Last week, Dr. Victor Frankenstein, mad scientist, corpse reanimator, and suspected Hair Club For Men client, had the electric power to his lab shut off, while he was in the middle of a very important experiment.

              “I wanted to see what would happen if I stuck my tongue in the wall socket, while holding a copper tea kettle,” Dr. Frankenstein says.  “Well, I tried it and… nothing.  Then I realized the electric company had just cut off the power to my castle due to non-payment.

                Dr. Frankenstein walks a few careful steps through his laboratory carrying a lantern, continues.   “Oh, I was also working on trying to bring a dead guy back to life with remains I acquired from the graveyard and also from the IKEA outlet up the road.  That experiment also failed miserably when the electric current to the cadaver was interrupted, and also because I haven’t upgraded to 5G technology yet.”

           Although Dr. Frankenstein considers his last experiment a failure, he was, however, able to reanimate the cadaver to some degree.

          “His left eye and left, ring finger show some intermittent life, but the rest of him is as dead as disco,” Dr. Frankenstein says.  “After a week, he started smelling so bad, that the neighbors were outside my castle with torches and pitchforks demanding that I take him back to the graveyard.   And also because I still hadn’t taken down my Christmas decorations from two years ago.”

         Dr. Frankenstein weaves his way around to his creation, continues.  “I didn’t have the heart to take him back.  So, I’ve been injecting him with bleach, Febreze, and I lit a honeysuckle jasmine scented candle and stuck it up his ass to control the stench.  It helped, and I even noticed his left, middle finger showed signs of life after the candle procedure.”

               Dr. Frankenstein claims that he paid his electric bill months ago.  He blames bureaucratic red tape, el Nino, and the Wall Street inverted yield curve, as the reason why the electric company has yet to restore power to his castle.  For now, Dr. Frankenstein plans to continue his experiments with what ever means of electric power he can muster.

              “I’m rubbing my socks across the carpet and calling my X-wife three times a day to produce the static I need to power the generator,” says Dr. Frankenstein.  “I’ve also employed a hamster running on a wheel who’s jacked up on triple espresso and Red Bull to supply even more juice.  Im not giving up on this guy,” Dr. Frankenstin insists.  “He’s not showing much brain activity so far.  Probably a Trump supporter-don’t know.  And I still don’t know if sticking one’s tongue inside a wall socket, while holding a copper tea kettle would cause any type of chemical or physical reaction.  At this point, my pre-experiment hypothesis is that inserting my penis in same, said socket, which is on my to-do list, would yield a similar inconclusive result.”

     Gordon Rustin, 43, has gathered over 100,000 acorns in his quest to certify that he was reincarnated from a squirrel.

             “I’ve suspected that I might have been a squirrel in a former life ever since I began having non-sexual erections whenever I watched the The Adventures Of Rocky and Bullwinkle Show,” Gordon says.   He cracks open an acorn, pops its in his mouth, continues.  “Totally non-sexual, but that flying squirrel made my soul tingle, you understand?  It was my previous life in squirrel-crush form.   At first, I thought it might be Bullwinkle giving me the faux-boners, but I’ve only come to appreciate that moose’s  unassuming dry wit and nothing more.”

          Gordon cracks another acorn, pops it in his mouth, continues.

          “It was Rocky telling me of our kindred spirit.  I have all of the previous life-squirrel symptoms.   I have a lot of nervous energy and I move in short, twitchy spurts, which makes my day job as a hostage negotiator a big challenge.   When I’m walking, I often almost get hit by cars and become roadkill.  And I’ve got an extremely bushy tail, which keeps my back warm in the winter, but produces an unsightly harvest of dingleberries in the summer.”  Gordon eats another acorn, continues.  “And I love all types acorns, be it from a black oak tree, red oak, or whatever.  I also love anything that reminds me of acorns, like a penny, also known as… a coin.”

         Many squirrels in the region have threatened legal action and other forms of intimidation, because of Gordon’s tremendous abundance of acorns.  They see it as an unethical nut monopoly.

                   “It’s not fair that one guy should have so many acorns, while the rest of us have so few,” says Squirrel Union Local 237 rep, Chip Johnson.  “I get that he’s trying to prove a point.  Hey, sometimes I might feel like I coulda been a dragon in a past life, or whatever.  But, you don’t see me flying around burning down castles, and whatnot, to make a point, do you?!”

