Beware of the dwarf: Not the first time Mike Pence has caused trouble

Why is everyone so surprised that Mike Pence is a giant a-hole? I knew this cat was evil the first time I saw him, when he tried to strangle Goldie Hawn in the library in "Foul Play" back in '78. In the library, people!!!

Good to see you're still in league with midgets, Pence...er, Whitey Jackson...

A Day to Celebrate Bird Poop and Cheap Furniture

Today is Presidents' Day. That time of year when we come together as a nation to celebrate our leaders and their ability to bring to us amazing deals on patio furniture. Oh, sure, we've got Abe Lincoln and George Washington -- whose birthdays have been neatly combined into one big two-fer-one blowout extravaganza. But what about the rest of the presidents? Those long-forgotten mediocrities like Grover Cleveland and William Howard Taft, AKA Uncle Jumbo -- whose primary achievement as chief executive was to give us perhaps the wackiest bit of presidential slapstick in our nation's history, when he -- all 332 pounds of him -- got stuck in the White House bathtub and had to be extricated by six plumbers and a gallon of butter.

And then there's Millard Fillmore, our 13th -- and perhaps most irrelevant -- president, who is best known (at least by me!) for successfully negotiating a treaty with Peru for the use of -- wait for it -- guano.

So move over, George and Abe. You’re going to have to share today with the Millard Fillmores and Franklin Pierces, the failures and flops. Because I've written a really bad poem celebrating them and their, uhh, achievements. So for all you Arthurians and Fillmorons out there, this bad poem is for you:

You ended up a Know-Nothing,
After starting out a Whig
But about Millard Fillmore
Now no one gives a fig.
Still, your picture hangs in the White House hall
Though you’re Presidential detritus
But you’d never have gotten there at all
If not for Zach Taylor’s gastroenteritis.

When it comes to mediocrity
Millard, you’re number one
You’re less memorable than Franklin Pierce
Who, while Prez, got nothing done
John Tyler and James Buchanan
Bow to your mediocre ways
And when measuring accomplishments
You’re no Rutherford B. Hayes

Compared to you Cal Coolidge was full of pep,
and Grover Cleveland was the bomb
At least Andrew Johnson was a roaring drunk
and Ford got shot at by Squeaky Fromme.
Warren Harding had the teapot dome
and gambled away the White House china
Martin Van Buren had awesome muttonchops
Why, even Benjamin Harrison was finer.

Herbert Hoover was not mediocre, he was bad
And so he cannot challenge you
And if Hoover was the worst president
Then Bush Junior smells like number two
That leaves just one inconsequential gent
To battle you, mano-a-mano,
But even Chester Alan Arthur can’t
Knock you off your pile of guano.

Johnny Jingleballs, North Pole Detective in "Farewell, My Portly"

     “So that’s how you want to play it, huh?” yelled Santa. “You wanta play rough?” He leaned down and picked up a tommy gun from the floor. “You wanta play games? Let’s play! Say hello-ho-ho to my little friend!”
     I sprinted for the bank of windows along the far wall as he swung the big gun around at me and pulled the trigger, screaming. Santa’s machine gun belched flame as he cut a jagged swath of death across the room: rat-a-tat-tat...


     Grandma got run over by a reindeer. Or did she? There's only one man tough enough to take on the Santa syndicate and get to the truth: Johnny Jingleballs, North Pole P.I. But Santa's midget goons aren't about to let Johnny just walk in and bust up the Kringle gang. Can Johnny lick the fat man and his dinky Dillingers? Find out in "Farewell, My Portly," a gooey, raisin-filled fruitcake of a mystery. 

Click here to read "Farewell, My Portly"

The Hipster's Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
No one was stirring, except for old Klaus,
Who wasn’t as old as he first appeared.
It’s just that he wore a bushy Civil War-era beard.

The stockings -- knit with wool from free-range, grass-fed sheep --
Were hung by the chimney cleaned by a local, fair trade chimney sweep,
Next to natural soy wax, sea moss-scented candles, 
By the fire of reclaimed wood cut with an axe with an old growth Douglas Fir handle.

The kids – Piper and Bowie – nestled in their futons ‘neath old vintage sheets,
With Urban Outfitters tube socks covering their feet.
And Mama in her Christmas sweater, which was ironically ugly,
Waited for the professional cuddler to come over and hug her so snugly.

‘Cause Klaus was busy blogging about organic vegan soup,
While sipping egg nog in a mason jar (made from free range eggs from   backyard chicken coop).
When out in the street there arose such a melee,
Klaus leapt from his chair, dropping his ukulele.

Away to the window he flew, quite dismayed,
And snapped up the vintage yellow window shade.
“OMG! It looks like an elf or some giant pixie
Just crashed his hybrid sleigh right into my fixie!”

Then from the fireplace came a sudden whooshing sound,
And down the chimney Hipster Santa came tumbling down.
He had pasty white skin, and a beard white as snow,
And a red fedora, perched atop his head just so. 

A pair of black-frame glasses sat high on his nose,
And he wore red skinny jeans that fit like panty hose.
On his neck was an artisanal star tattoo,
And he wore a cardigan from American Apparel, or possibly J. Crew. 

Said Klaus: “But where are your reindeer? Have they all gone lame?”
Hipster Santa just shrugged. “They were harming the planet with all their methane.
Dude, I’d love to stay and talk about fighting The Man,
But I’ve got to review the snack you left me: gluten-free macaroons and PBR in a can.”

