A pirate named Latissumus Dorsee has checked himself into the WormHole Square Psychiatric Center, for what doctors are calling Non-Peg-Leg Pirate Guilt Syndrome.

               “It’s a rare psychological condition affecting about 2% of pirates,” says doctor Jay Coleman.  “With it, the pirate feels a deep sense of guilt and depression because they have both of their real legs intact, and conversely, many of their pirate colleagues have peg legs.”

         Dr. Coleman checks his notes, nods to himself, continues.   “If not treated properly, this condition will get worse.  It will adversely affect the pirate’s desire to hunt for buried treasures and passive income booty, and it may permanently destroy his overall swashbuckling abilities.”

           “Why did all those tragic accidents happen to me mates and not this pirate?” says Latissumus.  “Me mate, Jon Smithereen, lost his leg when ye stepped into a pothole filled with sodium hydroxide, Red Bull, and municipal drinking water.  Tragic.”   Latissumus wipes his eyes, continues.  “And me buddy, Bluegoatee, lost ye leg while doing handstands on a helicopter launchpad.  Tragic”.  Again, Latissumas wipes his eyes, continues.  “And me old mate,  Captain Cockspin, lost both ye legs when ye waded into a shark tank ye mistook for Riverdance festival.  Double tragic.”

             Latussumus reflects sorrowfully, continues   “And what about yours truly?  Where is me badge of courage?  Where is me rite of the brotherhood of pirates and buccaneers?  Where is me peg leg?”

           Latissumus shakes his head, continues.  “Last week I walked through a WWII minefield that was also filled with bear traps, that was surrounded by a samurai training facility for midgets… and nothing.  Not a scratch.  It’s not fair.  Without a peg leg, I don’t feel important.  I feel like a fraud sailing upon the seven seas.  Last week I got pulled over by ye coast guard, near the Island of Tortuga, for a busted tail light.  Such disrespect.  They would never treat Long John Silver like that!”

            Latissumus frowns, continues.  “Me own parrot ignores me.  He never repeats anything I say unless it’s a comment of self deprecation.  Captain Morgan won’t drink with me, and none of ye mermaids will return any of me calls.  I feel like I’m at the bottom of Davy Jones’ locker, surrounded by darkness, jock straps and ye old tube socks.”

                   Despite his deep depression and feeling of extreme guilt, Dr. Coleman believes that Latissumus can be cured of his syndrome.  “If his condition does not improve soon, we are just going to put one of his legs out into a store isle during a Black Friday sale.”

 

            Donald Trump has lost the 2020 Presidential election earlier this week.   He has since filed numerous, frivolous law suits in court in a lame attempt to get the election overturned in his favor.  Now he has sued Sesame Street and blames them for a variety of his other failings.

      “I had the election won… until they started counting those legally cast, fraudulent, mail in ballots,”  Trump says.   “And everybody knows that group over there on Sesame Street are the ones who conspired against me and led to my defeat… because they invented counting… and numbers.   That little vampire Dracula-like-character is the one, always with the counting.  One, two, three, four, five…. ah… always with the counting.  Who has ever heard of such a thing?  It’s all fake.  They’re all media riffraff, Democrats and Socialists over there on Sesame Street anyway.  Everybody knows that.  They spend all day eating cookies, and trying to educate people.  It’s disgusting.  It’s like a filthy little inner city.  Some of them even live in trash cans!”

             To date, the vast majority of law suits filed by Trump in multiple states have been thrown out.

             “He’s an industrial strength, sore loser,” says one resident of Sesame Street who goes by the name Oscardo.   “He’s like a whiny little child.  They call me grouchy sometimes, but this guy is acting like a spoiled, diaper-soiled bitch-baby!”

         So far, Trump has refused to concede the election, which he has clearly lost because of that inconvenient thing called Democracy.

              “Soon the whole world will see that I am the legitimate winner… even if I have to continue to lie, cheat and play golf to prove my case,”  says Trump.  “This ongoing counting and these numbers are illegal.   I’m going to have them all deported, especially the number 270!   They are the reason why I lost the election… but I really won.”

