Yesterday, professional football player, Corey Jackson, 27, underwent a procedure to shrink his normal size head, down to a tiny head so that his new tiny head could fit into his tiny helmet.  Unfortunately, the procedure was unsuccessful.  In fact, instead of shrinking Corey’s normal head, the procedure actually enlarged Corey’s head three times its original size.

           “I’m not sure what went wrong,” said Dr. Wuba, who performed the procedure.  This was his initial comment.  And despite admitting he has dyslexia, and that he had partaken in three rounds of guava, gin, and juice, minutes before the procedure, Dr. Wuba assured his patient, Mr. Jackson, that all protocols had been followed to the letter.

            “I’ve been wearing this tiny helmet for five years now,” Mr. Jackson said.   “It’s really a tight fit, and it causes me problems when I wear it.  You know – like, headaches, dizziness, and the occasional hallucinations of purple gnomes building dams in the sky, made with wood from forsaken Ikea furniture.  Horrible.”  He went on.  ” So then I heard about Dr. Wuba and all his great work at the WormHole Square Institute of Head Shrinking and Angry Bunion Reduction.  So I decided to give him a try.  That turned into a big mistake.  Now my head is the size of a washing machine, and my life is now a living hell.”

            And despite Dr. Wuba’s assurances, WormHole Square conducted its own follow up investigation of his procedure, and found numerous violations of quality control protocols.

            “First of all, instead of working off of Mr. Jackson medical chart, Dr. Wuba had been referring to a recipe for Rice Krispy Treats,” said Mr. Bento, a writer at the WormHole Square NewsLike Blog.  He went on.     “Yes, Rice Krispy Treats are delicious, but any additional gluten or yeast during the head shrinking procedure can be highly problematic, according to the AMA Human Dome Reduction Institute.  Additionally, for some odd ritualistic reason, Dr. Wuba had repeatedly struck Mr. Jackson up side the head with a partially frozen goat leg during the procedure, while chanting the theme song from The Big Lebowski, which enhanced the head swelling.  And finally, Dr. Wuba’s medical license had already been revoked in WormHole Square due to past medical infractions such as, wearing unsanitary antelope belly skin mittens during medical procedures instead of latex gloves, and laundering Medicare payments into ox tail derivatives.”

              As of this post, Mr. Jackson continues to play football with his enlarged head inside that tiny helmet.

 

 

 

 

         Yesterday, Derrick Jones, 43, violated the 5 second rule when he dropped his slice of pizza and did not pick it up until almost 14 seconds later.  He then ate some of the pizza, prompting punishment from some dude named Justin.  Here is the scripted excerpt of the encounter.

     WormHole Square will return on December 5th, 2023.  We’ve channeled our inner eggnog and will update new content on Mondays.  Happy Holidays!!

          WormHole Square will be on summer break until August 1st, 2022.  Thanks for reading and please continue to share our page. Thanks,

MW

                         Yesterday, The WormHole Square First National Bank refused to cash a check presented by Jesus because he failed to produce two valid forms of identification.

                          “I don’t care if he is my Lord and Savior… policy is policy,” said bank teller June Spivy.  “He can’t just come in here and try to get around the rules just because he died for our sins.”

                        Jesus was reportedly disappointed by the bank’s check cashing policy.  “Man, I didn’t think it would be such a hassle.  Bummer.  You know, I usually cash my checks at the First Nazareth Credit Union… but they were closed today for Easter.”

                      Finally, Jesus had to resort to cashing his check at a liquor store on the Southside of Gomorrah.  “It’s a bit out of my way to get here,” Jesus said.  “But I have a special, business relationship with the owners.   They cash my checks with no fees, and I let them bottle and sell whatever water I turn into wine.”

                           Earlier today, Quasimodo, better known as The HunchBack Of Notre Dame, reluctantly rejected the romantic advances of a camel named Cindy.

                                          “I just don’t see it working out,” said Quasimodo.  “She’s looking for a serious, long term relationship.  I’m looking for something more casual, you know… without the serious commitment… but with the serious dry humping .   And I’ll admit, she’s got a fantastic set of camel toes and a great personality, but we’ve only got one thing in common.  That’s just not enough.”

