Fuball

Volleyball’s for girls

Tennis is for sissies

Gimme Fuball

Gimme Fuball.

 

Chess is for wimps

Swimmin for worms

Gimme Fuball

Gimme Fuball.

 

Hockey is for softheads

Golf is for jellyfish

Gimme Fuball

Gimme Fuball.

 

Bowling is for cowards

Baseball is for milksops

Gimme Fuball

Gimme Fuball.

 

Surfing is for squid

Jogging is for chickens

Gimme Fuball

Gimme Fuball.

 

Yachting is for pantywaists

Handball is for doormats

Gimme Fuball

Gimme Fuball.

– Ernest Washington, halfback

Northeast Southwest Oklahoma

 

700-pound woman falls from tree

(Manana) A large unidentified woman crashed to the ground here yesterday, ejecting from a small aspen tree that promised to support her mass no more. Although there were no serious injuries reported, a large crater, estimated to be as large as downtown Olathe, represented the residue of the incident.

People reported feeling the repercussions as far away as Peach Valley. How the subject managed to climb the tree was not clear. Police suspect she might have done it at night under the cover of darkness.

“We see far more of these incidents this time of the year since fewer people climb trees in winter and fall,” said one officer on the scene. We have filed charges of reckless endangerment and operating a vehicle without proper paperwork.”

Already groups in solidarity with the weight disadvantaged have pledged to protest the criminal charges. They suggest that the owner of the tree should have placed warnings on and around the aspen.

“Someone could really get hurt,” said Wardine Schmelte, an advocate of the chubby. “We hope to make an example out of this irresponsible disregard for public safety.”

The victim of the fall attributes her weight to hours of television, mounds of fast food and over 45 diet pops reputedly consumed each day.

“It’s not easy being 500 pounds overweight,” said a eyewitness. “But the next time she should at least get clearance from local air traffic controllers.”

Police admit that the use of a safety belt may not have made any difference in the calamity. The tree is in stable condition this morning at the Montrose Memorial Nursery.

The woman’s name will not be released until the hole is filled.

–       Fred Zeppelin

Surfing Club Liquidates

The last regular meeting of the Western State Surfing Club was held at the Aspinall-Wilson Center last night. The organization, chartered in 1919 by veterans of World War I, reached its peak in 1963 when it boasted some 300 members. That year the club brought The Beach Boys, Jan & Dean, The Ventures, Dick Dale, The Surfaris, The Sun Rays, Ronny & The Daytonas and The Trashmen to the campus. Over the years members have traveled to such exotic spots as Chile, Hawaii and the Canary Islands in search of the perfect wave.

The executive board decided to disband since nobody attends the meetings anymore.

“Students are far more interested in snowboarding than surfing around here,” said a former member. “It’s the instant gratification thing. There’s a great ski area 28 miles to the north and good surfing spots the ocean are at least a thousand miles from here.”

Excess funds, leftover from operations, remain in a secret Swiss bank account and may go toward the 2014 whitewashing of the W on a nearby mountain top.

 

Candidate suggests trading refugees

(Washington) In what critics are calling an innovative approach to a long-standing crisis, Republican semi-candidate Steve Forbes has suggested social grace over top heavy diplomacy.

His idea is simple: Don’t stack up refugees in muddy, lice-ridden camps in contested areas. Ship them far away where adversaries are few and old wounds aren’t quite so evident.

“Steve talks about sending 3,000 Syrians to East Timor and a boatload of Rwandans to Chiapas,” said a campaign source. “He thinks it will relieve the pressure in trouble spots, giving divine right advocates in the West solve ancient problems. Compared to the present policies it may not be so far fetched.”
Forbes, a multi-millionaire accustomed to taking assorted vacations says the refugees might enjoy the change in that most don’t have the time and/or money to see the world.

“Talk about throwing money at a problem,” quipped Presidential front runner Ted “Santa” Cruise. “Maybe Steve thinks the refugees will simply disappear en route thus solving another problem while the sun goes down. It’s nuts. They just won’t cooperate and fall through the cracks. I say keep the refugees inside the barb wire fences and feed them from large bags of grain and flower like during the Berlin Airlift. What’s wrong with that?”

Other detractors say Forbes is the product of affluence and does not understand the concept of destitute.

“He thinks refugees have credit cards,” said one Congressional Democrat, on his way out the Senate door for yet another recess.

“Forbes has not even considered the burdens placed on cruise lines or the calculation of frequent flyer miles that would certainly emerge in the residue of his elitist solutions,” he added. – Suzie Compost 

CHURCH IN HOT WATER WITH IRS OVER CASINO OPENING

(Wimpton) The Chapel of the Full-Tilt Reformed Blinding Light Unicorn Salvation and Ante-Coastal Fellowship may forfeit its tax-exempt status due to the opening of a high stakes casino on its 30,000-acre survivalist fortress here.

