All Entries Tagged With: "Rockies"
Bingo Treatment Center Opens Today
(Montrose) The region’s first bingo treatment center has scheduled an open house for this afternoon. Located in the recently abandoned Wal-Mart building on South Townsend Avenue, the diversionary sports/recovery complex has been praised as both a recycling marvel and a boon to urban renewal efforts.
Encouraging both potential patients and interested parties to attend, the medical staff will present a wide selection of prescribed treatment programs both out-patient and full care. Civic leaders, expected to be in attendance, hope the opening will encourage further growth in compliance with the intricate masterplan for the Grandjunctification of the Uncompahgre Valley.
The facility, officially named St. Roscoe’s Bingo Rehabilitation Hub, after the patron saint of bingo and RVs, has been bankrolled with cash confiscated from illegal lottery operations/surplus DUI funds, and thanks to a grant from the Native American Consortium of Gambling Casinos and Golf Courses in Colorado and New Mexico. In addition, addicts on scholarship will sell bingo cards door-to-door here in order to raise additional operating capital for field trips and the like.
Its 40-bed recovery area features a veteran staff made up of medical personnel, sociologists and recovering bingo addicts. Shock treatment will take place solely at night and always under the strict supervision of authorized bingo callers, while a full time alchemist is slated to be on duty 24 hours per day. Physical therapy, hypnotism and magic crystals are to be prescribed only in the most chronic cases.
The treatment center, in compliance with city ordinances, is non-smoking but a system of sealed off lounges offering bad coffee, grocery check-out periodicals, card tables and ash trays will grace both the B-29 and R-16 floors, where smoking is permitted.
“We want to thank the entire community for supporting this progressive approach to ending bingo perversion,” said Dr. Simon Lackluster, head cardiologist at the clinic. After all, bingo abuse should not be classified as a mental illness. Think of all the money we could save if we stopped punishing addicts as criminals.”
Lackluster says the goal of the center is to provide the community with healthy bingo players upon release.
– Kashmir Horseshoe
Stacking Wood For Winter May Require Building Permit
(Gunnison) If you plan to construct a wood pile for the coming winter first you might have to acquire a building permit from the city here. Stipulations as to the size of the structure and longevity of its very existence will determine the cost of such a license.
Residents are also reminded that they must own at least two lots and have utilities in place before the first piece of oak or aspen is chopped and stacked.
Although thought to be extreme by many, the new restrictions should raise nearly $5000 in revenues which will be earmarked for a Christmas party for local sanitation engineers in December. Known as the Garbageman’s Ball, the event fell out of favor with the local city council when it became apparent that 70% of the city’s population relies on garbage men rather than elected officials to get necessary information on city matters. Rumors of beer drinking at the ball further clouded the gullible public appraisal.
The council intends to follow through with this plan if it’s the last and only thing they do before the holidays, according to a source there.
“At least we’re the ones they show on TV, and not those garbage ruffians,” said one councilmember.
The weekly council meetings are shown on clothes circuit TV every Monday night, bookended by classic episodes of I Love Lucy.
Meanwhile in adjacent Crested Butte, leaders there praised themselves for restraint in this matter. In Telluride, politicos, bruised from accusations that they are far too bureaucratic for their own good, also lauded official moderation on the general subject of wood stacks.
Readers will note that both ski burgs have strict wood burning ordinances and the zones are virtually wood stack free as of press time. Anyone building wood stacks there would almost have to be doing it for the exercise.
– Rocky Flats
House Votes to Raise Ceiling
(Denver) The Colorado House voted overwhelmingly today to raise the ceiling in its historic Molly Brown Chambers. The blueprint calls for an extra three feet to be built into the existing framework giving elected officials more room to dramatize, wave their hands about, point the finger at opponents, and even filibuster.
“It takes a lot of room to filibuster,” reminded Rep. Gwenne Sprawl (R- Aurora). “Our task is difficult but everyone here favors expansion of one kind or another.”
Contractors, double-dipping as trades lobbyists, suggested that the creation of extra space will allow Representatives more room in which to leave issues up in the air. In addition the new anatomy will allow for the display of Native American artifacts and photos of such Colorado standouts as Kit Carson, John Evans and the late Red Miller.
“And the acoustics are far better which might come in handy when someone wants to make a point or play a tune on the old trombone,” laughed a Finnish carpenter attempting to manipulate the over 500 yards of Latvian lattice trim implants that will cap the erection.
I hope we don’t run into structural problems,” continued Sprawl. The first estimates clearly indicate that the whole project would require a simple retaining wall covered up with drywall and a few coats of paint. Our budget cannot withstand any more surprises.”
While debate rages as to the color of the new paint, the House has tabled discussion on such tired topics as crime, pollution, dogs at large, education standards, the Bronco pass rush, overflowing landfills, the price of gasoline, water issues, chuckholes and a UN sanctioned invasion of Wyoming.
