Investigators for the British Secret Service have revealed that two prominent US politicians are the illegitimate sons of evil madman, Dr. Julius No.
The late Dr. No, who was killed in 1962 near Jamaica by British secret agent, James Bond, just seconds before No's plot to rule the world could be fulfilled. The crazed megalomaniac apparently had two sons who have long awaited the chance to complete their father's dream of bringing the world to its knees.
These two slithery geniuses grew up in America and insinuated their way into American politics, eventually rising to positions within the Congress where they can now put their father's nefarious plot into motion, as the world stands by, helpless to stop them.
British sources have identified the two bastard children of Dr. No as:
You have took up the fight that we been fightin' here in the great state of Arizona ever since we took it from the Injuns and the Mexes. God gave us this here place and we intend to keep it fer ourselves, no matter who we got to kill. That's why, when God gave us Arizona, he gave us guns, too.
Ever since then, it has been open season here in Arizona on Injuns, Mexes, colored folk, Democratic Congresswomen and others who don't look like us or talk like us or think like they way we think they should think. And those Muslims that you're so rightly worried about--why don't they just go back to............Muslimania. Or wherever the hell it is they come from.
I heard some news guy say th' other day that they first thought it was them Muslim terrorists that shot down them kids over there. I say, it was Muslim terrorists. I say, if you weren't so dang worried about Muslims wreckin' your country, you wouldn't have had to shoot all them folks to get people's attention, am I right?
You don't want 'em in Norway and we for damn sure don't want 'em here.
I want you to know that if them Norwayers ever let you outta the hoosegow over there, you got a home here in Arizona. And bring your shootin' irons, 'cause, buddy, you're sure gonna need 'em here. We got us a proud tradition of shootin' first and askin' questions later. And we're a-gettin' to the point where we ain't even askin' questions no more 'cause we just don't plum care no more what you got to say 'fore we drill ya.
Me and the boys'll get you a house to live in (lots of foreclosures around these parts since we scared off so many Mexes), get you a job working for the Arizona Border Patrol (since it seems like them Federal boys don't give a hoot in hell about securin' our borders, so we do it our own selves), maybe hook you up with some young filly of your likin', get you an NRA membership and a "Good Neighbor" discount card at Bob's Bullet Barn of Bisbee, for all your ammunition needs, 'specially them hard-to-find items like them holler-point, Kevlar-piercin' babies, before Hussein Obama takes them away.
But, that there's another story.....
Well, I sure do hope everything works out for you over there in Norwayland, pardner. As we say in these here parts, "wear your hat low and your pistols lower."
Your friend in the struggle from Arizona,
The Scalphuntin' Demon of Gila Bend
"Extremism, in the defense of liberty, is no vice" Barry, By God, Goldwater, Arizona's Favorite Son
Yankee shortstop, Derek Jeter, reached the milestone of 3,000 base hits on Saturday before an adoring throng of New York faithful. He drove a ball over the left field wall for a memorable exclamation point on his achievement.
Following his triumphant return to the Yankee dugout, he was seen talking on the telephone. After the game, a reporter asked Jeter if he had a call from the president or some other famous celebrity congratulating him on this momentous occasion.
"No," he calmly replied, "I had to call my lawyer. I need him to start proceedings to get me a zoning variance right away on my place in Tampa so I can put a couple of thousand more square-foot addition on it."
When the reporter observed that Jeter, a bachelor, had just recently finished construction on the $7.7 million, 30,000 square foot house on the ultra-exclusive community of Davis Islands, the slugger responded, "Yeah, but that was before all this. I'm gonna need that extra room just to hold my ego................"
The jury, in an obvious rush to get home and make up for the wasted 4th of July weekend spent listening to closing arguments, declared accused killer, Casey Anthony, not guilty of all charges except fibbing on Tuesday.
In a hushed courtroom, the foreman of the jury announced the verdict. When Judge Belvin Perry polled the jury by asking, "So say you all?", he was answered with a chorus of: "Yeah, whatever. Can we go now?"
When it was apparent that the defendant was, in fact, exonerated of the charges of capital murder, manslaughter and jaywalking in the act of disposing of a corpse, confetti rained down upon the elated--and somewhat mystified--defense team. Ms. Anthony and the defense team rushed to the jury box and gave high-fives to the jurors and nearby spectators. A reporter in the courtroom shouted to Ms. Anthony, "You've just been declared 'not guilty' by a jury of your peers. What are you going to do now?"