      Yeah, maybe in ( Trumpland ), where he’s smart, svelt, and his hair does not look like the ass of a Pekingese and Old English Sheepdog.   Trump shakes his head, grimaces, points to his phone, continues.

                  “These numbers are also the reason why I had to file bankruptcy three times, why my approval rating has never been above 50%, and why I have small hands like a Pygmy safecracker.  That bunch over on Sesame Street have intentionally inverted the numbers to make me look bad.  I’m not even 74 years old like the fake media and Sesame Street scumbags say.   I’m actually 47.  You see how they manipulate the numbers.  That’s why I never released my tax returns… and also because that would reveal how much of a colossal tax cheat I am.”

            But still the counting continues.   And thankfully, Trump’s final days of desecrating the White House are numbered.

            Yesterday, the Lost Dryer Sock was spotted Zorbing (rolling inside a giant plastic ball) down Mount Olympus.

                           “I was just chilling on the Mount, eating a grilled cheese sandwich, when I saw the sock that I had lost centuries ago,” says a guy who claims to be Boreas, God of the North Winds.   “The little dude was rolling down the Mount inside a giant plastic bubble.  I was quite concerned, because the last time I saw something like that was when my great, great, great, great, grandfather was inside a plastic tent after he had OD’d off of cilantro.  He was also suffering from Tuberculosis at the time, which made the doctor’s decision to roll him down a hill, inside that plastic tent, somewhat controversial.”   Boreas takes a bite of his grilled cheese sandwich, continues.  “However, the treatment worked.  Unfortunately, the old man suffered some serious side affects, which included, vertigo, and always, always, always choosing paper over plastic when given the choice at the grocery store.”

                 According to other eyewitnesses at the scene, the Zorb ball rolled down to the bottom of Mount Olympus, where it ran a stop sign.  It then jaywalked across the intersection and proceeded to plow over several patrons who where attending an outdoor Baklava tasting event.

               “After that, the Zorb ball bounced onto a picket fence and popped like a ballon,” says Boreas.  “And then… The Lost Dryer Sock disappeared… poof… into the wind.   And I know all about wind, because I am the God of the North Wind.   Not to mention, I’ve been a big Earth Wind and Fire fan for centuries.  Even before Poseidon had two oceans under his belt.”

                     No one on the scene could verify whether or not Boreas was really the God of the North Wind.  However, the remnants of his grilled cheese sandwich settling into his digestive system and then adding to the atmosphere, was a mighty strong indicator that he just might be legit.  He just might be.

                   A warrant for the arrest of the Lost Dryer Sock has since been issued.  He has been described as a calf-high, grey, cotton-knit blend dress sock, who can switch to active wear at a moments notice.

         Last night, Bedrock resident, Fred Flintstone was assaulted  by his very own swollen knot.

                “According to a neighbor, Mr. Flintstone and his knot got into a very heated argument over the cholesterol content of pterodactyl eggs and other things,” says Police Chief, Dave Boulderson.  “At some point during the argument, the knot began hitting Mr. Flintstone upside the head with a golf club.”

                The following is the transcript of the neighbor’s recorded altercation that led to the assault.