According to investigating Treasury Department officials excused tax status and gambling don’t mix well.

“Who ever heard of a non-profit black jack table,” said one IRS agent. “It’s virtually impossible even with the watered down games that these jokers have been pushing on their congregation since the Puritans hit the pulpit.”

The fellowship, which operates out of the trunk of a Buick LeSabre registered to a Rev. Phillip Pharisee, plans to appeal whatever decision is handed down on the grounds of religious freedom.

Traditional gambling interests in Las Vegas and Atlantic City have already threatened to align themselves with the church in light of the potential increase in customers.

“If we could crack the Sunday go-to-meeting crowd we might survive the onslaught of riverboat, First American and low stakes shanty casinos that have cropped up in every fishing village, reservation and former mining town across the country,” said one poker-faced spokesman from Nevada. “Imagine the profits/collections from the fish fry/bingo contingent alone.”

Lobbyists for the gambling industry have long sought the relaxation of laws prohibiting children and the mentally ill from wagering paychecks and pumping slot machines.

“Let’s face it,” said the source, “eternal life is a gamble and there’s no better time to start counting cards than the present.”

A decision on the matter is expected Friday. Already Pharisee has threatened to relocate his fortress and his Buick to Russia, “where at least they have religious freedom,” if the IRS forces the issue.

                     Cereal blamed for demise

(Pea Green) Too many choices in the cereal aisle, not overpopulation or pollution, has been blamed for the demise of Western Culture according to a ten-year study completed here this week.

After intense debate by social scientists, soccer moms and academics, urban stress as well as the breakdown of family and overgrazing were listed as major components of the malady. Alcohol and illegal drug abuse, economic disparity, television and the lack of water rounded out the frightening roster.

“We don’t know what this means,” admitted Dr Efram Pennywhistle Dean of Wheat at Pea Green Academy, “which is in keeping with the tabulations of our other tedious studies since the Civil War. We’re not looking to take the gloves off with Tony the Tiger or mix it up with Snap, Crackle and Pop but the results are conclusive,” he burped.

Critics of the academy say participants in the study have sugar-coated statistics with regard to social ills and drown legitimate findings with the aid of the dairy industry.

“They’re all a bunch of flakes,” said Captain Crunch, a retired bore hero who now represents Ralston-Furina. “Are they really including icons like Quaker Oats and Kellog’s Corn Flakes on their hit list?”

Pennywhistle admitted his team may have been caught with egg on their faces with this premature announcement.

“We should have waited until the lunch line died down to release our findings,” he flinched. “Maybe they expected us to spoon feed them on this one.”                                                               – Kashmir Horseshoe

Huey Long Demands Recount

(Baton Rouge) Former Louisiana governor Huey Pierce Long, who was assassinated in 1935, has returned from the grave and is demanding a recount on some municipal election or the other held in Bayou La Fouche or some such place. Saying he was cheated, Long insists that the election was actually a mandate and that he should have been crowned king.

Long was a free-wheeling governor who ran the state in an unorthodox manner until his murder. He may have been a crook but at least he has a bridge named after him which is more than can be said for most folks. He is the first governor from south of the Mason-Dixon Line to come back from the dead (although the 3,028th to demand a recount). Colorado Governor James H. Peabody performed the feat at least three times after his death, once at Vail during a birthday party for then President Gerald Ford and then later while house sitting for Buffalofile Cody, the great-niece of Schuyler Colfax.

It is not known how long Long will be in town.

 

GARDEN OF EDEN

The stormy spring morning on Mulberry Street takes a peek at a drenched Lucifero setting up his ragtag vegetable stand like always. For the last week or two he’s been expanding his inventory to include summer fruits arriving by the truckload from New Jersey. Soon a warm sun burns the clouds away. He looks to the heavens and registers his still sour mood with the cynical snap of a wet Sicilian.

“Idiots. They are all idiots, running to their own funerals. None of them ever ask the right questions. They don’t even know where they came from, and have certainly never faced the prospects of where they are going,” he chanted. The most unoriginal sinners in the world live in New York.

“I’ve sold to new potatoes to Nebuchadnezzar II, corn to Cleopatra, snow peas to Pontius Pilot, gourds to Genghis Khan, string beans to King Henry whatsisname, and honeydew melon to Napoleon, not to mention one bright shiny, red apple to a woman named Eve,” he smiled. “And here it is 1939 and I’m stuck negotiating the price of traumatized Brussels sprouts with comatose peasants.”

Just then, a large, slightly overweight fellow with a snow white beard, wearing a faded red plaid hunting jacket came humming around Lucifero’s leafy corner. As he passed the stand he waved good day an grabbed an apple. Before Lucifero could say “Old Scratch” the man had disappeared.

“Damn, he did it again,” spat Lucifero. “I might make a living it it weren’t for thieves, taxes and fruit flies.”