“Here,” he said, handing Klaus a gift from his messenger bag.
“You were naughty this year, so your gift is a drag.
No ironic t-shirt, no thrift-store deep-v.
Instead -- ‘cause coal’s bad for the planet -- you get a Nickelback cd.”

And then, with a whoosh, Hipster Santa was gone,
Back up the chimney, and out onto the lawn.
But I heard him exclaim, as he started his sleigh,
“Merry Christmas to all, in an ironic way.”

It's a Wonderful Police Blotter

The movie “It’s a Wonderful Life,” as told in the police log of The Bedford Falls Sentinel:

May 20, 1928

     1:37 p.m. Police were called to the 600 block of Main Street, where a caller said a pedestrian was causing traffic to back up. Violet Bick, 21, was cited for causing a public disturbance.

     11:28 p.m. A caller reported a male and female singing loudly and throwing rocks at the windows of an abandoned building in the 300 block of Sycamore Street. When police arrived, they found only a female, naked and hiding in some hydrangea bushes. Mary Hatch, 18, was arrested and charged with indecent exposure.

June 1, 1932

     9:16 p.m. A caller reported an intoxicated man creating a loud disturbance on New England Street. Officers investigated and found William Bailey, 60, passed out next to some garbage cans. Bailey was arrested and charged with public drunkenness.

     10:01 p.m. A caller reported a large crowd gathered in the 200 block of Genesee Street. Violet Bick, 25, was cited for causing a public disturbance. 

October 25, 1932

     11:25 a.m.  Police responded to a report of an unruly mob gathering at the bank. The mob was dispersed with tear gas. No arrests were made.

     8:37 p.m. A caller reported trespassers in the Old Granville House, 320 Sycamore Street. Police arrived to find a newly married couple, George and Mary Bailey, had taken up residence in the building, which had been condemned in 1925. The couple were cited for trespassing and warned to vacate the premises immediately. 

December 24, 1945

     5:12 p.m. A woman in the 300 block of Sycamore Street called police and reported that her husband was being verbally abusive to her and her children.

     6:02 p.m. Henry F. Potter, President of the Bank, swore out a warrant for the arrest of George Bailey on charges of misappropriation of funds, manipulation and malfeasance in connection with $8000 in missing funds from the Bailey Bros. Building & Loan.

     7:15 p.m. Nick, the bartender at Martini’s Bar, called police to report a fight. An arrest warrant was issued for Mr. Welch on charges of assault and battery.

     7:23 p.m. A caller reported that an intoxicated man had crashed his car into a tree which his grandfather had planted, on Bridge Street, and then fled on foot in the direction of the toll bridge.

     7:29 p.m. A woman in the 300 block of Sycamore Street called police and reported that her husband was missing.

     7:45 p.m. A caller reported seeing two men jump into the canal from the toll bridge.

     9:02 p.m. Police were called to a disturbance at the Dreamland Dance Club. Violet Bick, 38, was arrested and charged with soliciting.

     9:21 p.m. A cab driver, Ernie Bishop, reported that a man “who was bats” and claimed he had gotten some bad liquor had run off without paying his fare in the 300 block of Sycamore Street. Bert the Cop responded and followed the man into an abandoned building. An altercation ensued, during which a second suspect, who claimed he was “an angel, second class,” bit the officer on the wrist. The two suspects escaped on foot.

     9:39 p.m. A caller reported that a “loony” had come to her residence on New England Street  and claimed that she was his mother. The woman told the man to leave.

     9:50 p.m. A caller reported that a disturbed man, possibly intoxicated, had accosted an old maid outside the public library. The man had claimed that the old maid was his wife, then chased her down Genesee Street and into a nearby establishment, where she fainted. Bert the Cop responded and attempted to apprehend the suspect, but the man punched the officer and fled on foot. The officer then fired several shots across the crowded street at the fleeing suspect, wounding two bystanders before pursuing the suspect in his squad car. 

     10:20 p.m. Several business owners reported a man running down Main Street cheering and yelling, “Merry Christmas” at various buildings.

     10:22 p.m. Henry F. Potter reported seeing fugitive George Bailey running past his office at the bank. He said that Bailey yelled “Merry Christmas” to him before running off in the direction of Sycamore Street.

A Message From a Pardoned Turkey

Hey, Mac, ya got a nickel? Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you my tale. It goes like this: Why me? Why am I so lucky? Lucky. That’s a laugh. Millions of turkeys, carved up and served for Thanksgiving dinner from Weeki Wachee to Wabasha, and here I sit. Alive. Pardoned by the President. He picked me, pal. Me! Not Rhode Island Red or Wishbone Jones. They were my friends. I saw ‘em get the axe out behind the woodshed, heard Jonesy’s cries for help, and I did nothing! He got it right in the gizzard. I coulda done something. I coulda pecked that crazed farmer’s blasted eyes out, but no! I just stood there, gobbling like an idiot, while my friends were murdered. Every one of them. Tommy. Gobbler. Gravy Train. Kowalski. Even Sergeant McStuffing. Dead. All dead. Except me.

(He slams the empty shot glass down on the bar).

Sure, I’ll have another. I’ll always have another. But not Butterball Johnson. He’ll never have another, or peck at another speck of cornmeal. He was my friend, and he’s dead. They took his giblets, Mac. His giblets! What kind of sick bastard does that?

