All Entries Tagged With: "San Juan Mountains"

Official Sipping Phase Bumped Up

Regulation cocktail hour for December has been moved up an hour to accommodate the increase in traffic expected on the bridge and the Boot Hill Ferry over the river and through the woods to some such fantasy destination.

After the Twelfth Month festivities and Solstice the more traditional cocktail hour my once again resume. There will be no exceptions. This shift is in no way intending to interrupt naps, disturb quiet time, discourage afternoon delight or pay the wages of sin. We are sorry for any inconvenience caused by the change of holiday agenda.

Brain Washing Will Continue Despite Drought

(Venison, CO) The federal gov’ment and thousands of international corporations meeting here this week have agreed to keep the pressure on consumers and constituents at least through 2021.

Both Democrats and Republicans have partnered with the money crating a frightening alliance between power brokers needing sheep in the pasture and pawns onboard as fuel for their self-serving endeavors.

“Who ever heard of good government?” asked Fred Herring, spokesperson for Parlin’s thriving anarchist party. “By definition government is oppressive. Government serves itself and never the people. At least the blood hungry corporations admit that they are in it only to benefit numero uno.”

Readers are instructed to digest the following memetic banter and destroy any hard evidence of same ‘lessin’ it falls into the wrong circles.

1. Forget all he negative press about notorious sweatshops. GAP loves its employees right down to the bone.
2. DOW CHEMICAL is down in the trenches with the dispossessed fighting again global warming.
3. North Korea is a country where everyone is happy, equal and bountiful.
4. Big Pharm should and will be trusted to deliver a vaccine to control the spread of Covid-19. Disregard reminders about that industry’s role in the opioid crisis. Maybe the gov’ment could step in and protect its citizens from the soulless profiteers,…But probably not. Thoughts and prayers for a new solution.
5. If someone disagrees with the military-industrial marriage in our America they must be one of them socialists. You can classify them as such even though you really don’t quite know what a socialist might be.
6. Iran is evil. Oil pipelines are for the good of us all.

– Ed Herring

CANADA OFFERS TO SHARE THANKSGIVING

(Badger, MN) In a gesture to the incoming Biden Administration, Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau has offered to lend Canadian Thanksgiving to its neighbors to the south in 2021.

That holiday, which is celebrated on October 11 up north, is pretty close to the American version especially if one substitutes poutine for nachos, hockey for football or a Caesar for a Bloody Mary.

“The country got screwed out of the only holiday that is real anymore, the only one that isn’t hyped out of its bright red holiday suspenders,” said a statement from Ottawa. “We simply want to show solidarity and give them options so as to facilitate the season’s celebrations.

Both countries expressed hope that the virus would no longer be an issue by next fall and that the US could again make use of its own longstanding day of thanks.

Many here expressed gratitude saying that they did feel robbed of a joyous Thanksgiving this year. Some insist that establishing a surrogate date lends stability in a world of black and white surprises on both sides of the border. Others think the matter is completely absurd.

Traditional feasting, watching football, tending the fire and dreaming about the coming holidays are not the heart of the celebration. It is the warmth of family that we crave. This year many people have been absent with gatherings cancelled due to virus concerns.

Some ignore precautions and continue to fight over drumsticks and mask wearing while others readily rely on vaccines and the government to save us.

It was not clear if Washington would offer The Commonwealth any of its holidays on loan in 2021. Non-franchise “festival dates” such as Colombus Day, was sold to Italy in 2019, and April Fool’s Day, scuttled by lies and mistruths, are no longer on the butcher block. Religious observations were not part of the conversation at the time of this writing.

– Fred Zeppelin

Thanksgiving To Be Celebrated on Mondays Next Year

(Washington) The federal government has decided to make Thanksgiving a Monday holiday in keeping with its concept of uniformity. The holiday, in which citizens give thanks for the year’s blessings, has been celebrated on Thursday since its fantasy inception in 1623. Now it appears that it will join so many Fourth of Julys and Labor Days as a Monday notation on the calendar. Thursday celebrations appear destined for the scrap heap.