KNOT:  Yo, Fred?                                                                                                   (No response )                                                                                                       KNOT:  Yo… Fred?!                                                                                             FRED:  What?                                                                                                        KNOT:  I’m hungry.                                                                                           FRED:  Good for you.                                                                                           KNOT:  No, not good for me.  I’m seriously hungry, Bruh.  What’s      up?  You act like you’re on some kind of diet or something.                                                                                                                 FRED:  That’s right.                                                                                           KNOT:  You’re on a diet?                                                                        FRED:  Yup.                                                                                               KNOT: Look here, playa, you didn’t discuss this with me.                         FRED:  Don’t have to.                                                                                       KNOT:  I think you do.  I’m part of you.  I need real food.  I can’t survive just off your dandruff and Fruity Peebles!   You don’t eat, I don’t eat.                                                                                                   FRED:  Exactly!  You don’t eat, you lose body mass.  You get smaller, until your swelling finally goes down, and I’m healed.                 KNOT:  You… you… you’re trying to get rid of me?                               FRED:  Yes!                                                                                                         KNOT:  But why?!                                                                                               FRED:  Because after an accident, a normal knot swells up, you put some ice on it, you take an anti inflammatory, swelling goes down after a few days.  Gone!  But you… you… it’s been like six months!  Six months of walking around with you protruding through my skull, looking like a penis periscope!                                                                   KNOT:  Hmmm… phalic symbolism.  Are you trying to tell me something about you and your buddy, Barney Rubble?               FRED:  You won’t shave!  You won’t change your underwear and you spend all day watching the Golf Channel with 3-D glasses on!                                                                                          KNOT:  Well, you created me when you dropped bowling ball on you head!  Your fault.  I didn’t ask for this detail.  I was content living the subcutaneous life, Bruh.  And by the way, ice has no affect on me, because these underwear that I never change… are lined with burlap.  You can’t get rid of me, you understand?                                                                                                          FRED:  ( groan ) All too well.                                                                                             KNOT: And don’t bother trying to smother me with a shower cap, or that dumb-ass Loyal Order of Water Buffalo hat, because I have no lungs.                                                                                                     FRED:  Oh my God!                                                                                            KNOT:  Face it, Fred, I’m going to be with you for the foreseeable future.  Get used to it, Bruh.  In fact, I’m still hungry and I want some pterodactyl eggs!                                                                                   FRED:  No!  Pterodactyl eggs have too much cholesterol… and fuck you!                                                                                                               KNOT:  Scrambled!  A little cholesterol won’t hurt you… but I might, if you don’t get that skillet jumping pronto!                                                                                             FRED: No!                                                                                                               ( pause … rustling )                                                                                                FRED:  What are you going to do with that?                                               KNOT:  Last chance.  Are you going to rustle up some scrambled pterodactyl eggs or not?  If not, I’m going to show you what my    3-D golf swing looks like!                                                                                                               FRED:  Not!

             “It was at this point when the assault allegedly ensued,” says, Chief Boulderson.

             The knot was arrested and charged with several counts first degree aggravated assault, and a double bogey.  The knot made bail and was released on its own recognisance.  Mr. Flintstone has since obtained a restraining order against the knot.

                An octopus called Old Bay Boy, who works as a pimp on the Eastside, was reprimanded yesterday by The WormHole Square Pimp Consortium, for conduct unbecoming of a pimp, and other violations.

                  “Old Bay Boy has been found guilty of repeatedly slapping Hos, eight at a time,” says Stinkfinger Jones, regional Pimping Director.  “It’s a new era.  The days of physically disciplining working girls are over.   That would include backhands, bitchslaps and promises to put foot up somebody’s ass if the money ain’t right.  We now encourage all Pimps that are part of our franchise chain to employ alternative forms of discipline such as Notes to File, Verbal Warnings, Written Warnings, and as a last resort… Looks of Great Disappointment, in extreme cases.”

            Initially, Old Bay Boy denied the complaints/charges at his hearing with Stinkfinger.  He accused the plaintiffs of being disgruntled employees who were out to wreck his career, and who didn’t know the difference between an octopus, squid, or Calamari.

           “We had physical evidence proving that Old Bay Boy had done the things alleged in the complaints,” says Stinkfinger.  Several of the girls had suction cup marks on their faces.  Other girls had ink residue around their wrists and necks.”

           As a result of the findings of his hearing, Old Bay Boy was suspended for a total of two hours.  During which time, he was banned from working on any corner, and from conducting any pimping related activities.  He was also barred from watching any Katt Williams videos.

 

              A large fly landed on Vice President Pence’s head during last Wednesday’s Vice Presidential debate and that fly has since been identified.