So, why am I here? What’s so special about me? Is it the color of my snood? The shape of my wattle? I need to know why that’s not me up on the table, all greased up like a Kardashian with my butt stuffed full of breadcrumbs. They got the axe and I got the golden ticket. Sent to live on a farm in Virginia, with all the other pardoned turkeys. Living our days in luxury, all the feed we could eat, acres and acres of soybean as far as the eye can see. I should be grateful, right? Content. But at night, when I close my eyes, I can still hear Wishbone screaming. I tell ya, I couldn’t take it! So I flew the coop, hopped a freight west and I been lammin’ it ever since. Ridin’ the rails.

They called me lucky. That’s a laugh. Fate sneaks up and puts the finger on you, and that’s it, brother. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, why Kowalski’s on the table floatin’ in gravy with his drumsticks hangin’ out, while I’m alive and free. Yeah, I’m free all right. Free bird! 

Hey, where ya goin’, Mac? Don’t you wanna hear the rest of my story? Mac? Ah, screw it. Bartender! Gimme another.

The Ballad of Thomas Crapper

Today is World Toilet Day, which was created by the World Toilet Organization to draw attention to the fact that 2.5 billion people around the world are still pottying like it's 999. That's right -- they're looless. Which stinks, in more ways than one. It's actually a very serious public health matter. So, to celebrate this flushtastic day and the work of the WTO, we've composed a little ditty honoring one of our heroes, Thomas Crapper, the 19^th century English plumber who was instrumental in bringing the flush toilet to the masses.

Contrary to popular belief, Mr. Crapper did not invent the flush toilet. This is crushing news for humor columnists and third graders everywhere. So, as much as we’d love to make wisecracks about Crapper inventing the toilet, we’ll have to settle for the other toilet-related stuff he actually did develop, like the ballcock. Nothing to work with there! But even though Mr. Crapper didn’t invent the flusher, he did much to increase its popularity and to promote sanitary plumbing. He was even hired to supply royal privies for Prince Edward (later King Edward VII), and George V. So Crapper fans have reason to be flushed with pride after all.   

A toast to Mr. Crapper on World Toilet Day, sung to the tune of The Beverly Hillbillies theme song. Enjoy!  

The Ballad of Thomas Crapper

Come and listen to a story about a man named Tom

A poor plumber’s apprentice who could barely get along

Then one day he was sittin’ on his can

And up from his brain come a genius plan.

Idea that is. Automatic valve. Ballcock!

Well the first thing you know ol Tom’s a sanitary engineer,
Started selling toilets with a seat for your rear
Said, “Crapper’s Valveless Water Waste Preventer’s where you oughta pee,”
Then he got a job making toilets for the Royal Family.

Windsors, that is. Royal thrones. Majesties.   

Now it’s World War I and the Yanks are over there

And in old London town, the whiz kid’s name was everywhere

Printed on the toilet tanks for everyone to see
Was the name T. Crapper from the town of Chelsea.

England, that is. Jolly good. Bad teeth.

When the doughboys returned to the land of all their kin

They brought somethin’ back from the place where they’d just been

Anyone who had to go, gentleman or flapper

If you asked where they went, the answer was, “the Crapper.”

Thomas, that is. Set a spell. Take your shoes off.

Y’all come back now, y’hear?

Quentin Tarantino's "It's the Great Pumpkin, Jackie Brown"

Starring: 

Samuel L. Jackson as Charlie Brown

Pam Grier as Lucy

Robert DeNiro as Linus

Bridget Fonda as Peppermint Patty

Michael Keaton as Pig-Pen

Lisa Gay Hamilton as Charlie Brown’s little sister, Sheronda

Robert Forster as Max Cherry, Cherry Bail Bonds

Chris Tucker as Snoopy

Scene I

Halloween night. Lucy, Charlie Brown, Schroeder, Patty, and Pig-Pen are all in costume, trick-or-treating.

Lucy: I got 5 pieces of candy!

Schroeder: I got a chocolate bar!

Patty: I got a quarter!

Charlie Brown: I got a Glock, motherfucker!

Scene II

Charlie Brown is raking leaves in his yard. Lucy enters carrying a football.

Lucy: Say, Charlie Brown. I’ve got a football. How about practicing a few placekicks? I’ll hold the ball, and you come running and kick it!

Charlie Brown: Look, bitch. My ass might be dumb, but I am not a dumb ass.

Lucy: Oh, come on, Charlie Brown. I’ll hold it steady.

Charlie Brown: You just want me to come running up to kick that ball so you can pull it away and see me land flat on my back and kill myself.

Lucy: This time, you can trust me. See, here’s a signed document, testifying that I promise not to pull it away.

Charlie takes the document and reads it.

Charlie: It is signed! It’s a signed document! I guess if you have a signed document in your possession, you can’t go wrong. This year I’m really gonna kick that football.

Charlie Brown runs toward Lucy, but at the last second, Lucy pulls the football away. Charlie screams as he kicks at air, landing on his back.

Lucy: Peculiar thing about this document. It was never notarized.

Charlie Brown stands up, frowning. He is humiliated.

Charlie: Woman, damn.

He takes out his Glock and pumps two bullets into Lucy’s torso.

Game of Thrones, The Musical

Game of Thrones season is over, and fans are going into withdrawal. So we’ve mashed the HBO hit with a classic musical to bring you …

Westeros Side Story

The action opens on a playground in King’s Landing. The Lannister gang – Jaime, Joffrey, Tyrion, Cersai, Lancel, and Lord Tywin, are sitting around snapping their fingers. They rise as one and begin slinking across the playground, snapping fingers in rhythm. Suddenly they begin leaping and dancing, yelling “Lannisters!” as they pirouette in time. 