In 1789 George Washington issued a general proclamation for a day of thanks. That same year the Episcopal Church announced that the first Thursday in November would be a regular holiday, “unless another day be appointed by civil authorities”. In 1855 soon-to-be Confederate Virginia adopted the custom of a Thanksgiving Day. Ironically enough it was Unionist, Abraham Lincoln who proclaimed Thanksgiving as the last Thursday of the month in 1863. In 1941 Congress ruled that the fourth Thursday would be observed as a legal holiday. In Canada the holiday is celebrated in October unless the Blue Jays get into the World Series.

“It’s that part about civil authorities that fouls up the muffins,” said one traditionalist who feels this country needs all the culture it can get.

“Why fool with a good thing like Thanksgiving. Aren’t there more pressing social issues to deal with here?” he spat.

Persons wishing to continue the Thursday celebration have been hereby informed that they are doing so outside the law.

“These rogue turkey day revelers must be brought to heel,” said Congressman Oral Noise, who first penned the proposal. “The next thing you know they’ll want to celebrate the Fourth of July on the fourth of July. Bunch of damn communists!”

Sources here feel that the population will put up a fight in the early rounds but succumb to the homogenized version of Thanksgiving before long.

“We’ll indoctrinate the school children first and then frighten the elderly into submission,” said Noise. “And if we have further problems we’ll put a tariff on pumpkin pie.”  

– Melvin B. Toole

The Tarzan and Jane Dialogues

“Oysters or Chestnuts?”

Brought to you this and every Saturday morning in glorious black and white by O’Hara’s Gourmet Elephant Breath Mints and Monkey Calming Ointment. You can trust O’Hara’s, the maker of Albino Pink Eye Formula #299, now accepted by the USDA as a caffeine substitute. One million wildebeests can’t be wrong! Subscribe to our newsletter: www.mammalcreams.com.

The scene: A tree house in West Central Africa

Tarzan: Welcome local Apes and Orangutans from across the river and all the cousins from England.

Jane: Yes, indeed, we are all very happy that you have made the journey to our crowded tree house.

Tarzan: Yes…very happy.

Jane: Well, Tarzan, it’s time to carve the turkey.

Tarzan: Where my knife?

Jane: I have a special electric knife, dear. It is much easier.

Tarzan: But tree house have no electricity.

Jane: Please Tarzan; just go along this one time. Everyone is expecting us to be modern, up-to-date.

Tarzan: Tarzan throwback, not modern. Not like modern. Tarzan cooperative. Tarzan wear shirt. That enough.

Jane: Tarzan, you do the honors with the bird. Just cut along the dotted line…

Tarzan: Where dotted line?

Jane: It’s a joke, darling. There is no dotted line on poultry. Cheetah! Stop playing with your food and bring another bottle of palm wine, please.

Tarzan: Cheetah not playing with food. Monkey mashing bananas.

Jane: Whatever for? We have sweet potatoes, grilled eggplant, stuffed bird, cauliflower, rolls, pumpkin pie and giblet gravy.

Tarzan: Monkey waiting for gravy. She like to cover bananas in gravy.

Jane: Oh. Well, thank you all for coming. Let’s make a toast. Tarzan, could you see what’s taking Cheetah so long with the wine.

Tarzan: Monkey not real deep….like wine right out of the bottle, gravy on bananas and swinging in trees. Not much else.

Jane: Let us be thankful for all we have. Oh, and here comes the palm wine. What are a little gravy-soaked bananas among friends, heh?

–Lady Greystoke

“Thanksgiving in Turkey”

TRAVEL ’20

Continued from in front of you

so that Bob (is that his name?) and I and the kids were pushed down onto the pavement and told to keep our eyes to the ground as the entourage passed by, snaking its way toward Mount Ararat and the grave of the Apostle Paul.

“Hey, mom,” said little Bennie, “says in this brochure that Turkey is larger than Texas. Is that for real?”

“No, stupid, it’s just all that jihad propaganda,” piped sister Beatrice from the pruned position. “Where did you get that brochure anyway?”

“Shut-up bitch,” said little Bennie. “Nobody’s talking to you!”