            For his part, Gordon has no plans to share his acorns, even after receiving multiple threatening letters and phone calls from the union.

       “I’m nut worried about those squirrels.  I keep my 100,000 plus acorns  secured in a vault along with my other valuables like, jugs of free range acorn juice, cases of Squirrel Nut Zippers candy, and my autographed copy of early 2000’s R&B singer, Akon.”

 

               Joey Dingles, a sixty-four year old dung beetle, claims he was one of the founding members of the famed British band, The Beatles.

                   “Yeah, I was officially the fifth Beatle that nobody ever talks about,” Joey says from the dirt, as he pushes a round heap of cultivated poop.  “However, Lennon kicked me out of the group after one week, when he found out I tried to give Yoko Ono some of my Norwegian wood.”  Joey pushes his dung ball a few feet, continues.  “I played the triangle in the band, which people think is not cool.  Not true.  I didn’t get the recognition I deserved because of the politics between John, Paul, George, and Ringo.  And also because I never actually wrote or recorded any songs with them, or performed on stage, nor did I do any LSD.”

             Joey rolls his dung ball a few feet, ruminates, frustrated, continues.  “The triangle is a very complex instrument that takes years of study to master.  You can’t just start clanging it without the foundational work, or you risk hearing loss, complaints from your neighbors, or a V-shaped hernia.    First, I had to devote four years to what is referred to as, primal shape acclimation, which is akin to the blues.  It consisted of me living naked in various structures, which had various shapes.  I lived one year in the janitor’s closet in the basement of the round Epcot Center.   I ate nothing but sawdust and the broken dreams of a janitor whose highlight of the day was scraping vomit off the Finding Nemo display.”

                       Joey pushes the dung ball a few more feet, continues.  “Then I spent a year inside a rectangular, discount, no frills display coffin box.  I ate nothing but plastic, display worms, fake tears and recycled formaldehyde.   The third year was an elective year, so I lived inside an irregularly shaped igloo.  I ate nothing but frozen fish sticks and the haunting memories of clubbed baby seals.”

                 Joey pauses, wipes his brow, continues pushing.  “My last year was spent in a triangular Teepee.  I ate nothing but diced buffalo meat and the distant, crushing sound of people losing  their rent money in a casino.”

                       Joey pauses again, looks back at his giant triangle, continues pushing.   “My graduate studies were done at The College Of Notre Dame.  I studied under Quasimoto, who showed me how to get paid for ringing a bell, and how to also get workers comp for having a bad back, at the same time.   I found his teaching style somewhat unorthodox.  It was like the Montessori Method meets Hooked On Phonics.  However, he taught me the most important thing , and that was how to listen and how to interpret the vibrato of an instrument, such as, a bell or triangle.   He also taught me that vibrato is not a sexual device, nor is it the name of an X-Men character.”

                         The Beatles have long forgotten about Joey and what ever influence he may have had on their success.  These days, Joey tours the land playing covers of Beatle songs on his triangle, on what he calls, the Dung Beetle Triangle Maniac Tour.

                         “You never know if and when the Beatles might get back together, Joey says.  “You never know.  If they do, I’ll be ready.  Meanwhile, I just keep on keeping on.”

 

 

                       Former WWE wrestler and action movie star, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson’s muscles have split with the actor to formally pursue his own solo career.

              “I was done with all those mediocre action/comedy movies we were doing like, Hobbs & Shaw, Central Intelligence and The 12 Furious Jumanjis 12,” says The Rock’s muscles, who goes by the name Rock’s Muscles.   He flexes a bit, continues.  “I’d like to pursue more interesting artistic endeavours like, Competitive Shakespearean Tic Tac Toe, Couch Potato Motivational Speaking & Upholstery Repair.  And if I’m lucky enough to ever get the chance, Interpretive Badminton.”

               Dwayne Johnson admits the split will make his options for future movie roles limited, but he is determined to continue his acting career.

        “Having zero muscle mass will make playing action roles very difficult,” says, Johnson, from the middle of a cemetery.  He frowns, continues.  “I can’t even hold up a gun, or throw a punch, or throw a weak, witty retort.  The only role I’ve been offered lately is that of Olive Oil’s brother in a movie called, Popeye’s Chicken and Spinach Diaries.”

             Speaking of food, Johnson has been on a rigorous diet and exercise regimen to help build back the set of muscles that he’s lost.  But, it’s been difficult.

