Wednesday, October 27, 2010

International Sports Figure Dies Mysteriously; Was Being Investigated For Gambling Ties

Internationally-famous sports prognosticator, Paul, the Octopus, has been found dead at his home in Germany.

Paul's meteoric rise to fame began pedestrianly enough in the depths of the Mediterranean, when he was plucked from the roiling sea by a Greek fishing boat intent on selling him to the local fishmonger.  On the way back to their village, the fishermen began arguing about their hometown soccer team.  Paul, desperate to be spared from a certain death by drowning in some cheap marinara sauce at some rundown tourist cafe on the Greek coast, told the fishermen that he could make them wealthy by picking the winners and losers of upcoming sporting events.

The Greek fishermen laughed that lusty laugh that only Greek fishermen can laugh after drinking too much ouzo, but decided to give Paul a chance, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that an octopus had just spoken to them.

They put Paul in a small tank on their vessel and returned the next morning with the sports page from the daily newspaper, The Galatakion Gazette.  Paul predicted the outcomes of four soccer matches that day, including the hometown Domvrainis Doves losing in an overtime thriller to the roundly-despised  Skordhianika Scorpions.

The fishermen, profoundly amazed by their new-found meal ticket, sold their fishing boat and became professional gamblers, making millions of drachmas off Paul's predictions.  Ultimately, as is wont to happen in these cases of easy money, the lifelong friends had a falling out and, after a day and night and day of heavy drinking, began fighting with each other.  Paul's tank was nearly knocked over in the altercation, when he was spirited away by person or persons unknown to Germany, where he was booked into the local aquarium under an assumed name.

Paul reveled in the spacious surroundings of his new digs and enjoyed performing for the visiting children and making them laugh.  He felt the sting of rejection, though, when he would crawl up the front glass of his tank after spotting a pretty young fraulein, only to have her recoil in squeamish disgust at the very sight of him.

Then, one day, a pigtailed beauty sidled up to the viewing area and gazed longly at Paul's engorged tentacles as he deftly made his way along the sandy bottom of the tank.  She came day after day, week after week, until one day Paul worked up the courage to speak to her.  He spoke at length of his past growing up in the Mediterranean Sea, of his capture by the Greek fishermen, of his brush with death and anxiously awaited her reply.

"Ich spreche nicht griechische," she purred coyly.  But, of course, she did.

The two became fast friends and Paul was soon picking winners of soccer matches for young Bruhilde.  Paul became quite the celebrity and, with the arrival of the World Cup Soccer Games this past year, that notoriety spread exponentially when Paul correctly tabbed the winners of all seven of Germany's matches, as well as giving Spain the nod in the championship tilt.

But, with fame, came accusations.  Paul was indicted as co-conspirator in several illegal gambling operations around the Mediterranean, including Sicily.  Paul confided to Oprah this past fall in an exclusive interview that he was giving up the sports-handicapping business.  He had accepted an invitation from Punxsutawney Phil to join him in rural Pennsylvania in America and be a weather forecaster.  Paul said the change in scenery would do him good and, at his age, working one day a year sounded "pretty darn good."

Paul was found early yesterday morning by his handlers, out of his tank on the bone-dry floor, each tentacle chained to a concrete block.  A note pinned to the cephalopod's dried, brittle skin read simply:  Calamari!

Monday, October 18, 2010

June Cleaver's Death Ruled "Suspicious"; Her Checkered Past Revealed

The Los Angeles County Coroner, Dr. R. Quincy, M.E., has decided that there is enough evidence in the death of TV super-mom, June Cleaver, to open an official inquiry as to the circumstances surrounding her demise.  "I don't care who she was, there's absolutely no reason on God's green earth why a 94-year old woman should just drop over dead.  And that's my rulin'."

The investigation threatens to blow the lid off Mrs. Cleaver's sordid life that, up until now, had been quashed by her handlers.