Meanwhile...

The Starks – Ned, Catelynn, Robb, Jon Snow, Bran (carried on the back of the giant, Hodor), Rickon, Sansa, and Arya -- fingersnap their way up a nearby alley. Suddenly they, too, begin leaping and dancing, yelling, “Starks!” Skipping and twirling together in choreographed rhythm, they cross the street.

The two gangs come face to face across an empty lot. The Lannisters fingersnap their way to the Starks. Lord Tywin begins slowly snapping his fingers in Ned’s face.

Tywin: Beat it!

The two gangs begin leaping and dancing at each other, before the Lannisters, twirling and pirouetting, chase the Starks out of the empty lot.

Later:

Robb Stark sits on a concrete wall watching as Joffrey paints “Starks Stink!” on a tenement wall in huge, white letters. Robb leaps down to the ground as several Starks encircle Joffrey and begin fingersnapping at him.

Joffrey yells, “Lannisters!” and five Lannisters come running to his aid. Another rumble begins as the two sides taunt each other with jazz hands.

Later:

The Lannisters are alone on the playground.

Joffrey: I say we rumble! Chop chop!

Tywin: Cool down, Action Boy. The Starks want a piece of this world too. And they’re real down boys. Now what’s your mood, Lannisters? 

Joffrey: I say go-go, daddy-o!

Jaime: I say mix!

Cersei: I say sock ‘em!

Tywin: Okay, cats, we rumble!
(Singing)
When you’re a Lannister you pay your debts like a man
From your first cigarette till you get shot with an arrow while you’re on the can.

Joffrey (singing): When you’re a Lannister you’re top cat every time
But at your wedding feast better not drink the wine

Jaime (singing): When you’re a Lannister you’re the swinginest mister
You get a shiny gold hand, and you get to shtup your own sister!

(All together, fingersnapping)
When you’re a Lannister, that’s why we get the big bucks
We’ll fight white walkers and dragons and armies of eunuchs…

To be continued... (or maybe not)

What If Godzilla Was One Of Us

With Godzilla stomping the box office and once again scorching everything in his path with his radioactive breath, we decided to honor the King of the Monsters by rewriting Joan Osborne’s 1990s hit “(What If God Was ) One of Us.” With all apologies to Ms. Osborne, here goes:


If Godzilla had shame, because of his breath 
Would you offer him a mint even if it meant your death
If you were faced with him and his atomic halitosis
That could turn you to ash with just one kiss
And yeah, yeah, Godzilla’s breath stinks
Yeah, yeah, Godzilla’s breath reeks
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
What if Godzilla was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us?
He’d be all cramped riding on the bus
Trying to make his way home
From his job answering phones
At the call center in Nome

If Godzilla had to sneeze
He’d accidentally fry some guy
Who just happened to be
Sitting in a seat nearby, and then he would be
Feeling stupid and remorseful and filled with self-loathing
And all apologies
And yeah, yeah, Godzilla’s life stinks
Yeah, yeah, Godzilla’s life reeks
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
What if Godzilla was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us?
He’d be all cramped riding on the bus
Trying to make his way home
From his job answering phones
At a call center in Nome
Back to the ocean all alone
Nobody callin' on the phone
'Cept for the Pope, maybe, in Rome
Or someone else who randomly rhymes with phone
Like maybe this Osborne singer Joan
Or our old friend Fred Flintstone
Or maybe even Sharon Stone
Or someone from The Game of Thrones

And yeah, yeah, Godzilla’s breath stinks
Yeah, yeah, Godzilla’s breath reeks
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
What if Godzilla was one of us?
Just a slob like one of us?
Instead of eating people on the bus
He has to act all serious
When the boss comes in the room
Hoping lunchtime comes real soon
Just trying to listen to his iTunes
On his little white headphones
Just trying to make his way home
Nobody callin’ on the phone
‘Cept for maybe Franchot Tone

A message from Baby New Year

Boy am I glad it’s New Year’s. Finally, I get to wear something besides this diaper. Just a top hat and sash, but at least it’s something! When I first signed this contract to be Baby New Year, I didn’t really consider the downside. All I thought of was the fame and adulation, the champagne, the party favors, the girls. Everything that goes along with being the symbol of the New Year. I mean, I’m a baby who gets to paaaaaaaarty! How cool is that? Turns out, not so much.

Everyone loves me -- for one night, then bam! It’s back to the crib. No more top hat, no more champagne. They even take my stogie. I ask you – is that fair? Try drinking and smoking up a storm for one night and then going cold turkey the rest of the year. And my parents wonder why I cry.

But the worst part is, I never grow up. I’m just a stupid baby. Forever. I lay here soiling myself while everyone around me gets older. I’ve got no friends. I used to have play dates with Justin Bieber. Now look at him. He’s got a pet monkey and a Fisker. Where’s my monkey? Even Miley Cyrus gets to grow up. Sort of. When do I get to put on a giant foam finger and make an ass of myself? Nobody wants to see Baby New Year twerk. I can doff my top hat till the cows come home and swill champagne like Paris Hilton on a bender. The chicks think that’s cute. But when the clock strikes midnight and I move in for a kiss, they’re disgusted. Hey, I’m 52 years old, I’ve got needs.