                        And that one thing that Quasimodo and Cindy share is of course… dry humping.  The other thing the two have in common is the ability to store water for weeks in order to survive arid conditions.  The slight difference being that Cindy stores large amounts of water naturally inside her body, while Quasimodo stores bottles of Aquafina water on the bottom shelf of a mini- fridge, at the top of a bell tower.

                        “I also keep water in a flask inside my shirt,” Quasimodo added.  “Although, the flask was given to me by Bill Cosby back in the back in the mid-eighties, with specific instruction to dispose of it.  So it might contain some other concoction.  Not sure.”

                        For now Quasimodo is content with being single and having the occasional one night stand with a…

                    “Blind, non-judgmental harlot, hard up Peace Corps volunteer, with lesbian question marks on her resume, or a sack of potatoes,” Quasimodo said.

                     Later that day, mostly due to Cindy’s persistence, Quasimodo and Cindy actually went out to a restaurant on a date.   Here, they found more things the two of them had in common.  Like, they both have the same chiropractor.  And they both love grilled chicken and baked potatoes.  Sometimes with… and sometimes without sour cream.

                      Last week, Darius Shell, going against his father’s wishes, became the first peanut in his family to go to college.  What follows is a brief excerpt of their tense, verbal exchange.

            OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT:

MR. SHELL:  Your Uncle Jeff was a good nut.  He did what he had to do to provide for his family.

DARIUS:  How, by working three and four jobs until he finally lost his mind?

MR. SHELL:  He lost his mind because he married that cashew from the Southside.

DARIUS:  Aunt Jean was nice.

MR. SHELL:  She was outta her friggin’ mind!  Jeff was working so hard to try and keep up with her high maintenance lifestyle that they couldn’t afford.

DARUIS:  She was nice…

MR. SHELL:  Yeah… for a Cashew.

DARIUS:  You didn’t like her because she was a Cashew?

MR. SHELL:  I’m not saying that.  A guy on my bowling team is a Cashew.  Nice enough guy, but he sweats a lot and his feet smell funny.

DARIUS:  None of us have feet!  You’re just making up excuses to justify you intolerance towards Cashews.

MR. SHELL:  NO, I’m not!

DARIUS:  You’re a…(thinks) nut-ist.

MR. SHELL:  No, I’m not.

DARIUS:  Okay… ( thinks) how do you feel about Brazilian nuts?

MR.  SHELL:  I ain’t got nothin’ against them.  Good soccer players, excellent dancers… but they need to go back to their own country.

DARIUS: What?!

MR. SHELL:  And Pistachios… that sounds foreign too, so they need to go back to wherever they come from as well.

DARIUS:  I can’t believe it.  My own dad is nut-ist.  I’ve always suspected, but…

MR. SHELL:  It ain’t like that, Darius.

DARIUS:  No, then what is it like, Dad?

MR. SHELL:  I try to live by the golden rule, you know?   Treat other nuts the way you want to be treated… unless they’re  Almonds, who are good at math, but are horrible drivers.

DARIUS:  You’re ridiculous!

MR. SHELL:  Or Macadamias… who are good at construction and harvesting, but are lazy as fuck!

DARIUS:  See, you just completely contradicted yourself!

MR. SHELL:  No, I didn’t!

DARIUS: ( chuckles)  And you have just answered your own question about college.

MR.  SHELL:  How so?

DARIUS:   I don’t need college to teach me that what you believe is total bullshit.  But, if nothing else, it’ll get me away from this nutshell of ignorance you’re living in, Dad.

MR. SHELL:  Whatever!   In time you’ll see that I’m right.

DARIUS:  Yeah, whatever, I’m out of here.

MR. SHELL:  Oh, yeah, where are you going?

DARIUS:  I don’t know-George’s, Mike’s-anywhere but here right now.

MR. SHELL:  Well, how are you gonna get there?  My car is off limits until I get an ignorance oil change!  Get it?

DARIUS:   Yeah, hilarious.  Whatever, I’ll just take an Uber.

MR. SHELL:  ( fatherly tone )  Okay, Darius… look, I’m sorry we’re not seeing eye to eye about this college thing right now, but I want you to know that… I still love you, Son.

DARIUS:  ( conflicted )  I love you too, Dad.

MR. SHELL:   And always remember these two things no matter what happens between us.  One: we’re family…

DARIUS:  For sure, for sure, always.   What’s the other thing?