Born in abject poverty in the gritty mill town of Wilmerding, PA, young June Zeglowitsch soon found her way to the bright lights of Los Angeles and married insurance salesman, Ward Cleaver.  They had two sons, Walter and the younger, Theodore, also known as "The Beaver," for reasons that are not entirely clear.
The ideal family-facade began to crumble when Ward was convicted of insurance fraud and sent to San Quentin Penitentiary for 8-10 years.  June struggled to keep the family together, but, in 1962, the state of California placed the two youngsters in foster care when June's drug addictions got the better of her.  Without her children, June's life spiraled out of control with a series of minor run-ins with the law, from petty larceny, car break-ins, burglary and the like.

"She wasn't a bad lady," said retired Detective Sgt. Joseph Friday of the LAPD, "she just made bad choices.  She didn't think she'd get caught.  They never do.  But they all do eventually.  That's where I came in."

Sgt. Friday was the arresting officer when Mrs. Cleaver attempted to knock over a liquor store on Sunset Blvd. that ended in a shoot-out with police, earning her a one-way ticket to Chino Prison for Women for 15 years.

It was during her stint in prison that June Cleaver re-invented herself.

She became.................Eldridge Cleaver.

In 1966, following a brazen escape from prison in which she walked right out the front gate of the facility, having tricked the guards into thinking she was a tall, black male, she continued her gender-bending charade and fell in with the likes of radicals Huey Newton and Bobby Seale, forming the Black Panthers.  The group espoused violence to achieve their means and had numerous confrontations with police.

Wounded in an Oakland, CA, gun battle with authorities, Cleaver was returned to prison, where she wrote her now famous treatise on urban guerilla warfare, Pearls on Ice.

Upon her release from prison in 1998, she and her cohorts had a mock funeral for her black revolutionary persona, "Eldridge" Cleaver, and she retured to being "June" Cleaver, white suburban housewife.

She lived in relative obscurity in a comfortable suburb of Los Angeles for several years, until she began telling friends that an old acquaintance of her family was trying to extort money from her.  Edward Haskell, who had attended high school with the eldest Cleaver son, Wally, was a moderately successful, if somewhat sleazy, businessman who, with another classmate, Clarence "Lumpy" Rutherford, had opened a string of used car lots around Bakersfield and Modesto.  Haskell apparently had claimed that he and June Cleaver had an affair when he was still in high school and threatened to take that information to authorities, believing that June's parole would be revoked for corrupting the morals of a minor.

Eddie "You Always Get Plenty From Eddie" Haskell

Clarence "Lumpy" Rutherford

When sons, Wally and "The Beav", learned that Haskell was terrorizing their elderly mother, they allegedly hired Mafia hitman, Larry "The Mole" Mondello to have Haskell murdered.  As luck would have it, Mondello was hit and killed by a speeding bus on Santa Monica Blvd. they day before the murder was to take place.

Police theorize that Haskell, who had loudly professed his undying love for June Cleaver for nearly 60 years, killed her in a fit of rage, often claiming that, "If I can't have her, no one can have her."

The Cleavers, just before June's death.  Left to right, Theodore, "The Beav", is a successful LA gynecologist, the late Mrs. Cleaver, and Walter, who owns a medical marijuana store .

Monday, October 11, 2010

Chilean Miners' Squabbling Jeopardizes Imminent Rescue

The impending rescue of thirty-three trapped miners some 2,000 ft. below the surface of a forbidding desert landscape in Chile is apparently in danger of collapse.  Officials on the scene say the miners are squabbling among themselves about the order in which they will make the projected 45-minute trip out of the cold, dank mine in which the men have been entombed since the beginning of August.

A spokesman for the miners union told reporters, "These brave union brothers all want to be the last man out of the mine, preferring that their compadres reach freedom before they do.  They are family--these minadores--are the most courageous of men."

Privately, though, reports are beginning to filter through the ranks of the hundred or so drillers and technicians who effected the rescue tunnel that the miners are reluctant to leave the mine for different reasons. 

Of the thirty-three miners, only four have expressed unabated eagerness to be rescued.  Coincidentally, these four are the only unmarried men among their ranks.

Said one unidentified miner, "You know, down here we're kind of a big deal.  Up there, we're just dumb miners.  Tu es un don nadie--you are a nobody."