I tell you, it’s not easy being me. I can complain all day, but what’s the use? No one wants to listen. All they want to hear from me is goo-goo, ga-ga, and a lot of cooing. I tell you, I’m sick of it. I’ve got ideas, interests beyond the mobile. But as soon as I start talking, they jam that binky in my mouth and that’s it, brother.

And I warn you, if I hear “The Wheels in the Bus Go Round and Round” one more time, I’m going to explode. And not just the usual way, either. This time, it’s going to take more than a diaper change to clean up.

And one more thing – stop stealing my nose!

It's a Wonderful Police Blotter

The movie “It’s a Wonderful Life,” as told in the police log of The Bedford Falls Sentinel:

May 20, 1928

     1:37 p.m. Police were called to the 600 block of Main Street, where a caller said a pedestrian was causing traffic to back up. Violet Bick, 21, was cited for causing a public disturbance.

     11:28 p.m. A caller reported a male and female singing loudly and throwing rocks at the windows of an abandoned building in the 300 block of Sycamore Street. When police arrived, they found only a female, naked and hiding in some hydrangea bushes. Mary Hatch, 18, was arrested and charged with indecent exposure.

June 1, 1932

     9:16 p.m. A caller reported an intoxicated man creating a loud disturbance on New England Street. Officers investigated and found William Bailey, 60, passed out next to some garbage cans. Bailey was arrested and charged with public drunkenness.

     10:01 p.m. A caller reported a large crowd gathered in the 200 block of Genesee Street. Violet Bick, 25, was cited for causing a public disturbance. 

October 25, 1932

     11:25 a.m.  Police responded to a report of an unruly mob gathering at the bank. The mob was dispersed with tear gas. No arrests were made.

     8:37 p.m. A caller reported trespassers in the Old Granville House, 320 Sycamore Street. Police arrived to find a newly married couple, George and Mary Bailey, had taken up residence in the building, which had been condemned in 1925. The couple were cited for trespassing and warned to vacate the premises immediately. 

December 24, 1945

     5:12 p.m. A woman in the 300 block of Sycamore Street called police and reported that her husband was being verbally abusive to her and her children.

     6:02 p.m. Henry F. Potter, President of the Bank, swore out a warrant for the arrest of George Bailey on charges of misappropriation of funds, manipulation and malfeasance in connection with $8000 in missing funds from the Bailey Bros. Building & Loan.

     7:15 p.m. Nick, the bartender at Martini’s Bar, called police to report a fight. An arrest warrant was issued for Mr. Welch on charges of assault and battery.

     7:23 p.m. A caller reported that an intoxicated man had crashed his car into a tree which his grandfather had planted, on Bridge Street, and then fled on foot in the direction of the toll bridge.

     7:29 p.m. A woman in the 300 block of Sycamore Street called police and reported that her husband was missing.

     7:45 p.m. A caller reported seeing two men jump into the canal from the toll bridge.

     9:02 p.m. Police were called to a disturbance at the Dreamland Dance Club. Violet Bick, 38, was arrested and charged with soliciting.

     9:21 p.m. A cab driver, Ernie Bishop, reported that a man “who was bats” and claimed he had gotten some bad liquor had run off without paying his fare in the 300 block of Sycamore Street. Bert the Cop responded and followed the man into an abandoned building. An altercation ensued, during which a second suspect, who claimed he was “an angel, second class,” bit the officer on the wrist. The two suspects escaped on foot.

     9:39 p.m. A caller reported that a “loony” had come to her residence on New England Street  and claimed that she was his mother. The woman told the man to leave.

     9:50 p.m. A caller reported that a disturbed man, possibly intoxicated, had accosted an old maid outside the public library. The man had claimed that the old maid was his wife, then chased her down Genesee Street and into a nearby establishment, where she fainted. Bert the Cop responded and attempted to apprehend the suspect, but the man punched the officer and fled on foot. The officer then fired several shots across the crowded street at the fleeing suspect, wounding two bystanders before pursuing the suspect in his squad car. 

     10:20 p.m. Several business owners reported a man running down Main Street cheering and yelling, “Merry Christmas” at various buildings.

     10:22 p.m. Henry F. Potter reported seeing fugitive George Bailey running past his office at the bank. He said that Bailey yelled “Merry Christmas” to him before running off in the direction of Sycamore Street.

An open letter from the Ty-D-Bol Man

It's World Toilet Day, and we found this letter in a bottle from the Ty-D-Bol man...

Ahoy there! Remember me? No? Of course you don’t. It is I, the Ty-D-Bol man. You probably don’t recognize me in these filthy rags and long, scraggly hair and beard. No, I’m not the handsome nautical hero I used to be, lo those many years ago, before you closed the lid on me and left me here, abandoned, floating alone on my dinghy in your toilet tank. Marooned.

I used to have a motorboat, though God knows why. So I could get from one end of your toilet to the other faster? Please. It’s not like it’s the vast Pacific in here. It’s a toilet, fercryinoutloud! I can row it in like, two seconds. Or I could, if I hadn’t used my oars for firewood a long time ago. I chopped them up and poured what was left of the gasoline on them and burned them for warmth. That was around the same time I spelled out the word H-E-L-P on the inside of your toilet tank with Scrubbing Bubbles, hoping someone would see it and rescue me. But then you just flushed and whoosh! It was gone. Leaving me floating here, alone in a sea of sparkling blue toilet water, with nothing to do but think of what a waste my life has been.