             “Yo, I honestly thought I had landed in some tall, white grass in Baltimore City,” says the fly, who goes by the name Omar. “I think I misread the exit sign back on the Turnpike.  The whole thing was just a big misunderstanding.”

            And that would be a reasonable explanation for the  mistake, because flies do not have very good eyesight.   Normal human vision is 20/20.  But flies only have 20/1200 vision.

           “Makes watching cable TV nearly impossible,” Omar says.  “Can’t count the times I thought I was binge watching something like… Game Of Thrones, only to realize after six hours, that I had been watching the toaster oven slow cook zucchini and a used unicycle seat cushion.  Wondered why the house smelled like dragons and stagnant moat water.  The whole thing was like a medieval Mr. Magoo nightmare.”

        And to make matters worse, flies have compound eyes, made up of thousands of visual receptors (eyes) called ommatidia.

              “So… I tried contact lenses for a time,” says Omar.  He shakes his head at the thought.  “But can you imagine how long it took me to change out ten thousand contacts every single day?  It was also very expensive and my lenses would fog up from the steam every time I landed on a pile of horse shit.  I also considered laser eye surgery, but was warned that ten thousand laser beams pointed at my eyes would, most likely, melt my entire face, body, soul, and ultimately, kill my buzz.”

         Omar now wears specially designed kilofocal eyeglasses to help him navigate through air space when he flies.  Even so, he still occasionally lands in unintended places, as he did last Wednesday.  Omar was detained after the debate by Secret Service Agents, who demanded answers for his breach of the debate stage.

            “I tried to explain to them Secret Agents dudes that the whole thing was just a big misunderstanding, but they were not trying to hear that,” Omar says.  “They threatened me with all kinds of things, including a fly swatter, fly paper, and a Mississippi front porch, hanging, glowing, fly zapper thing.”  Omar shudders at the thought, continues.  “Finally, I told them I was simply looking for a quick meal at Jack In The Box.  I’m partial to expired food, not fresh, but not rancid either.  Took a wrong turn.  Ended up here.   End of story.”  Omar frowns, continues.  “I’m not a big fan of poop, you understand?  Most flies like it, I don’t.  Too much fat, gluten, and E. coli for me.   I will indulge in the occasional dead bird or dead rat.  I’ll even chow down in an all-you can-eat dumpster, if I’m out with friends or if I’m on a date and I’m trying to impress.  But absolutely, positively, under no circumstances will I  indulge in any of Donald Trump’s word salads.”

              Omar was last seen flying into a screen door inside the Vatican.

 

                  Tony the Tiger, icon of millions of cereal box covers, and TV commercials, his life, thus far, has not been Grrrreat.

               “Frankly, my life has been a living hell-of a bitch, wrapped around a utility pole, at the bottom of an ice covered dark, dead end road,” says Tony, from the back of an alley where he sells loose pistachio nuts.

             Not so long ago, Tony was on top of the world, riding on the waves of celebrity and financial solvency.  Now, Tony is penniless and a mere shell of the cereal star he once was back in the day.

                 “I had it all… until I decided to risk everything to pursue my own cold breakfast cereal dream,” Tony says, as he pockets two dollars in exchange for seven lightly salted pistachio nuts.   He goes on.  “My big idea was called Cold Cereal Osmosis, where the milk was packaged in the cereal box and the cereal went into the milk carton.  It failed big time!  An endless river of curdled milk and millions of soggy toy prizes and boxtops later, I was flat-ass broke.”

         And then subsequently, Tony simply ran into a streak of  straight-up bad luck.

            “So, after that, I moved from California to Florida where it was more affordable,” Tony states.  “I also needed to escape an avalanche of overdue library late fees, and constantly being mistaken for Tiger Woods.”   Tony exchanges ten roasted, salted, Ranch pistachio nuts for a fiver.  He goes on.  “Another reason I left California for Florida was to avoid the constant wildfires.”  He chuckles, shakes his head, continues.  “And then in Florida, I ended up living next door to an alligator who was a pyromanic.  My straw hut filled with IKEA furniture went up like the goddamn Hindenburg!”

