tossed.

Having failed at yet another task, Juan followed the Mango Man and at an opportune time secretly grabbed the cart full of fruit, covered it in a blanket and hid it at the rear of a vacated butcher shop where he thought no one would find it. As luck would have it the cart was easily discovered after a throng of loyal, patriarchic, alley-sweeping neighbors canvassed the precinct. The mangos and cart were once more in the possession of its proprietor.

And so the next morning it was “Mango Mango Mango!” once again bouncing off the walls, vying with the pre-recorded church bells for the morning’s loudest decibel level on a ludicrous logarithmic scale.

Back in his mid-day sanctuary Juan plotted, dog tired, his aggravation growing with each sleepless minute. Now not only the noise kept him from slumber. His frustration and obsessive plotting deprived him of the most meager harbor, even in the afternoons. His head swirling, he decided on another, more belligerent course of action.

The next night Juan did not go to work at the bar. He could not stomach the scene there. The booze, the smoke, the fools had worn him to fragile bits. He finally slept and at 6 am was awakened by the familiar chants of the Mango Man, “Mango Mango Mango!”

Juan bolted out of bed and ran to the street. He forced the mango cart away from the grasp of its purveyor and sent it careening down the lane until it tumbled over a cliff into the town dump and into little pieces. Juan stood by shaking, stunned at his actions and growing more conscious of the anger growing around him. Several neighbors swung at him. Others cursed him. It if were not for the local police, who had been called to the scene after the destruction of the cart, he might have been lynched.

The Mango Man sat quietly on the curb, taking in the show.

In the settling dust the police arrested Juan for menacing, willful destruction of property, assault and disturbing the peace. He was soon released with a hearing scheduled for later in the month. He would have to pay for the damages for certain and criminal charges might be forthcoming. However the peace and tranquility of a quiet jail cell was denied him.

The neighbors quickly procured another cart that would suffice as a temporary mango transporter until someone could go to Magdalena to get him a better one. They even bought him a new horn. Meanwhile Juan, now under the scrutiny of the authorities, was ashamed for what he had done to the poor Mango Man.

He worked his last shift that night, giving notice to his aloof, indifferent boss. As he strolled out of the bar at closing time he felt a resilient peace down to his bones. A few hours later, when he saw the Mango Man guiding his revamped cart in his direction, he greeted him.

“And good morning to you sir,” said the Mango Man. “You are up early. Would you like to buy some mangos?”

The Mango Man didn’t show the slightest bit of anger or even a hint of resentment. He just smiled, offering a plump, ripe mango.

Juan bought a few then in passing remarked to the Mango Man “You know these neighborhoods. I have left my job as a barman and I am now seeking gainful employment. If you hear of anyone looking for help please let me know.”

Sizing up the man who had been his nemesis for the past few weeks the Mango Man smiled, seemingly elated by the news.

“I have recently purchased a second mango cart and was hoping to find someone local to help me expand my business, he explained. “There are new routes yet to be exploited, new customers to harvest. One must be regular, punctual and only sell the highest quality fruits. I think you’d be perfect. Would you be interested?”

Stunned, Juan said he would ponder the offer which he did all that night and the following day. Sure, he’d sell mangos, at least until something better came along. Why not? It beat killing himself in the bar. No more smoke. No more bad music. No more nightlife. A mango route assured him of acceptance and place in the community with reasonable prosperity.

Juan sought out the Mango man and accepted the offer. Tomorrow he would be a Mango Man. He too would yell “Mango Mango Mango! down the cobblestones and boulevards of the town.

In just a few months his health improved. The morning hours were bright and stimulating. He slept peacefully at night. Without the bar’s environment he soon stopped his chronic consumption of tobacco and alcohol. And he was selling mangos like gold, like hot potatoes.

– Kevin Haley

Pot Plants Threaten Colombian Villages

Colorado man runs fishing boat into White House

SECURITY BREAKDOWN BLAMED

(Washington) Melvin Toole started out the day fishing for breakfast in the Gunnison River and ended up catching hell for dinner on the White House lawn. Now he can barely recognize his crumpled 1943 Henway tuna boat, which mysteriously crashed into the White House yesterday. The incident, which took place on the heels of a similar intrusion last month, has sent shockwaves through the inner sanctum of the Secret Service and left local police baffled.

“I don’t have any answers either,” flinched Toole as he was questioned by authorities last night. “One minute I was cruising the Gunnison in my extended cab, double-barrel, aluminum tuna boat and the next I was on the East Coast. I must have taken a wrong turn at Leaps Gulch, but I don’t remember crossing the Rockies or the Mississippi either.”

Questions over White House security, voiced after a renegade airplane crashed into the same building in September, have once again been asked with all sorts of government agencies denying blame for this recent episode.

“The Department of Transportation blames the Secret Service while the Secret Service blames NASA, who in turn is pointing the finger at the local DC cops,” said on White House aide. “Meanwhile nobody around here is getting anything done. What else is new?” he laughed.

Toole, a former daredevil trapeze artist turned sous chef, is being held in lieu of bond at an undisclosed location. He is expected to be tortured tomorrow.

Fortunately for some, the First Family were not at home at the time of the crash

Some 30 healthy kokanee, which had been snagged by Toole prior to his departure from Colorado, were presented to a throng of homeless persons gathering on Pennsylvania Avenue. These unfortunates had assembled to listen to some self-proclaimed prophet sing the praises of pyramid marketing. The fish, which fed some 200 people, was a bonus

Toole, who is wanted in Wyoming for impersonating a damp bale of hay, told authorities that he would fight any charges brought against him. If convicted, the intruder could face harsh sentencing: His choice of either 30 lashes or a four-corpse dinner with the president.

“I’m not a terrorist!” he bellowed, adding that he hoped the Trumps had collision insurance.

– Small Mouth Bess