All Entries Tagged With: "Western"
Happy Parking Spaces Catching On
(Pinkyville) Special, reserved parking spots for blissful, jovial drivers are popping up all over from country clubs to truck stops. The concept, along the lines of handicapped parking spaces is aimed at rewarding motorists for their positive attitude.
To qualify for these premium spots drivers must submit to a written test and a simulated life experience to determine eligibility. Many who think they are happy fall short of the plateau while others who see themselves as normal people trying to make it through another day are perfect candidates.
The happy spaces will become quite visible as winter sets in offering many citizens relief from long walks and parking lots brimming to the limit. Brain trusts herein feel that happy people should not have to waste a lot of time looking for a place to leave their car. Happy families, they say, should qualify for two spaces if they can prove minimum harmony and a diminished carbon footprint.
Authorities, although cool to the proposals at first, have come around saying they expect the overall etiquette to improve with the addition of the Happy Spaces. Already, some say, road rage has dropped off and resentment toward the plethora of empty handicapped parking spaces has all but ceased.
Conversely a system of remote, potentially dangerous, poorly maintained spaces for the chronically angry will be up and running by the summer. These inconvenient and spartan spots are expected to feature mounds of broken asphalt, trash and biting flies. They are available to anyone, no matter his or her particular take on life.
-Alfalfa Romero
Montrose Man Still Talks to Potatoes
(Spring Creek UPS) Melvin R. Toole hasn’t been the same since the Spanish American War where he was a 10-year-old drummer boy. Having been wounded and separated by his regiment at San Juan Hill, he claims to have survived three months in the jungle on a crop of Irish potatoes.
“I don’t know who planted the spuds but I’d sure like to thank them,” said Toole, a spry, alert 127-year-old , who withstood the ordeal as a young man of 17. “He has visited Ireland and Peru (where potatoes were first established as a crop) in search of answers. He has found few.
“People just stare at me,” he whined. “Don’t they understand the intimacies of all this? Can’t they let an old man have some peace?” 
Today the veteran seems satisfied carrying on extended conversations with local spuds.
“I can’t really call them dialogues,” said Toole. “but one never knows what’s around the next corner. I just want to find someone to thank and all eyes are on me.”
– Princess Irm Peawit
RESTRICTED BAGPIPE SEASON IRKS LOCALS
(Gunnison) A Division of Tartan announcement that bagpipes would be prohibited from the field in sectors 67 and 68 has drawn the ire of many citizens groups here. For decades bagpipers participated in three distinct seasons with in-state residents having first shot at bellow licenses without incident.
Back then, before the feds started fooling with the seasons everyone knew what was expected of him. The deer and elk were prompt. The hunters were polite. Autumn arrived in splendid fashion with double-reed melodies reverberating from hunting camps from Baldwin to Yahoo City.
Today, bagpipes are banned in the woods due to a misconception on the part of authorities that elk tend to be hypnotized by the ancient sounds. Although the practice of calling prey with bagpipes is documented in the annals of Colorado hunting lore there is not one shred of proof that elk, or even deer have responded in person to the overtures.
“Why do you think there aren’t any elk in Scotland and Ireland today?” asked one Tartan ranger who asked to remain off record. “It’s because the Celts seduced them with the pipes and blasted them to kingdom come,” he probed. “Then they served them up with potatoes and carrots, and onions if they had them. Where do you think the term corned elk comes from?
The controversial symphonic hunting techniques, still preferred by the great unwashed, are expected to continue despite warnings from the gov’ment. Already several country and western artists have recorded bagpipe renditions of popular hunting tunes and the hot cakes are selling like discs.
“They may have outlawed bagpipes in the woods but boom boxes, generators, TVs, RVs, ATVs, gourmet chefs and secretaries are still OK,” said one record promoter. “Let them try to dictate individual musical tastes. We’ll have the FCC all over them.”
– Tommy Middlefinger
Vegetarians Routed at Pork Loin Flats
(Muttontown) One of the last remnants of insurgent vegetarians, led by the madcap General Armand Tofu, were soundly whipped by the combined forces of Jose Carnivores, the Hero of Civiche Creek, near here last night.
The victorious troops, including contingents of the elite Swedish Meatball Division and the Porterhouse Cavalry swept down on the sleeping herbivores, catching most with their hands up and their pants down.
In addition to the swift victory, some 60 tons of fruit, grain, nuts and seeds were seized. According to Colonel Joaquin Giblet, commandant of mopping up operations, the contraband had been stores below ground beside an estimated 3000 pounds of rotting tomatoes picked in Mexico and shipped green to US markets.
“We figure the tomatoes were earmarked for the fodder of so many artillery barrages and might have been used in ham-to-ham fighting,” he quipped.
Generally herbivores do not engage in such tactics unless desperate, leading red meat loyalists to believe the end of the fighting is near. It is further surmised that radical vegan elements have already left the field and will no longer threaten the right and left flanks of the meatball division.
Military analysts suggest that the battle may have been over before it commenced since virtually the entire vegetarian contingent was swallowed up by the larger invading force. Elite beans and rice corps, kept in reserve on the side, were ineffective in a final thrust aimed at repelling the cavalry. Most were quickly captured and sautéed in a classic hammer and anvil movement.
The much-feared Soybean Boys, a volunteer regiment formed across the Muskmelon River during the Kohlrabi Uprising of ’48 were surrounded and steamed before they could get out of their tents while sentries scattered in the face of a furious onslaught led by Kid Marinade and his advancing Tar Tar shock troops.
The entire operation, conducted against the grain, took about 3 hours at 350 degrees. It was subsequently served with buttermilk biscuits and local fruit on a bed of wild rice.
– Mickey Meate
Finbar Brings Linksters to Heel
Continued from Page 4
so that they could barely grip the soggy club, especially after a good whopping by loyal sailors. Realizing that the Carbuncle Tribesmen enjoyed a good hoot as well as the next Irish-Dane, King Finbar brought along several Laplander oak knobkerries, his own crew’s stunning blue truncheons and a basket of curious blindfolds for the village dandies. He also lugged the cross of Hotspur, the Cuckold of Sibyl, in his waistcoat. He waited.
After swilling for position at the bucket of life the fight was on. First the Carbuncles teed off. Known for long drivers and little else, the proud tribesmen were led by Manannan, the Lord of the Sea.
Telling stories in the pub
“Lift up your kilts and follow me!” cried Manannan surging across the palm-lined fairway in an attempt to intercept Finbar’s dragoons, who had encircled the fortress green and had begun to barbecue hostages taken before the battle of Loamshire.
The High Summer of Cuchulain had never seen such a collision of caddie flesh as this one. Thousands, hundreds were thrown to the mulligan wolves with reinforcements hung up, their cavalry grounded in the freshly raked sandtraps of Kerry and Kilkenny.
“Mac Lir! Mac Lir!” was echoed up and down the jagged edges of the rough. “Saints intercession!”
At the end of the day mounds of scorecards, peppered with the little pencils of destiny, were swallowed up by great avenging sea lions, sent to the Over World to throw clubs, sneeze and flutter while the frustrated Manannan was about to put for his only eagle of the afternoon.
“Land Ho!” choked brave King Finbar from his golf cart, now submerged in a water hazard. “Save yourselves!”
And then, like the light of a midnight moon, forces loyal to Finbar broke through to the clubhouse and the sport of golf was wrestled from the clammy hands of the infidels. Today we have only Finbar and our own fascination with frustration to thank for countless afternoons of torture above the little white ball.
Next Month:
Finbar Returns to the Lestrigons Riding the Head of Boleslav