“Hold the moralizing, Lucifero,” rasped a white-bearded whisper from a nearby doorway. “I pay my fruit and vegetable tab at the end of every week, now don’t say I don’t.”

A stooped Lucifero swung around to a contorted response, lowering his head, watching the apple snatcher chewing away contentedly.

“And hold your head up, boy. How do expect to project the proper image with that posture! Good apple, though, Lucifero,” he chomped. “No worms for a change.”

“Or snakes,” said Lucifero, tempting divine providence on that charming spring day. “I do my own work best, without any input from your pack of thugs,” he slurred. “Is that your car?

“Yeah, it’s a Cadillac. Gabriel bought it for me last month. He says I need to drive something befitting my station in life. I think he’s social climbing in his own angelic way.”

“That can get you into trouble, heh?” answers Lucifero. “But some of us did survive, and then there are the human extensions. Look at my boy Adolf. He’s kicking some butt in Europe. Did you see the way he seduced the Austrians and marched into Czechoslovakia?”

“We’ll see how you do after Winston and Franklin get their ducks in a row. One thing’s for sure, you could be striking it rich like the other angles if you’d have just been patient. They went corporate, sure, they showed up for work every day. They bought the eternal plan. But look at Michael, he’s semi-retired to the celestial suburbs, has a summer home in the Hamptons, and buys a new set of wings every year. Thugs like him are sipping the nectar of the gods, while you’re own here sorting cauliflower, arranging sweet potatoes and bitching about your lot.”

“Who’s bitching? I’m just telling it like it is. I tried working for you. There were those philosophical differences. You try working this stand all day and see if you still love all these people so damn much. I’d like to see you in this apron with all your all-knowing, all-forgiving omni-presentness and all that,” said Lucifero, noticing a frown forming on the man’s forested face. Thinking better of incurring his wrath he changes his approach.

“Here, have a pear. They’re very nice today…”

“…But I’ve just had an apple,” said the white beard. “A pear would be a sin, and don’t be so defensive.”

“Just pay up, then” says a rearmed Lucifero holding out his hand. “Put your money where your mouth was.”

Just then a couple waltzes down the street, their odd, magic ballet explainable only in one silly word: Love.

Although they appeared to be adrift, they dropped their amorous anchor right in front of Lucifero’s vegetable stand.

“Good morning,” offered Lucifero. “Nice morning. Are you looking for something special?”

“Not really, sir,” said the young man. “Beautiful pears, though.”

“Yes. Beautiful pears,” said Lucifero thinking back to a moment ago. “Do you live around here? I have not seen you before.”

“We live in the Garden District,” answered the young woman. “I’m Eve and this is Adam.”

This time Lucifero’s gaze in the direction of the bearded man was met with one of equal surprise. Ancient eyebrows were in full tilt. Both hurled themselves back into the conversation.

“Is that a fact,” quipped Lucifero. Well, welcome to the neighborhood. I am Lucifero, and this is my friend Mr…Mr. Smith. Yes. Mr. Smith.”

Adam shook hands, Eve nodded cordially.

“What do you do, Mr. Smith,” she asks politely.

“Oh a little of this, and a little of that…”

“He’s too modest,” shot Lucifero. Mr. Smith is a renown creator of some regard. He has accomplished much in the field of human resources in what has been very little time.”

“Now, Lucifero, let’s not bore these kids with my history…”

“What would you like, then?” asks Lucifero, changing the conversation back to the business of produce.

“Those tomatoes look good. Where do they come from?” asked the young man.

“Upstate,” said Lucifero.

“We’ll take a dozen, and six ears of corn and…what about some apples, honey?” asks Adam. “You’ve been staring at them since we got here.”

“Yes, Eve, how about some nice apples?” smiles Lucifero holding out one of his best.

“You want to be careful of apples this time of the year, dear,” starts the bearded man. “You can’t tell it but most have worms and the fruit’s still mushy.”

“You just ate one,” said Lucifero. “Did you encounter the little serpents?”

“No, but maybe I was just lucky.”

“How much are the apples?” asks Eve, now entranced by the red treasure.

“Maybe a bit more than you’ll want to pay,” cracked the creator.

“Let the lady decide,” schmoozed Lucifero handing her the apple.

Eve looks at the apple, looks at Adam and glances in the direction of the bearded man who is shaking his head from side to side.

“I’ll take it,” says Eve biting down hard on the fruit.

Lucifero completes the transaction, delighted with his sale. The Adam and Eve skip off with their treasures.

“Curses!” says the creator. “I give them a free will but they stumble every time!”

“Now, there’s no need for profanity, sir, “smiles Lucifero. “Here, I have a present for you. It’s a very interesting piece by a fellow named Darwin. Maybe it will shed some light on the behavior of these humans.”

“Darwin, huh?” he answers. “I heard something about him the last time I was in Tennessee.”

– Kevin Haley