"I'm going to DisneyWorld!" she gushed.
As the defendant was led back to the lock up to await sentencing on Thursday, the jubilant defense team repaired to posh restaurant Terrace 390 across the street and began their victory celebration. The giddy lawyers donned specially-made baseball caps and jerseys emblazoned with the logo: "World Courtroom Champions, Orlando, 2011. A monsoon of expensive Champagne soaked the normally-staid barristers as they reveled in their come-from-behind victory.
"I'll tell you what," shouted lead defense lawyer, Jose Baez, "It just goes to show you that you can never give up. There's no quit in this team. I told these guys when we first started putting this case together that we were gonna pull this off. All the trash talking throughout the trial by the prosecution--not to take anything away from them, they did a helluva job, but I think this verdict shows who the better counsel was in the courtroom today."
His summation was cut short when another man came up from behind Baez and sprayed the remnants of a bottle of Dom Perignon on his head. Baez turned and put the interloper in a good-natured head lock. "And--ha--this guy right here, this guy was a big part of this team", referring to co-counsel, Cheney Mason. "We couldn't have done without him and I'm just so proud to have had Cheney here this year."
Mason hugged Baez and laughed, "I hope you feel the same way in a couple months, Jose"--an obvious reference to Mason's upcoming free-agency negotiations.
As a crowd gathered outside the restaurant to watch the celebration on a hastily-erected big screen TV, Orlando police had to be called in to keep the unruly celebrants from getting out of hand. Said one officer in full riot gear, "Orlando gets a lot of Canadian visitors this time of year. We saw what happened in Vancouver when the Canucks lost; we shudder to think what kind of hell they would raise if they ever won anything....."
TV news anchor and professional keeper of justice, Nancy Grace, appeared outside the raucous nightclub and, brimming with righteous indignation, barged past the contingent of police and security guards and into the restaurant, claiming she was, in fact, Geraldo Rivera. Once inside, she angrily confronted the lead attorneys and accused them of a grave miscarriage of justice, railing against their misleading the jury, their misrepresentation of the facts, the lies, the deceit of anyone who disagrees with her.
The lawyers looked at her in stunned silence as she concluded her impassioned castigation of the judicial system as she sees it. Then they hosed her down in a flood of Champagne.
As the Champagne struck her steaming head, it exploded in a shower of tiny gray cells.
Meanwhile, across town in a run-down Denny's, the scene at the post-trial prosecution get-together was vastly different.......
Bowing to pressure from Main Street merchants (and their campaign contributions) and from whatever direction the wind is blowing on this particular day, the Sarasota City Commission has begun the late-night surreptitious removal of the ill-fated parking meters that were installed a scant six weeks ago.
Noting that the parking meters have, indeed, accomplished their intended mission of controlling parking in the downtown core, Sarasota PD Parking Liaison, Capt. Jeffrey "The Enforcer" Karr said, "The meters obviously served their purpose. There's not a car parked anywhere here on Main Street," as he surveyed the empty boulevard. Empty, except for the fleet of shiny new Parking Enforcement carts, loaded down with menacing-looking "boots" festooned with crudely-drawn skull and crossbones that were to be locked onto those vehicles with expired meters. Also on the street were about a dozen or so newly-minted "Meter Matrons" standing by the carts, a stone-faced group of 70-year old chain-smoking women who were all apparently fired from their former jobs as maximum-security prison guards for mistreatment of their hardened-criminal charges.
"This is a great day for the citizens of Sarasota," crowed mayor Suzanne Atwell, a former proponent of the meters, when asked about their removal. "I think it shows how just how responsive this Commission is. Two months ago, we listened to the voice of the people and installed the meters and, now, we've listened again to the voice of the people and we're yanking them out. And, yes, I realize that we spent almost $500,000 to install the meters, half that much again to purchase our new Traffic Enforcement vehicles and about $175, 000 to recruit, train and pay for anger-management classes for our new "Meter Matrons".
"But we got a really great deal on removing the meters......"