“Now kids, let’s try to put our hatreds aside. We’re miles from our hotel and not out of this yet,” said Dad. “These people are naturally friendly and engaging. They just have to get to know us. I thought St. Paul was buried at Lookout Mountain…”

No, that’s Buffalo Phil, fool,” said mom.

Finally, and not without more fanfare, the procession passed. The strange men in robes told us to get up and walk to the east and we would find true enlightenment…and our hotel.

“I wanna see Noah’s Arc,” said Beatrice, “and the ancient city of Troy. What a beat vacation. All my friends in Chicago will laugh at me if they find out I came all the way to Turkey without…”

“Wait, Daddy,” I said to my husband, “isn’t that the road to Istanbul, or is it the road to Constantinople? They must sell ottomans there. I just have to have an authentic Turkish Ottoman or I’ll just die.”

“What about dinner?” whined Bennie. “We’ve been here three days and I haven’t seen a taco anywhere. Today is Thanksgiving. Where’s the stuffing?”

“Now Bennie,” said my husband, whose name eludes me just now, “this isn’t America. One has to adapt. Sure, all of these rugheads wish they were in America, the land of the free, but they aren’t. They’re marooned here in Asia Minor…have been for centuries. I thought you liked the filberts in barley sauce that mom cooked up last night.”

“I want pizza,” screamed Beatrice much to the chagrin of a large angry crowd that had now gathered, blocking our exit from behind one of a hundred mosques that crowd the cobbled square. “I hate filberts!”

“And where is the football!” demanded little Bennie. “Don’t these Tartar savages know that it’s Thanksgiving?”

“I hate tartar sauce too,” mumbled Beatrice, “and Kurds and whey…

“Stop!” cried daddy. “Look a fez stand right out here in the middle of nowhere. I think we should all take home a fez as a souvenir from this lovely trip. Say there sahib. How much for four fezzes…is that the proper term? Yeah, four…and don’t try to screw me. I’m an American and I have rights.”

 At that he pulled out a U.S. fifty which the man selling the fez hats quickly grabbed and stashed in his robe. He smiled and then let go of the hats.

“Those hats look stupid,” said Beatrice, and for once her little brother agreed. We must have looked quite the sight wandering down those snarled filthy streets, sipping a Raki looking for some familiar signs of home.

“I have to pee,” said Bennie.

“We need to find a halkevi, or house of the people. Surely they will have indoor facilities…

“And cleanliness,” I crisply quipped.

“And a make-up mirror,” added Beatrice.

“And some good old American toilet paper,” smiled Daddy.

“We could ask someone,” I said melodically, swept up in the worldly banter of a man I no longer knew.

“None of these bozos talk American,” said Bennie

“Turkish isn’t so hard to learn,” said Dad as he wagged his finger at a would-be thief. “The Turks borrowed many Arabic and Persian words during the Ottoman Empire, then Kemal Ataturk changed the whole shootin’ match over to the Roman alphabet in 1928.”

“How does he know all that?” whispered Beatrice in my direction.

“Daddy was once a Middle East expert in of the Bush Administrations, dear,” I explained.

“It’s worthless information about a country that prefers figs to cranberry sauce, olives to pumpkin pie…”

“Shhhhh,” Bennie. Here come the mashed potatoes!”

As I looked up I saw thousands of men in the street. There were Turks from Ankara, Turks from Izmir, Turks from Cyprus. All were working together pushing a massive vat of freshly mashed potatoes, thinly veiled in Seljuk mohair, toward the largest of the mosques to the east of the square.

“Wow, dad!” said Bennie.

“Where are all the women?” asked Beatrice.

“Maybe they do celebrate Thanksgiving in Turkey,” I flinched.

“Look, kids. Look! It’s the march of the turkeys,” said Dad. “Look, honey, they’re coming this way. It’s going to be a wonderful holiday just like I told you. Honey? Honey? Hey, kids, where’s your mother?

“Oh, she was forced into that black Mercedes by two men who have been following us since yesterday,” said Beatrice.

“What? Forced into a car? gasped Daddy.

“Relax, man she’ll be back for dinner,” said Bennie.

– Luanne Julienne

Ms Julienne is a free-lance writer who lives in a big house in Connecticut. In addition to writing travel articles she raises amphetamines, which are then sold to collectors in New York