MR. SHELL:  If you take an Uber… beware of them Chestnut drivers.  Good at taxes, but sneaky as fuck!

THEND

 

 

 

 

 

                               Last week, we’ve covered the first part of a tragic episode where Nick Ninja was given away by the sound of his maintenance keys, an instant before his was to assassinate crime boss, Mr. Dingle.  We pick up the episode where Mrs. Peterson, who hired Nick, has walked in on the two men, with her pet lemur on her shoulder.  What follows is the actual transcript of the tragic ending.

OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT

MRS. PETERSON:  ( to Dingle )  Ahaaaaa, there you are!  I thought you’d be sliced up like a bologna sandwich by now.  ( to Ninja )  Why is he not sliced up like a bologna sandwich by now?

NINJA:  Sorry, but he pulled his pistol on me before I could-

MRS. PETERSON:  Excuses, excuses.  I expect a full refund of that down payment I gave you.

NINJA:  Okay, sure, that’s fair.  Do you have change for a twenty?

DINGLE:  Change for a twenty?  Change for a twenty??  How much was the hit?!

NINJA:  Twenty-two bucks.

DINGLE:  Twenty-two bucks?  What?!  I’m a highly sought after crime personality and I only command an open market  price on my head of twenty-two bucks?   That doesn’t make any sense.

MRS.  PETERSON:  It makes perfect sense.  I’m on a fix income.  And besides… you haven’t been relevant in the crime world for over forty years.

DINGLE:  Oh yeah, says who?

MRS. PETERSON:  Says the last major drug deal you pulled off, which was on the parking lot at Guns N Roses concert in 1987.

DINGLE:  Okay… it’s been awhile.

NINJA:  1987?  I wasn’t even born yet.

DINGLE:  Shut up, Ninja!   You’re one to talk.  Prancing around in the shadows with them keys sounding like a parking meter was having a seizure.

MRS. PETERSON:  He’s right, I could hear you outside on the fire escape… and on the elevator… and in lobby…

NINJA:   Okay, I’m sorry, but I’m on call, alright?  I could get an emergency maintenance request at any-

MRS. PETERSON:  How about you emergency request return my fucking twenty dollars for a job not completed?

NINJA:  Okay, can I cash app that to you?

DINGLE:  Cash app… what’s cash app?

MRS. PETERSON:  Shut… up… both of you!   You almost made me forget why I came in here.

DINGLE:  Okay.

NINJA:  What’s the matter?

MRS. PETERSON:  Because of you two idiots, Lincoln Jefferson has suffered a psychologic setback and now he is in a complete state of catatonia.

NINJA:  Who is Lincoln Jefferson?

DINGLE:  And where the fuck is catatonia?   Sounds like some shit on the west coast.  Am I right?

MRS. PETERSON:  Idiots!  Lincoln Jefferson is my beloved pet lemur.

DINGLE:  Oh, you mean that thing on you shoulder?

NINJA:  Yes, that’s what she means.

MRS. PETERSON:  Insensitive, blind bastards!  How could Lincoln Jefferson not be the first thing you noticed when I walked in here?

NINJA:  ( looking away )  I don’t know.  What about you Dingle?

DINGLE: ( thinks ) Mmmmm, it was probably because I was distracted by them big-ass titties sitting in that there wheelbarrow.

MRS. PETERSON:  ( appalled ) Pig!

DINGLE:  What I say?

NINJA:  But how is Lincoln Jefferson’s catatonic state our fault, Mrs. Peterson?

MRS. PETERSON:  He heard you two nitwits in here earlier, talking about the future… and time machines…

DINGLE:  And…?

MRS. PETERSON:  And that made him think about the movie Back To The Future.

NINJA:  Yeah… and…?

MRS. PETERSON:   And he’s aways struggled with whether has was… a Delorean in a past life or not.

DINGLE:  Was he?

MRS. PETERSON:  How the hell would I know that?!

DINGLE:  Could have been on his papers when you go him from the pet store.

MRS: PETERSON:  Anyway…. the reminder has sent him over the edge once again.