I'm Evan Longoria. I'm the third-baseman for the Tampa Bay Rays. I'm paid millions of dollars to play a game and, by extension, be a role model for my young fans. Recently, someone burglarized the house I was renting with two other teammates and stole my AK-47 assault rifle that I keep for....for.....well, it's none of your goddam business why I keep it, actually. It's my God-given Second Amendment right to keep and bear arms in defense of......well, that's none of your business either.
The rifle was purchased legally, registered legally and possessed legally and responsibly by me.
Until it was stolen.
Now, I don't know how it's going to be used. Quite possibly, it will be owned by another responsible gun owner. Or maybe it'll just be sold for some crack cocaine. Or maybe some 16-year old kid will get his hands on it and impress his friends by accidentally shooting a few of them. Then again, maybe somebody will use it to stick up the 7-11 where you and your family just happen to be buying chips and Slurpees and you'll all get hosed down in a hail of bullets.
Either way, not my problem. I can't be held responsible for what happens with it now. It was stolen, remember? Plus, I can afford to buy another one. Or ten. Don't care.
Hell, show up at Tropicana Field with it someday and I just might autograph it for you.
Because now that it's public knowledge that I owned an assault rifle, maybe opposing pitchers will think twice next time before throwing that high hard one at me..........
A man goes to local courthouse and files documents declaring himself a "sovereign citizen," complete with "a thumb print on each page and a photocopy of 21 silver pieces — the price to become a "freeman." That man now considers himself no longer subject to the laws of the United States and, as such, exempt from the bother of paying taxes, among other things.
In most places, that man would be considered "nuts."
In Sarasota, that man walks the streets. He carries a gun. He wears a badge. In Sarasota, that man is homicide detective, Tom Laughlin.
Laughlin, it seems, is part of a growing movement of individuals declaring themselves to be sovereign citizens of the world, including Terry Nichols of the Oklahoma City bombing, Joe Stack, who flew his plane into an IRS building in Austin, Texas, and Jerry and Joseph Kane, the father and son who fatally shot two Arkansas police officers last May, who all believe that "the red numbers on a Social Security card were clues to finding the account, and that birth certificates were related to secret ships berthed in a port that held access to millions of....dollars."
HE CARRIES A GUN!!
Tom Laughlin is no stranger to controversy. Before coming to Sarasota, Laughlin was known to a generation of movie fans as the iconic:
Billy Jack
Laughlin made several 'Billy Jack' films in the 60's and'70's, including Billy Jack, The Trial of Billy Jack, Billy Jack Goes To Washington, New Billy Jack City, You Don't Know Billy Jack, Jumpin' Billy Jack Flash and a series of travelogue vignettes entitled Hit The Road, Billy Jack, And Don't You Come Back No More, No More.
Said Sarasota City Manager, Bob Bartolotta, "We knew Det. Laughlin might be a bit of a loose cannon for some of his counter-culture ideas when we hired him, but he was so.........so Hollywood! Our citizens just loved seeing him around town in that funny hat of his, beating people up."
Following his dismissal from the force, security cameras at Five Points Park in downtown Sarasota caught Laughlin confronting some of the very same homeless people he used to enjoy rousting so much as a cop:
City Manager Bartolotta reports that no charges will be filed against former detective Laughlin for the fight and that all fourteen of the homeless men injured in the altercation were given checks for $400 and bussed out of the city.
I'm Jared Lee Loughner. On Saturday, I attended a meet-and-greet held by a traitor to my America, U.S. Rep. Gabrielle Giffords. I decided to answer the call of the patriots and jump start the process to take back my country. I emptied a clip from my Glock into Giffords and some of her treasonous supporters.
I will not retreat--I will RELOAD, as the next President of the United States, Sarah Palin, commanded me to do. I will not yield my America to the great brown horde from across the Rio Grande. I will not press "1" for English. I will not let down Glenn Beck. I will not let down Rush Limbaugh. I will be true to my America. I will demonstrate my allegiance to my America by hacking away at the cancer that threatens us all.
I will take advantage of the crosshair targets placed on this scourge by Pres. Palin and blast them all back to hell where they belong for being soft on immigration, soft on gun control and backing this whole Obamacare idea, which will surely ruin my America.