You think I’m proud to be the Captain of a toilet dinghy? It’s humiliating! I come from a long line of famous maritime heroes. My great-grandfather was Cap’n Crunch, sailing the high seas, doing battle with Jean LaFoote, the barefoot pirate. My grandfather? The Gorton’s Fisherman. What a provider! Every night, he brought home the fish sticks. And my father, the Old Spice Sailor. He wanted me to join the navy, like my brother, Sailor Jack. He’s rich now, rolling in Cracker Jack prizes. But I got an offer from Ty-D-Bol, and I took it. Now look at me. Useless. Sure, I’m a captain. I’ve still got my captain’s hat, and my dinghy. I could perform a wedding, but who wants to get married in a toilet? No one, that’s who. I’ll die alone in your tank, and no one will ever know. Unless, by some miracle, someone finds this note I’m putting in this bottle. If you do, tell my wife and kids I love them. And tell them, don’t drink the Ty-D-Bol water. Sure, it looks great – beautiful Caribbean blue – but it’s full of chemicals.

Farewell, ungrateful person with a sparkling, clean toilet! Tell the world my story!

Dumpty: a hard-boiled cop with a past, and other bad ideas for TV shows

With all the classic literature being “reimagined” for TV these days – from Grimm to Sleepy Hollow – it’s just a matter of time before the networks go back to the library for more. Well, when they do, we’ll be ready with a few really bad ideas. Observe:

Moby-Dick Dynasty – (Reality) In the town of New Bedford, Mass., the bearded ancestors of Captain Ahab operate a burgeoning peg leg business.

Dumpty – (Drama) Hard-boiled New Orleans detective Dan Dumpty, a brilliant but troubled modern-day ancestor of Humpty Dumpty, learns he is descended from a line of tough-yet-fragile fighters who must do battle against an assortment of dangerous fairy tale characters come to life, while also dealing with his crippling fear of heights. In the pilot, “The Big Over Easy,” Dumpty investigates the mysterious death of George Porgie. The investigation leads Dumpty to Muffet, a beautiful but troubled young woman with a tuffet and an affinity for curds and whey who had filed a restraining order against Porgie, whose unwanted advances had made her cry. Can Dumpty crack the case before it cracks him?     

Beans – (Drama) Beautiful, brilliant but troubled Portland Homicide Detective Jackie “Beans” Beanstalk, who has somehow risen to the rank of Homicide Detective at the age of 22 despite suffering from severe Tourettes Syndrome, learns from her mother on her deathbed that she is the last remaining direct descendent of Jack, the brave lad from the fairy tale “Jack and the Beanstalk.” With her last breath, her mother gives her a handful of “magic beans” -- which hold the key to the universe -- to guard from an “evil giant.” In the pilot, Jackie meets a brilliant but troubled young man named Goose who lays “golden eggs” in his pants. 

Don QuixHottie – (Reality) A group of crazy Spaniards move in to an abandoned windmill where they vie to be Spain’s next top male model.

Shaqula – (Horror) A new take on Bram Stoker’s classic novel. Shaquille O’Neal stars as the NBA’s newest sensation – an ageless, 7-foot-tall Romanian who mesmerizes America with his seemingly unstoppable moves, yet he still can’t make a free-throw.

The Bridezilla of Frankenstein – (Reality) The reanimated beehived beauty is getting married, and the wedding is spiraling out of control.

Little Women, Big World – (Reality) The trials and tribulations of a widowed dwarf and her three undersized daughters.

Crime & Punishment: SVU – (Drama) Dick Wolf’s new police procedural follows the exploits of Russian Detective Porfiry of the Moscow PD, who investigates cases in the show's first half hour, followed in the second half hour by the criminals -- tormented by guilt -- confessing and being sent to Siberia.

Tonya and the Exploding Whale

Today is a very special day in Oregon history. Very special. In fact, we’re going to go out on a limb and say that it’s probably THE most special day in Oregon history. EVER!!! Why? Because on this day, November 12, the two most fantastic things that have ever occurred in the state of Oregon happened, and they happened on the same day: November 12, 1970. A day that will live in infamy. And hilarity. Call it Infalarity. Or Hilaramy. Whatever. But 43 years ago today, on November 12, 1970, at 3:45 p.m., the famous Exploding Whale – yes, THAT exploding whale -- was blown up on the Oregon coast, in Florence. Meanwhile, in Portland, some 132 miles away as the exploding whale blubber flies, Tonya Harding was born.

Think about that for a moment. While the plunger was being pushed in Florence, turning a 45-foot-long dead sperm whale into exploding chum that slimed everything for miles, Tonya, our famous knee-whacking, hubcap hurling, transvestite-wrestling, professional boxing, unintentional sex tape star-slash-Olympic figure skater was being born.

Now, we know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Well, if this doesn’t put the dunce in coincidunce.” And then the second thing you’re thinking is, “Why hasn’t anyone, anyplace, at any time, ever mentioned this amazing coincidence before, and more importantly, where are our Tonya-and-the Exploding Whale limericks?”

Well, our long, local nightmare is over. Here they are, a handful of awful, no-good, very bad Happy Birthday, Tonya and Happy Anniversary, Exploding Whale limericks. Enjoy:

Happy Birthday to our ice-skating hick
A triple axel, you one time did stick
But then your life got unruly
Thanks, in part, to Gillooly
You were born the same day they blew up Moby Dick?