It was at this point that Lincoln Jefferson reportedly fell from its perch and unto the floor.  Dead.  Mrs. Peterson attempted CPR on the lemur, but to no avail.  And then the Ninja had remembered that amongst his massive chain of keys, happened to be an old Dolorean car key.  Well… he carefully inserted the key into the lemurs butt, turned it to the right and…

Yup, still dead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                          Last night, Nick Driver, an on call maintenance man, who moonlights as a Ninja, attempted to assassinate drug kingpin, Don Dingle, with tragic results.  Here is the actual record of the encounter.

OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT:  CLOSED CAPTIONED FOR THE HEARING IMPAIRED

DINGLE:  Ahaaaaaaa!  Thought you could sneak in and take me out, while I was fast asleep watching the Golden Girls marathon!   Not to be, Ninja.  Not to be.

NINJA:   Dammit!  These fucking keys keep giving away my cat-like, stealthy movements.

DINGLE:  Yeah, you sound like a walking bag of nickles.   I suggest you lose the keys before you try to whack anybody else in the future.

NINJA:  Well, I would need a time machine for that, wouldn’t I?

DINGLE:   Time machine for what?

NINJA:  To whack somebody else… in the future.

DINGLE:  (thinks for a second) No, you would not need a time machine, because you’d be whacking  your victim at the same time of the act itself …  which would be your present.

NINJA:  You sure?

DINGLE:  Yes, I’m positive!

NINJA:  (thinks)  But what about-?

DINGLE:  What about…  you put down the sword nice and easy-like, Ninja!

NINJA: (complies )  Okay.

DINGLE:  Who hired you?  Was it Joe Jefferson from the Westside group?  Was it Banjo Batts from the CherryHill Squad?

NINJA:  No, it was Mrs. Peterson from apartment 4-G.

DINGLE: Mrs. Peterson?  The old broad with the long breast that she carries around in a wheelbarrow?

NINJA:  Yup.

DINGLE:  But why?

NINJA:  The Golden Girls playing, volume up high, day and night on your TV… it’s driving her crazy.

DINGLE:  Wow… it’s really that bad?

NINJA:  Yup.

DINGLE:  Okay… (reflects)  I’ll turn it down.  Problem solved.

NINJA:  Okay… what about me?

DINGLE:  Well… I’m not really sure.  First, I was gonna blast you, but… my kitchen faucet’s been leaking for a couple days now… so I guess you can just take a look at it while you’re here.

NINJA:  I can take a look at it, but I can’t fix it.

DINGLE:  Why not?

NINJA:  No tools.

DINGLE:  No tools?

NINJA:  No tools.

DINGLE:  What kind of on call maintenance man goes around with no tools?

NINJA:  I’m not… exactly on duty right now.

DINGLE:  What do you mean?  Oh-the whole ninja assassin thing.   Right.

NINJA: Right.  Plus you need to put in a service request through the help desk first.

(to be continued… )

 

 

 

                        Last night, a snail, who goes by the name, Herbie, had his face dissolved in a salted, French fries eating incident at a local restaurant.  Here is the transcript of what happened.

OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT

LADY SNAIL: ( to Herbie as his face was melting ) I distinctly heard you say… no salt on your fries.

HERBIE:  (garbled )  I bid bay… no dalt oooon  mmmm bies.

SERVER:  Oh, I’m sorry, I though he said… no catapult on his fries.

LADY SNAIL: No catapult on his fries?  That’s ridiculous.  What does that even mean?

SERVER:  Our fries come with several options including, salt, no salt, catapult, or no catapult.  Fries with catapult are launched across the room onto you plate… or directly into your mouth.  Your choice.

LADY SNAIL:  Well, that’s not what he ordered.

HERBIE: Dnope.

SERVER: My apologies, sir.  I will bring out a fresh plate of fries for you asap.  No salt.

LADY SNAIL:  And how do you propose he eat those fries?  His whole face is gone.

SERVER: The cook can put the fries in a blender, make mashed potatoes, and perhaps your husband can suck it through a straw.

HERBIE:  I bon’t blike maff badatadas.  Dey gib be gasth.

LADY SNAIL:  Not good enough!   We’ve been coming to this restaurant for years and this is by far the worst service we’ve ever had.

HERBIE:  Burst sterbice eber.

LADY SNAIL: I want to speak to the manager!

HERBIE:  Yeah, da banander.

SERVER: Yes, ma’am.  ( walks away, but comes back to the table )  I hope this incident does not negatively affect the amount of my gratuity.