#10. Homeless Population Non-Existent: Sarasota officials tout lack of homeless on city streets, say that the cost of busing them to North Port and Bradenton is more than offset by the increased spending at local businesses by tourists, plus not having to feed and house them in the local lock-up. The homeless, I mean; not the tourists.
#9. Ground Zero for Ponzi Schemes: Sarasota has become mecca for "those who dare to dream big." Local college offers courses "Introductory Ponzi" and "Intermediate Ponzi", taught by Art Nadel and Beau Diamond via videoconference from their respective prison cells and "Buying and Selling Real Estate to Friends and Family to Drive Up Prices, Then Leaving the Country Before You Can Be Indicted" by Neil Mohammed Husani, via videoconference from somewhere in Amman, Jordan.
#8. Bank Failures: Banking industry claims too much competition was bad for business, encouraged some bankers to make ridiculous loans, knowing they were scams and were sure to fail, to line pockets of loan originators before banks crashed and burned. County now inviting out-of-town banks in to fill void and bring fresh money.
#7. Mortgage Brokers Scatter Like Roaches: Economy collapses under weight of greedy developers, lack of oversight by banks and wannabe real estate flippers, all looking to get rich. Mortgage brokers were more than happy to drive that bus. No more money, no more real estate deals, no more mortgage brokers.
#6. Mooring Field A Smashing Success: Well-heeled boaters and yachtsmen flocked to the newly-remodeled Sarasota Bay to be the first to enjoy the upscale resort atmosphere offered by Marina Jack's "Le Bassin de Nautique," paid for entirely by the taxpayers of Sarasota. Mooring balls failed testing, contractor claims that no one told him that cinder blocks tied to the end of ropes would not be sufficient and demanded another $462,000 for more cinder blocks. City taking demand under advisement.
#5. Google Installs High-Speed Internet: Sarasota was selected as the winner in Google's fiber optic sweepstakes after then-mayor, Dick Clapp, was torn apart on live TV by ravenous sharks after jumping into their tank at Mote Marine to attract the attention of Google's selection committee execs choosing a city to receive experimental high-speed internet. Shark handler, Edna Buxbaum, says she got all wrapped up playing Zuma on her cell phone and forgot to feed the sharks.
#4. Red Sox Spurn Ft. Myers for Sarasota: Boston Red Sox owners, impressed with leadership and vision of local politicians, break their just-negotiated lease and pull out of Lee County Stadium in the dead of night. But not before stealing the plumbing fixtures, air conditioning units and door hardware from their former clubhouse. Unruly Boston fans overwhelm newly-remodeled Shannon Staub Stadium, setting fire to the $12 million replica of the Green Monster when Sox lose first game.
#3. Julian Assange Welcomed to City: Wikileaks founder and international persona non grata, Julian Assange was given the key to the city and a check for $3.5 million seed money from the Economic Development Council to build WikiWorld, a proposed theme park based on Wikileaks. Attractions to include the Foreign Relations Roller Coaster, the International Espionage Merry-Go-Round and the sure-to-be-popular State Department Shake, Rattle & Roll, billed as "a crazy, wacky ride around the world in cars bearing a country's flag where riders guess who their friends are this week in an attempt to avoid a global nuclear holocaust."
#2. Hurricane Strikes City: A powerful Category 5 storm, dubbed Hurricane Hoffman, slammed into Sarasota this past summer with a direct hit on the city's fabled bayfront, obliterating the contentious Unconditional Surrender statue of a sailor kissing a nurse, then, miraculously, dissipating instantly before crossing Gulfsream Blvd., sparing downtown. Workers later found the the wreckage of the sailor several miles inland at the National Cemetery, while the statue of the nurse was found, incredibly, intact and standing upright in front of Sarasota Memorial Hospital. Unfortunately, two days later the statue was knocked over and destroyed when 87-year old Mildred Mrdjenivich plowed into it on her way to bingo.
#1. Real Estate Market Rebounds: Realtors are ecstatic about the dramatic upswing in home prices. Developers and home builders are working round-the-clock to meet the pent-up demand of anxious homebuyers. Economic experts are absolutely positive that home values will skyrocket to pre-recession levels in the second quarter of 2011, making right now:
THE TIME TO BUY THAT DREAM HOME YOU'VE ALWAYS WANTED!!!!!!!!!