                 Bad luck.  Tony has been struck by lightning on three separate occasions.   Three times.

              “First time, I was on the roof adjusting the antenna to get better reception to watch ALF,” Tony says.   “Second time, I was in the hall closet shaking a tin foil pan of Jiffy Pop popcorn on a George Foreman grill.”   Tony shakes his head, continues.  “Third time, I was in the basement, under the pool table, flossing in between the metal fillings in my teeth.  Crazy.”

               And from there, Tony has found himself here, in this alley, pimping pistachio nut singles just to survive.

                “I’ve done things out here that I’m really ashamed of, I’m not gonna lie,” Tony says.   His eyes cast down into the shadows, continues.  “I was once so desperate, I sold six of my tiger stripes  to Cap N’ Crunch in exchange for one night’s lodging in his ship’s poop deck.  I have even performed services for the Captain that involved swabbing his deck.“

             A reminiscent smile spreads along Tony’s face.  He points to a mega-load of bags of pistachio nuts stored in the dumpster next to him.  “One day soon my ship will come in.”

                Late last night, police put out an All Points Bulletin for the arrest of Shrek in connection to the killings of three billy goats, all of whom were on the endangered species list.

               “Correction, these deceased billy goats were not on the endangered species list,” says Detective John Samuelson.  “The detective takes a sip from an empty cup of prop coffee, continues. “These billy goats were actually part of the federal witness protection program… and all evidence points straight to Shrek as the perpetrator of these crimes.”   Another customary sip from his cup, and the detective continues.  “Yes, Shrek had a solid alibi, corroborated by two eyewitnesses, including Jesse Smollett, and a semi-retired lighthouse keeper.  And no, there is zero physical or forensic evidence linking Shrek to these crimes.   But he had motive.  Shrek is a troll and this is what trolls do.  They kill and eat billy goats.  There was also hot sauce, tooth picks and a twenty percent tip left at the scene of each crime.”

           Shrek, who has been on the run since late yesterday, proclaimed his innocence via twitter.

               I am innocent of these false charges.  This is a case of mistaken identity.  I am not a troll and I do not eat billy goats.  I am an ogre and I eat mostly rats… or ramen noodles… if it’s in-between a pay week.  Yes, I did hang out with these billy goats on occasion.  And yes, I have had heated arguments with them in the past about the pros and cons of wearing polyester pants on hot leather seats, but I did not kill them.   And certainly, the rumors about me having a prior romantic relationship with these goats is also false.  I’m not attracted to billy goats in that way.  Sure, I think Billie Eilish is attractive in a broodingly, clueless way.  And hell yes, I would do Billy Joel if the lighting was just right.  And as always, hillbillies ( except the ones in that Deliverance movie ) are a viable option for romantic interludes.  Again, I am innocent of these charges.  I have a group of activists working on my behalf to prove my innocence, which includes,  Johnny Cochran’s former yoga instructor and members of the Green Lives Matters group.  Meanwhile, I am not hiding out in the swamp.  Don’t look for me there.

           A recent study conducted by the WormHole Square Medical Center, has found that Alien Facehuggers have many beneficial medical and dental applications.

             “Yes, we’ve found that these, so called, facehuggers, are very good for teeth whitening and teeth straightening,” says orthodontist, Peggy Graysmith.  “Yes, these slimy, xeno-creatures that attach, without warning, onto the human face like an insane French-kissing, crustacean, velcro, suction cup, may one day make braces obsolete.”

               Dr. Watson Gupta, director of the WormHole Square Medical Center, sees many other possible medical applications as well.  “We’ve seen preliminary success with tonsillectomies and procedures to repair deviated septums and lazy eyes,” Gupta says.  He looks confidently to his assembled medical charts, continues. “The facehuggers also provide 100% SPF protection against ultraviolet rays and prevent sunburns.  Although, early results to protect against Covid-19 were mixed, we are optimistic that the facehugger’s application might prove beneficial in that regard as well.”