You skated to fame and became a knee-clubber
Fought Paula Jones in the ring and you drubbed her
You threw hubcaps at guys
I guess it would be no surprise
To find, being born, you were hit by a chunk of whale blubber

Tonya, some compared you to trash that is white
And your choices haven’t always been bright
At least you (mostly) stayed out of jail
And made out better than the whale
Hope your birthday is pure Dynomite!

You made Nancy Kerrigan cry
And grab at her knee wailing “Why, why, why?”
From the day you were born
You’ve dodged judgment and scorn
And chunks of dead whale from the sky

Twas the Night Before Halloween

Twas the night before Halloween

At the Wedgester’s apartment

But Wedgie wasn’t saying boo

‘cause he was behind in the rent

So he turned out the lights
And sat in the dark like a dummy

Just sat there all night

As quiet as a mummy

Until the sun came up

On Halloween morn

Still Wedgester just sat there

Eating Tootsie Rolls and Candy Corn

Then from outside his door

There arose such a din

He thought it was the aliens

Come to probe him again

He crept to the door

And peered through his peephole

And what he saw in the hall

Sent a chill through his soul

‘Cross the hallway he spied

Some trick-or-treaters there lurking

One dressed as Miley Cyrus

So painfully twerking

Behind her another  
costumed even stranger

‘twas Anthony Weiner

Dressed as Carlos Danger

A mustachioed guy in a beret
with a gun gave him a jolt

Dressed like a sprinter

With a sash that read: Saddam Hussein Bolt  

There’s the new Pope, Francis
In pointy hat and fancy nighty

And Breaking Bad’s Walter White

In gas mask and tighty-whiteys

Then Silvio Berlusconi
With a blonde and some fettuccine alfredo
And right behind them came a guy
Dressed as a Sharknado

There, of course, was a pirate
Hopping around on a stump
And someone dressed as a pregnant belly --
Kim Kardashian’s baby bump

And two hours late,
Justin Bieber, looking so swank
With a pet monkey on a leash
And a Belieber – Anne Frank

Finally, when all the trick or treaters
Had come and had gone
Wedgester, still at the peephole,
Stifling a yawn

Saw a giant orange head

With a grin that was insaner

Than a barrel of chimps

Wedgester threw open his door and cried out, “John Boehner?”

But it wasn’t the Speaker

‘Twas just his landlord

Carrying a pumpkin he’d carved

Into a decorative gourd

His landlord said, “Ain’t she a beaut?

I hand-carved and hand-picked it.

And then I just dropped by

To say you’re evicted.”

Wedgester gave up the ghost
And shuffled down to the dumpster
Crawled in and went to sleep in a puddle

Of what he hoped was Worcestershire

A little while later he awoke

And knew it was all a bad dream

For his butt was quite sore

And an alien, looking down, said, “Happy Halloween!”

The story of Johnny Appleseed, as reimagined by Breaking Bad creator Vince Gilligan

Excerpts from “Bad Apple,” the story of Johnny Appleseed as reimagined by Breaking Bad creator Vince Gilligan, starring Bryan Cranston as the American folk hero, and Aaron Paul as the apple planter’s one-time student.

Scene I.

Johnny Appleseed’s house. Johnny is talking with his wife, Skyler.

Skyler: You know, I’ve been thinking we should buy that Wagon Wash over on Eubank. It’d make a perfect cover story to launder your cider money.

Appleseed: Not right now, Skyler. It’s too dangerous.

Skyler: John, if you’re in danger, we should go to the constable.

Appleseed: I don’t want to hear about the constable…

Skyler: But if it’s either that or you getting hit with an apple when you open your front door… You are not some hardened criminal, John, you’re in over your head.

Appleseed: Okay, we’re done here…

Skyler: John, please. Just admit you’re in danger!

Appleseed: Who are you talking to right now? Who is it you think you see? Do you know how many apple trees I plant a year? I mean, even if I told you, you wouldn’t believe it. No, you clearly don’t know who you’re talking to, so let me clue you in. I am not in danger, Skyler, I am the danger. A guy opens his door and gets hit with an apple, and you think that of me? No. I am the one who plants!

Scene II 

Johnny Appleseed, wearing a pot on his head, sits in a covered wagon with Jesse and Mike, riding through the desert as throbbing rap music plays. They pull up in front of a group of rival cider dealers.

Mike: Your play, John. You’re on your own.

They exit the wagon and face off across from Declan and his crew.

Declan: Looks like you’re about 1,000 gallons light here, Mike. Where’s the juice?

Appleseed: Apple juice isn’t coming.

Declan: Why’s that? Who the hell are you?

Appleseed: You know. You all know exactly who I am. Say my name.

Declan: Do what? I don’t have a damn clue who the hell you are.

Appleseed: Yeah you do. I’m the planter. I’m the man who almost killed Snow White.

Declan: Bullshit. Evil queen got White.

Appleseed: You sure?

Declan looks at Mike, who shakes his head. Declan and his men suddenly look nervous.

Appleseed: That’s right. Now, say my name.

Declan: You’re Appleseed.

Johnny: You’re goddamn right!

The Bozone

There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as a giant pair of clown shoes and as timeless as a squirting lapel flower. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and supersitition, and it lies between the pit of a man’s big, billowy clown pants and the tip of his bulbous, honking red nose. This is the dimension of goofy laughter. It is an area which we call The Bozo Zone.

Picture, if you will, living every single moment of your day in constant, babbling fear of running into an evil-looking red-haired clown holding a bouquet of brightly-colored balloons. This is exactly how the people of the sleepy town of Northampton, England, spend their daily lives. Because, you see, they are being terrorized by a mysterious, spooky clown who ... well, pretty much just shows up and stands there looking all clowny, holding some balloons.