Well, I must tell you what happened at our annual Christmas program this year. As you know, for the past 32 years, we at St. Thomas More....Or Less Parish have been staging our famous "Nativity Live" show during the weeks leading up to Christmas Eve. It's always been a big hit here in Sarasota with the residents and visitors alike and we always make a great deal of money off the ticket sales, even after the Diocese skims its cut off the top.
Now when the circus had their winter home here, it was never any trouble getting the animals we needed for the performance. In the years since they left, it has been increasingly harder to find the right livestock to authentically portray the Christmas story. Thank goodness we have had any number of young trollops in the congregation over the years who get knocked up during the year and are about to pop in December so we don't have to worry about that role, at least!
This year, however, our string of good fortune ran out. In a BIG way!
Mr. Braselton Gumlog, from out east in Arcadia, has been supplying the animals for our shows for the last couple years. All was well until right before Thanksgiving, when his only camel, "Mr. Humpy", fell ill with a bad case of distemper. We were all in quite a pickle as to what to do, as this camel has been in our pagent for the last 17 years and had his part down pat.
Elsie Dahlonega of the Ladies Guild came up with the idea of putting people in a camel suit as a substitution. Father Rosenburg thought that to be a great idea and suggested using Sister Euthanasia and Ivey Hephzibah, since, he said, "those two have the spindliest legs I have ever seen."
No of us dared ask Father how he knew what Sister Euthanasia's legs looked like....
Well, they agreed to do it and, just so you know, they do have the spindliest legs that any of us had ever seen and they fit the camel suit perfectly. Or, at least, the bottom part of the costume. We found out that the only young person from the St. Thomas More.....Or Less Youth Group without a part in the pageant was that Talbotton boy--you know, the s-l-o-w one. But he was willing and, really, all he had to do was fill out the hump part of the camel costume. What could go wrong?
Let me tell you, dear sister, PLENTY could go wrong. And, it DID!!
First, Sister Euthanasiasays she has a "touch" of claustrophobia, but claims she can control it with a bit of "cough medicine." She must have had more than her usual "touch" of claustrophobia that night, because she had more than a bit of her "cough medicine"----a lot more. She was pretty well hammered at show time, but insisted she could walk like a camel, drunk or sober, so into the camel suit and down the aisle they went.
They were doing pretty dang well, too, until the part where they were supposed to kneel. Well, the way Ivey tells it, Sister was in the forequarters and lost her balance when she tried to stand back up and they crashed into the pew. The Talbotton boy ended up in the lap of that cute young thing, Glendora Flaut, who just howled up a storm about being violated by a dromedary.
Poor Sumner Leverett, who was playing the shepherd, yanked and yanked on the reins to get the camel with one drunken nun, a terrified 12-year old and poor old Ivey Hephzibah back on its feet. Sister Euthanasia was just cackling away and told Sumner that he could "pull all you want, but my butt is stuck between these two pews and it ain't comin' out unless you get of one of Connolly Tutwiler's tow trucks in here."
Well, it didn't take a tow truck, but it did take four deacons and Glendora's two uncles to get Sister, Ivey and the Talbotton boy out of the pews, back on their feet and out of the church.
Sister Euthanasia remembers little of what happened that night, poor Ivey has quit coming to church and the Talbotton boy has been arrested twice now for stalking the Flaut girl.
Father Rosenburg says that there is talk now that the camel's part will be cut from next year's pageant.
I'm Clay Duke. On Tuesday, I interrupted a Panama City School Board meeting by painting a big red "V" in a circle on the wall, then pulled out my Smith & Wesson automatic pistol and waved it around. I blamed the School Board for firing my wife from her teacher's job and threatened to kill them all. Being the consummate gentleman, though, I told the lone female on the board that she could leave, then continued to hold my trusty piece in the board president's face.
While I was making my point, that sneaky bitch that I let leave the room, crept back in behind me and pummeled me with her purse. That freakin' purse must have weighed a ton, it hurt so bad. Those things should be outlawed. I should have plugged her right then and there, but, like I said, I'm a gentleman.
Instead, I leveled old Betsy and squeezed off a couple shots at the rest of the board members sitting there for not warning me that the crazy bitch was about to hit me with a surprise purse attack.
I'll never know how the hell I missed them all.