             Dr. Gupta monitors his current test subject, continues.  “The facehuggers have also been applied to various occupational settings to prevent injuries to eyes, such as, welding, jousting, and laser beam calibrating.”

               Although medical professionals are excited about the many possible benefits alien facehuggers present, they admit the benefits do not come without some negative side affects.

               “We’ve had some patients suffer from Ageusia (loss of taste), especially when eating humus or rice cakes.  Shortness of breath was also reported.  And some other patients suffered from complications due to suffocation,” says Dr. Gupta.  “Heartburn… heartburn and upset stomach was another common complaint.  But by far the number one negative side affect from these facehuggers is the whole… impregnating of the human host and the subsequent alien busting through the chest cavity… thing.  And thus, the inevitable ruining of a good quality $20 Bella Canvas T-shirt.”

                     Last week, DEA officials, with the cooperation of NASA, recorded a major attempted drug deal that occurred on the surface of the planet Mars.

               “Attempting to sell illicit drugs to an astronaut is definitely a crime,” said DEA official, Nancy Pace.  “We’re just not sure we have jurisdiction to prosecute at this time.”

           The following is the transcript of the recorded transmission between astronaut, Andrew Logan and an inhabitant of Mars that goes by the name, Keith.

Transmission: August 10th, 0129 Hours

Keith: Hey, man, how was your flight?

Logan: Huh… what the…?

Keith:  Did you have a good flight?  Five hundred million   kilometers, seven months through the solar system.  You must be thirsty.  Can I offer you a cold brewed libation, which is comprised of fermented tartar sauce, acid rain, and the Big Bang Theory gone awry?  Oh… you’re more of a Hippie Lettuce sort of gent.  I can sense it in the urine and condensation inside your space suit.

Logan: What are you…?

Keith:  First of all, my name is Keith, and I’m an Intergalactic Sensimilla, Bomb Chron, Pakololo Sales Rep.

Logan:  Sensimilla, Bomb Chron, Pakololo sales rep?

Keith: All day, three- sixty five, son!  Solar, lunar eclipse, meteor showers, it don’t matter.  I’m out here slinging!

Logan:  What are you talking about?

Keith:  Check it out.  I can sell you two pounds of my finest Milky Way pure Blackhole Chronic for a really good price.   This stuff is thrice better than the Acapulco Gold or Purple Haze found on Earth, and it’s ten times better than that stinkweed that ET sells on Neptune.  You feel me?

Logan: Are you trying to sell me… drugs?

Keith:  No… maybe… Are you a cop?

Logan:  No.

Keith:  Then yes, I’m definately trying to sell you drugs?

Logan:  I’m really not here for that.  I’m here to study your planet.  Where are the rest of you people?

Keith: Why, so you can rape, pillage, murder, colonize, and McDonald-lize us?!  Never!  I’m not telling you anything, Yankee!

Logan:  No, I’m just here to take samples of-

Keith: Okay, I’ll tell you… if you buy a pound of my weed.  I take straight cash or you can cash app me.  Either way, no problem, cause ‘I’m easy like Sunday morning‘.  Yo, I even take EBT cards!

Logan:  I don’t want –

Keith:  Okay, stop waterboarding me, man!  I’ll tell you.  Everybody’s at the Waffle Attic near Antares.  On Tuesday’s the hash browns are free, and their hash browns are fire!  (unintelligible)  I’ll even let you sample my weed before you buy it.  But, be careful.  The last dude who sampled the Blackhole Chronic, side swiped his spaceship on a satellite and then crashed into an asteroid.

End of Transmission.

                   “Again, we are looking into every option available, pursuant jurisdictional authority, to bring this drug dealer to justice,” said Nancy Pace.  “In light of this new information, we are also investigating whether or not Neil Armstrong falsified accident records concerning his Saturn V rocket, and a four-way stop sign on the dark side on the moon, during the Apollo 11 mission.  Meanwhile, investigating the hash browns at the Waffle Attic near Antares will also be a top priority as well.”