Nevertheless, Northampton police have issued a warning following multiple sightings of clowns “acting suspiciously.” There is good news, however. Because even as local authorities seem powerless to stop this not necessarily evil clown, one man has risen. Yes, out of this tangled web of giant clown pant suspenders, one mild-mannered citizen has stepped forward to take matters into his own hands. He calls himself … The Clown Catcher. He is the world’s most specialized superhero.

All of this got us to wondering: what are The Clown Catcher’s super powers/tools? We’re guessing these might make the list:

• The ability to guess any balloon animal in a single try

• A towel (for drying after being squirted with seltzer)

• A really big car that seats dozens of clowns quite comfortably

• A very fast, souped-up tricycle capable of overtaking any clown tricycle in existence

• Empty pie tins and quick reflexes to block pies thrown at him by not necessarily evil clowns

• Earplugs capable of blocking out the deafening sound of a giant, honking red rubber nose


Some other really specific super heroes:

The Mime Manacler

Evil Hobo Hinderer

Foole Frustrater

Jester Jailer

Prankster Prohibiter

Prop Comic Confiner

Buffoon Buster

Juggler Jammer

Trapezist Tackler

Ventriloquist Vexer

Stooge Stopper

Acrobat Apprehender

Carny Clencher

Tap Dance Disrupter

Human Cannonball Cramper

Unicyclist Stymier

Human Pincushion Perplexer

Breaking Bard

Macmeth: The Most Excellent Dark Comedie and Tragical Historie of Sir Walter Whyte  

In which we catch you up to speed with “Breaking Bad” by recapping the first 8 episodes of Season 5 – in Shakespearean (sort of) verse! 

Epysode the Fyrst: “Liveth Free or Die”

Fie! In futuretymes, Walt celebrayteth his byrtheday, 52^nd,

In the tavern known as Denny’s Restaurant.

And double-fie! No longer bald,

A full head of curly locks his head doth hold.

Entering Denny’s secret privy,

To a bearded gentleman, Walt doth divvy

Some funds in exchange for a turnkey to one

Automobile, which in its trunk holds a machyne gun. 

We flash backwards in tyme to Lady Skyler, his wife,

Who reveals to Walt that she now feareth him, for her life.

Meanwhilst, Myke, upon learning of Gus Fring’s fate,

Returneth from Mexico, with plans to smite Walt and make him Walt the Late.

But lo, Jesse becalmes the angry Myke,

And convinces him to hold his strike.

Erewhile, at Ye Olde Chicken Brothers shoppe,

Hank hath seized Gus’ computing lappetoppe,

Containing evidence, filled with death

Surveillance from the Stupendous Lab of meth.

Upon learning that the lappetoppe is in a place dark and murky,

A castle stronghold of the High Sheriff of Albuquerque,

Our three heroic outlaws put brains to wrack,

To contrive a plot to get the lapptoppe back.

Forsooth! cries Jesse, A giant magnet would do the tricken,

‘twould foul the lappetoppe taken from the Brothers Chicken!

And so to Old Joe’s Junkyarde they do away, and with some lucke,

Set hands upon a giant magnet-laden truck,
Which they drive to the High Sheriff’s secret lair,
And set about their convoluted plan with care.

They activate the great magnet

And turn the lappetoppe’s evidence to (bleep).

As our heroes make their gallante escape, 
Myke, still surly as an ape, 
Cries to Walt, Fie! You say we're safe, but how do you know
We have not somehow stubbed our toe?
Perhaps to be arrested in a week or day?
To which Walt, with steely gaze replies, 'Tis so because so I say.


To vieweth the entyre eight epysodes, clicketh herewith: Breaking Bard.

Whitey Bulger case dropped: ‘He was just another of Anthony Weiner’s aliases’

The federal case against Whitey Bulger was dropped today when it was revealed that the alleged mob boss never really existed.

“Turns out there is no Whitey Bulger,” lead prosecutor Frank Wyshak told a group of stunned reporters outside the federal courthouse in Boston. “Apparently he was just another of the fake names Anthony Weiner used when texting pictures of his private parts to women.”    

Bulger, or the imaginary person known as Whitey Bulger, had been on trial on federal charges of racketeering and the murder of 19 people. But after seven weeks of explosive testimony, the charges were dismissed after Weiner admitted that Whitey Bulger was just one of the names he made up to use as an alias when he emailed pictures of his penis to women.

“Like Carlos Danger, Whitey Bulger was just one of those names I used when sexting,” Weiner told the New York Times on Saturday. “I thought it was funny, until the feds put my creation on trial. Whitey Bulger never hurt anybody. He was just a funloving guy I created who liked to take pictures of his penis and send them to random women I never met.”

The bombshell left the prosecution – and the public – to wonder how they had been so easily duped.

“In hindsight, we should have known,” said Wyshak. “But it’s not always so easy. How many people knew about Carlos Danger before last week?”

Meanwhile, sources close to the case warned the public to prepare for more celebrities to be revealed as nothing more than fake names used by the disgraced former New York congressman and mayoral candidate.  

Said one investigator: “Some of the celebrities we’re looking into that may have been simply aliases created by Anthony Weiner include the late actor and comedian Wally Cox, former New York Yankees pitcher Chien Ming Wang, the French author Honoré de Balzac, former Chicago Bears linebacker Dick Butkus, and Anthony Weiner.”