“We’re working on a strict deadline here and hope to complete construction by July 4th,” said an aluminum blinds contractor. “We may have to work right along with lawmakers on this one. We’ll try not to make too much noise while the legislators are in session.”
– Small Mouth Bess
Now you can vote at Wal-Mart
(Montrose) Registered voters wishing to do their duty this election can simply cast their stones at the local Wal-Mart rather than wasting precious shopping time at the polls. Along with voting, citizens are reminded that they can open credit accounts, get married, have children, pay taxes and be buried here too.
It sets a convenient precedence according to sources within this framework and “can only lead to more mindless consumption and greater profits for everyone.
“We want to help the average Joe stay very damn average,” smiled one part-time greeter who does not qualify for company benefits.
The Wal Mart voting booth will be open for a week prior to election day so that citizens are not forced to change their schedules and focus on just one day. Information as to how to vote and who to vote for will be provided at the entrance. Persons who have not as yet registered can do so with their Wal Mart credit card.
“People can easily forget that it’s Tuesday…election day. We’re doing our part for this great democracy!” whines an in-store announcement. “And after you vote don’t forget to check out the seasonal items on aisle three.”
Meanwhile down in sunny Arizona corporate militias have succeeded in apprehending some of the last ma and pa operatives in the Phoenix area. At press time there are only a few of the “unaffiliated” holdouts remaining. On the site of what was a great kosher deli is now a chain burger place. It’s the same all over the place. The city without a city has been transformed into chainland. The Phoenix has crash landed.
Although the status of the former self-employed radicals was not completely clear a police spokesman said they “are being de-programmed and retrained for positions as cashiers at a chain gas station. Persons who do not adapt to the masterplan are taken to what’s left of the desert and left to fend for themselves. Some of the unlucky ones will end up pushing lead within their government.
“We’re not at liberty to talk about the situation in Arizona,” said a Wal-Mart voice. “We have a strong economy here too and it will continue to boom just as long as everyone cooperates,” said the stooge.
– Melvin O’Toole
WILSON PEAK ON MEET THE PRESS
(Ames) Local standout and member of the 14er Club, Wilson Peak, will be the featured live guest on Meet the Press Sunday morning. The mountain, which recently shed an amazing 85 pounds in just twelve weeks, will appear as part of a weight-loss reading list promotion.
(Break for ice cream commercial).
Joining her on the popular talk show will be her half-sister Mount Wilson who also lost a substantial amount of weight (45 pounds) during the same time period. The two will talk about their victory over fat and lingering snowfields.
Wilson Peak (right) is shown in the attached photograph with her half-sister Mount Wilson. The almost twins were named after Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys and are no relation to the late President Woodrow Wilson as local legend records it.
“I remember when we had to dress Wilson Peak in mounds of white just so she wouldn’t look so very obese,” said Mount Wilson. “All of us full-figured mountains soon discover that lighter colors are far more flattering and make us look smaller.”
(Break for ice cream commercial).
If all goes well during the filming of the program both mountains are sure to be invited back for a follow-up on chronic complexion problems slated for late August. That show will also celebrate a recent Department of the Interior decision to approve the construction of trophy homes above 14,000 feet by 2002.
The chore of traveling with and delivering mountains to a set in New York or Los Angeles is a daunting task, one that often requires more muscle than intellect and more diligence than common sense.
Network spokespersons refused to comment on the proceedings until after the snow melts in June.
“We’re expecting great things here,” said one broadcaster. “Weight loss with a touch of wilderness is a sure winner in these days of reality television, concussions and your simulated breathing experiments.”
Rip-Snortin’ at Animas Forks
The soft autumn sunlight hung on the edge of the porch toasting the cabin in coveted warmth. The nights had turned flat cold since the August rains had quit, leaving Eliot T-Bone wondering what winter would bring.
At 74, he hardly made it over to American Basin anymore, where he had toiled for some 45 years in search of the big bonanza that was always at the end of tomorrow’s pick and shovel. With the Finns he had mucked out enough rock to build a city larger than any in Hinsdale County. When claims played out they had survived working for wages at larger mines and tending to their placer digs on Henson Creek. Hand to mouth and back to work. It was worse over there in Europe according to the Austrians with wars overlapping wars and peasant sons plugged in for cannon fodder on the battlefields while kings grabbed glory and gold.
After a edgy lifetime he had accumulated worthless piles of ore, shafts almost to China and tobacco stains on everything. Living on beans, flour biscuits and elk meat had taken a toll on th
e system but there were few vegetable gardens at 9500 feet. Sure, his claim was secure and they couldn’t run him off, at least today. He still had his mules and the friends who hadn’t died off yet. He had this fallen down cabin at Animas Forks. Living off the land he was, or wasn’t it the other way around. He just didn’t see any reason to travel up over Cinnamon to Lake City anymore.