"Here we live better than we have ever lived in our lives.  We eat more, we drink more, we sit around in our underwear for hours playing cards with our amigos--and we're heroes for that??  Ay!  We scratch, we fart, we tell dirty jokes and we laugh and laugh and there is no woman to tell us that we are pigs."

"Never before have I been treated like a king like I am living now here in the mine.  They send us movies and music and cerveza and cigarillos and it is all for free.  People want to know how we are, people want to hear what we have to say.  Because we are heroes!"

"But, when we come up, after a few weeks, it will be like, "Hey, vagabundo, when you going back to work?  When you bring home money?  When you buy me things?  When you paint the house?  When you take out the garbage?  When you?  When you?  When you?  Down here, is nothing in a rush.  Like, where you going to go?"

"Now, though, they want us to go.  Go where?  Back to all those problemos muy doloroso??  Ay, I don't think so much of that, senor........" 

"You want me to be first in line to be rescued for this...............????"

Said Lyndon P. Altfather, a driller from Berlin, Pennsylvania, "I didn't come all this way and bust my ass for the last 33 days straight for those sonsabitches to bicker about who's a-comin' up first and who's a-comin' up last.  If they don't figure it out soon, I'm goin' down in that tunnel myself and drag their sorry asses out one by one, if I have to.  Deer season's coming up back home............"

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Sarasota Realtors Demand Reparations For Hungarian Sludge Flood

The Sarasota Association of Realtors, in conjunction with the Visitor's Bureau, the Chamber of Commerce and a loose consortium of local restaurant and hotel owners, is suing the government of Hungary, claiming that their "negligence in the inspection and enforcement of industry-standard safety precautions of the vast retention pond of toxic waste did, in fact, allow a flood of poisonous sludge to suddenly and without warning discharge into the countryside, thereby polluting the affected lands and causing distress to the residents.  Further, said toxic sludge has produced numerous adverse effects upon the Hungarian people and, by extension, upon the businesses of Sarasota, FL, who rely heavily upon those Hungarian people to visit Sarasota, FL, and patronize those businesses."

The lawsuit claims damages in excess of $2.65 billion in lost revenue, including sales commissions, profits and wages.

Spokesrealtor Beneva Lockwood-Ridge said, "This tragedy in Hungary is an even bigger tragedy for Sarasota.  To come on the heels of the BP oil disaster that absolutely decimated our fair city is almost too much to bear.  But we are a strong, vibrant community, nestled as we are on the pristine sandy white beaches along the beautiful Gulf of Mexico, close to all the amenities an active retiree could ever hope for, including the arts, shopping and innumerable opportunities to participate in various sporting and exercise endeavors."

When reminded that no oil ever came close to approaching the Sarasota area, Ms. Lockwood-Ridge countered, "Perhaps the oil did not threaten our shoreline physically, but the perception by the general public was that we were mired in ankle-deep goo and perception trumps reality every time, especially in the world of real estate.  It has been a real tough year for us here in Sarasota and if we were able to cash in on some of that BP money to keep up the payments on our Lexuses, then we're hoping to convince those crazy goulash-eating Hungarians that they should give us money, too.  In fact, if we can keep this up, we won't care if we ever sell another house again!"

"Even though," she hastily added, "NOW is the time to buy!"    

Workers apply red dye to the soil around a Sarasota home prior to the arrival of photographers.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Glenn Beck Identifies Root of America's Ills--Hide The Children!!!

Oh, don't look so startled. 

We knew.  We all knew. 

But it took a hero, a hero like Glenn Beck to say it out loud.  The self-styled favorite child of God is the chosen warrior who will single-handedly save this country from an apocalyptic takeover by Liberalism, Humanism, Nazism, Communism, Socialism, Marxism, Fascism, Atheism, Obamanism and Disneyism.

God bless you, Mr. Beck.............

Monday, October 4, 2010

Captain Obvious Tip o' the Day

Dear Dan,

The next time you tangle with a skunk, go unarmedMano y mofeta, so to speak.  You don't need no stinkin' gun, hombre.  Oh, sure, you'll probably get sprayed, but, at least, you won't have to go to the hospital for gunshot wounds to your hand and face.  You can always wash off the smell, but you can't wash off stupid.

Capt. Obvious