Then, out of nowhere, comes a security guard and plugs me. I return fire, but, once again, don't hit a thing. Unbelievable, huh?
He hits me a couple more times and I figure the jig is up, so I put the gun to my head and pull the trigger, thinking that since I haven't hit a thing all day, I'll probably miss again.
Urban Meyer told a stunned crowd of reporters and Gator Nation faithful that he was not only leaving the University of Florida, but he was also leaving this fetid material world for a better place and joining a spartan monastic order in the mountains outside of Denver, Colorado.
"As you know, my health has been an issue for me for quite some time now, mostly when we lost football games," said Meyer. "When we won, eh, not so much."
"I wanted to step away at the end of last season when Timmy left, but my coaching staff, the athletic director and others coaxed me into coming back for this season. After this 7-6 season, all those who wanted me to stay on last year told me not to let the door hit me on the ass on the way out this time. Hey, you don't have to hit me on the head with a sledgehammer--I get it!"
"I knew I couldn't coach college football forever, but when we were picked to play Penn State in the Outback Bowl on New Year's Day, I had nightmares of me being an 85-year old coach, hobbling up and down the sidelines with drool spilling out of my mouth, not knowing where I am, who I am or even what the hell I'm doing there. And then I pee my pants."
Meyer said that he wanted to spend more time with his family after devoting nearly his entire adult life to coaching. "Well, after about a day-and-a-half of that 'family togetherness,' I was ready to get the hell outta there before I choked somebody. What did I ever see in that woman anyway? And those kids of mine....."
"Then, as if in a vision, my life's plan fell into place one afternoon while I was waiting in a dentist's office. I was absent-mindedly leafing through some magazine, pondering my fate, when I saw it:
My life was transformed in that instant. Seeing Timmy in that haircut, I knew I was destined to become a monk"
"After my root canal, when I went home and excitedly announced my plans to my family, they were like: 'OK, whatever....' I took that as a sign."
"I did some research and found an order of silent monks who lived in a collection of old church buses in the mountains near Dog Breath, Colorado, about a hundred miles north of Denver and my Timmy, who plays for the Broncos."
"I interviewed with them, was accepted into their brotherhood and am leaving tomorrow for a higher plane. They even gave me a tryout for their "Silent Chorale." I'm the next-to-last one on the left side. I'm a little shorter than most of the other monks, but the Head Abbott says I make up for my lack of size with my quickness and my good hands. Hey,that sounds like the same lies I was telling to those high school kids when I wanted them to come to UF....."
For the first time since I was elected to the Florida Senate in '92, I will not be feeding at the public trough. (Carole says that I might have to get a real job now. HA! Good one, babe! I thought that's why I married you! LOL)
So, there I was, minding my own business, coasting through my second term as governor of God's Waiting Room, riding on the bullet train to the United States Senate, when that little twerp, Rubio, comes out of nowhere and--boom--wraps those Tea Party ding-a-lings around his stubby little finger..
"The only true Conservative?" "Tea Party darling?" Pul-leeze. What kind of "true Republican" has a first and last name that ends in a vowel? Mario Cuomo--oh, yeah, like he was a "true Republican". NOT! How about Thomaso Jeffersonio? Georgio Washingtonio? Gimme a break. He's no more of a "true Republican" than Topo Gigio was!
Anyhoo, the Tea Party adopted little Marco Polo, poured a pants-load of money into his campaign and he starts to kick my ass in the polls by linking me to Obama, all because of that one bro-hug in Ft. Myers a year ago. Me! I can't believe it! Time to turn on the Crist Charm Factory and send this pipsqueak limping back to Miami.......
Well, it turns out this Tea Party thing was bigger than anybody thought. Who knew those old farts had so much disposable income to spend on him? Next thing I know, I'm so far down in the polls, it's like I'm standing at the Equator looking up! (A little geography humor there.........)
Old Charlie can see the writing on the wall, so "Mr. Republican" becomes "Mr. Independent", because Florida voters want to vote for me, Charlie Charisma, whether I'm a Republican or Democrat or Independent.
OK, maybe not a Democrat.
So, election day rolls around and guess what? Maybe they wanted to vote for me, but they DIDN'T!
Jerks.
I'm lucky I beat the Libertarian candidate. (Did the Libertarians even have a candidate this year?)