Silverton was another matter. He still made weekly trips to Howardsville for supplies, and then traveled on for a night on Blair Street with all the desperate Silverton miners and the far more desperate Silverton whores.
When the weather was bad he would just stay home by the fire soaking beans, making jerky, firing up his dutch oven. He had been home on one such night last winter when one of the prostitutes went mad killing three miners with a butcher’s knife accentuated by sticks of dynamite. That was some big excitement and he almost wished he had been in town to see the blood and the fireworks. Yes, things were that boring out in Animas Forks now that everyone had deserted the place and morbid rock faces stared him down every morning and night.
He scratched his ribs under a dirty union suit and stretched. The deer and the whistle pigs didn’t worry or fret about this life. They just lived it happy to survive another afternoon. Why were people so damned difficult? He had become a near recluse but still welcomed several of his old friends to the porch Emil Turlough, the local doctor, long retired came by every Thursday on his way back from Gladstone. Stan Celkirk still ran sheep up toward the pass in the summer. Oral Stishnik and Peter Leary quit guiding hunters up and down these mountains some time ago. Now their sons did the deed while the old men gave advice and smoked their pipes. They still stopped in and he visited them in a town that boasted electric lights and carriages straight from Paris, or so they said.
The rest of them could pretty much go to hell. Pistol wielders, flimflam men and painted women, and let us not forget the righteous out to save souls and make a profit too. The Utes and Chinee were mostly gone. Murdered and disappeared in the dust of progress and comfortable living. What about the souls of these dead? Where do they hang their ghostly hats?
Most of the newcomers in Silverton had no connection to the place…except money. Were things really that bad other places? They had the combined charm of a pan of burnt eggs and the warmth of a basket of rattlesnakes. Flatlander bastards. They didn’t know a thing about life as it once was in the boom days. They wouldn’t have been able to make it back then. They didn’t pay him any attention, much less a sprinkle of respect, when he wandered into town. They only stared at his bad teeth and skinny string of mules with saddles that didn’t fit any of them. They all dressed up like they were going somewhere, but there was nowhere to go. The mindless march of lemmings served well by the presence of so many convenient cliffs and deep ravines.
Don’t matter anyhow…since most don’t journey far from town except in the summer. They leave us fellows out here alone and we should return the favor. That new preacher from Mancos said he’d pick up whatever I needed from town and haul it out here but I’m afraid there are celestial strings attached. Before you know it this boy will be holding services and singing psalms right here from the porch. Too much.
My few neighbors, the deer and the bear wouldn’t have any of that. They get by without all these fairy tales. They don’t even know where they came from or where they’re going. They just live. The marmots in the ground, the hawks in the sky, the ponderosa stretching up toward the heavens. They just exist without all the trimmings, the dogma.
He remembered when he had come to this country, seeing the glory of the San Juans for the first time. All the enthusiastic unbroken bodies scrambling for their fortunes in gulch camps and tent cities that sprang up after the Great War. Refugees from the madness embracing another kind of insanity far away in these ragged mountains. The snow covers up the mess. It’s clean and fresh for a while.
The years go by. More elk stew, beans and biscuits and more dreams of striking it rich. He stared at his pile of firewood, then out across the dim light. There had been bighorn sheep crossing over about a mile down toward Silverton. He had seen the tracks in the snow. He wondered if he had the energy to shoot one and pack it back up here. The price of solitude.
Having never married, he had no family to care for him in his old age. He remembered courting and heartbreak, custom brides from far away Missouri and escapes from the entanglements of it all. Sure he’d gone shopping for a wife in Durango back some 30 years ago. He even brought one curious prospect up the hill but by late afternoon it was clear she would grow to hate him and the mountains. Better left alone.
It was quiet here and he had no one to make happy but himself. He went to slept when he pleased and got up when he damn well wanted to. He snored and wore socks to bed. He ate elk stew that he couldn’t taste anymore despite the peppers that he bought in Hermosa the summer before. Every day was pretty much the same.
Just then a sudden explosion ripped through the evening causing bull elk to raise their heads, sending fuzzy marmots scurrying into rocky holes. Fish stopped swimming, eagles stopped soaring, sows looked around for their cubs.
This was no mere elk bugle. It was an excurrent discharged, an outburst expelled as if from a buffalo stampede, a bonafide T-Bone bugle that surprised even him. A highly audible sonic boom from the vicinity of his drop-drawers. Thunderous repercussions! Burgeoning landslides! Curious windbreaks! Gaseous dynamite in the digestive tract. The flatulence ripping with major magnitude that echoed down the valley. Inadmissible punctuation quite relevant for the times, or so he thought. He laughed out loud a little surprised, a little proud of himself. The world stopped for a flash.
Eliot T-Bone stretched, scratched his ribs, yawned and walked into his cabin.
– Kevin Haley