Then, to add insult to injury, the legislature meets in special session to override some of my vetoes from this past year, like I never existed.
Next, my old "friends" from the GOP want their campaign contributions returned because they "didn't donate to Charlie Crist--they donated to the Republican Party." Oh, boo-hoo; get over yourselves already. I spent your damn money, so there! (Wellllll, I didn't spend all their money, I kept some of it for my "unemployent compensation".)
So, that's it. I'm out. Rick Scott is going to be sitting in MY chair at My desk in My office. But, I'm not bitter and I wish him the best of luck. He's only going to last as long as the REAL governor of Florida lets him sit in that seat--my old boss, Jeb. (Yeah, and thanks for all your support during the election, boss. Would it have killed you to throw me a bone?)
I hope your year went better than mine. Mine actually kinda sucked. But, I'll be back, better than ever. Tanned (LOL), rested and ready to go!
Speaking of going, I must. Gotta go scan those want-ads. For Carole!
Sarasota awoke this morning to the stunning news that the revered Amish grandmother "Queen of Pies", 104-year old Amanda Yoder, was arrested overnight at her exclusive Longboat Key compound by Federal drug enforcement agents. Grandma Yoder, known to her legion of fiercely loyal customers as the humble and unassuming old woman who greeted them at the Yoder's Family Restaurant in the Amish/Mennonite section of Sarasota known as Pinecraft.
But things are not always as they appear, especially in this town.
Grandma Yoder always said that her pies drew people from all over the Suncoast because of their wholesome goodness, fresh fillings, no preservatives and the secret ingredient in her pie crusts that she would never divulge.
Turns out, claim DEA and ATF authorities, the secret ingredient in those "addictive" pies was crack cocaine.
It also seems that "Grandma" Yoder herself is not all she seems to be, either. In fact, she's more--much more.
Amanda Yoder, seen in the photo below as agents burst into her posh penthouse condo, is not the kindly old grandma that everyone has come to recognize. Known inside the Yoder family as "Roxy," Mrs. Yoder has a decidedly harder edge when she's away from the public's eye.
Grandma "Roxy" Yoder
Yoder cursed and shouted at reporters as she was led away in handcuffs and leg shackles to a waiting SUV. "You got nothin' on me! You hear me--NOTHIN'! I'll be outta here by this afternoon. I'm lawyered up, bitches!"
Authorities also arrested Mrs. Yoder's husband, Levi, along with the pair's twin sons, Levon and Levoff, pictured below:
Levi Yoder, flanked by sons, Levon (l) and Levoff (r)
Outgoing Florida Attorney General, Bill McCollum, told reporters "nailing this bunch was the highlight of my career. If I could have pulled it off sooner, Florida voters would have elected me as their governor. Chrome-dome Scott would be back stealing Medicare funds and I'd be the one planning the obscenely-expensive, corporate-funded, multi-million dollar inauguration party instead of him."
Privately, law enforcement officials concede that the Yoder pie scheme will have little impact on the daily operation of the Amish Mafia, known as the Bruderhof or Brotherhood. "We may have yanked out one hair of the beard, but there are still lots of whiskers on that chin," said one DEA official.
On a side note, when news of the arrest reached Food Channel personality, Adam Richman, he was not surprised. "I filmed a segment of Man Vs. Food with the Yoders about a year ago. She took me into the kitchen where I was shocked to see scores of young Oriental girls wearing surgical masks preparing the pie crusts. Grandma Yoder said she was just "bug conscious. I never would have guessed she was putting booger sugar in those pies."
"Then, later, when we did the bit sitting at the table talking about her pies, she kept grabbing my leg under the table. It struck me as kind of un-grandma like, but I didn't think much about it at the time. TV makes people do all kinds of strange things........."
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!
The Culture Capital of FLA, The Sunshine/Funshine State, United States
I relocated to Sarasota several years ago. They said it was the promised land; paradise, if you will.
But, like Rick Blaine observed when he was told that Casablanca was in the desert and had no water, "I was misinformed."
Oh, there's water here, all right. It's just that it's filled with sharks, alligators, red tide, snakes, hurricanes, snobs, scammers and real estate developers, redneck crackers and the moneyed elite.
Casablanca only had Nazis. Ha!