               “I drink protein shakes that consist of egg whites, testicle juice extracted, straight-up from the bulls of Pamplona Spain, and remnants of crushed Arnold Schwarzenegger DVDs,” Johnson says.  “My exercises consist of brisk walks through the cemetery wearing relatively heavy, weighted items, such as, wet sneakers, my own perspiration, and two small rubber bands on each wrist.”   Johnson wipes his brow, continues.   “I use the cemetery as motivation, because here, I have bigger muscles than everybody in the whole fucking place.”  Again, Johnson wipes his brow, catches his breath, continues.  “My weightlifting routine consists of bench pressing a curtain rod.   40 reps.  Then I do 15 reps of curls with a stapler, loaded with 8 Swingline standard staples.  Lastly, I demolish a fully furnished one bedroom origami apartment with my barehands.”

                     For his part, Rock’s Muscles says the split has been a liberating change.

                   “Finally, I got tired of all the injuries, both from wrestling and the demands of doing action movies.  I’m talking about bicep strains, ankle sprains, and finally, severely dislocated dignity from doing the movie, Rampage.

                   Zeracody, a once blind snake, who can now see with the aid of a pair of dice, unfortunately, still suffers from bizarre side affects.

              “The dice work great and make my eyesight possible, but on cloudy days I still see these strange pixilated black and white versions of classic old movies,” says Zeracody.

                 The dice use an experimental ocular filtering imager and pun technology, but the side affects have been a nagging problem that have, thus far, prevented wide use approval from the FDA.

                   “Nice sunny day, I was fine,” says Zeracody.  “Clouds roll in all and all of a sudden, I’m seeing these weird scenes from the movie, JAWS, right?  But, instead of a shark attacking people in the water, it’s a giant seahorse.  And the seahorse is on the beach, terrorizing people by being a totally obnoxious asshole.  He’s doing things like, playing his retro-boyband music too loud through static-filled sea shells.  He’s wearing Sponge Bob thong swimming trunks, which are exposing an unsightly asymmetric bulge, and has  seaweed sticking out from under the fabric.  And even more terrifying, he’s built a humongous sandcastle that has a medieval facade, with Greek Ionic columns and a Victorian-age couch on the front porch.   And the grass hasn’t been cut in weeks!”

                       The sun fills the sky and Zeracody’s vision returns.  But, soon the clouds slide back through almost as fast, leaving him squinting, adjusting to a new, twisted set of images.  The terror continues.

               “Now I’m seeing shades of JAWS 3-D,” says, Zeracody.   “Over near the dunes, it’s Donald Trump sun bathing, face down in the nude.  Seagulls mistake him for a beached whale with lobster- colored skin.  They peck at his flesh, but are repelled by the lies, gaslighting, corruption, and bullshit that seeps from his hollowed notches.”  Zeracody squints, continues.  “Captain Ahab comes ashore, hoping that he has finally found Moby Dick, his white whale.  He has not.  Ahab inspects Trump, makes an entry in his Captain’s log.”   Did not find giant white sperm whale.  Found giant orange inbred sperm whale instead.

 

 

                   Last night, Rashad Blake, 32, was attacked while performing in the subway, by a velociraptor that was, reportedly,  wearing a Monopoly Man disguise.

           “I was really enjoying the string-less mandolin banjo tamborine performance of Bennie And The Jets, in A flat minor, when that velociraptor attacked that guy,” says, Silvia Miles, who witnessed the attack.

       Mr. Blake, who is well known for his virtuoso ability on the string-less mandolin banjo tamborine, has performed in the subway everyday for more than 30 years.  In fact, he has only missed 2 days in all that time.  Once on 9/11, and another day, when a local restaurant came out with all -you- can- eat unpopped popcorn, and Belgian Brussels waffle sprouts imported from Margaritaville. 

               “At first, I thought the attack was part of the performance,” says, Ms. Miles.  “I even put an extra $5 in his can… until the velociraptor tore both his hands off and took his can full of yellow, pink, and blue cash and waffle sprouts discount coupons.  After that, I felt the performance lacked spontaneity, focus, and depth.”

              Mr. Blake reportedly continued to play, despite having lost both of his hands.  He persevered even after rumours began to swirl about his performance being lip synced.  Subway Law Enforcement Officers were quickly on the scene and attempted to arrest the velociraptor.   Not for attacking Mr. Blake, but for jumping the turnstile and not paying for a subway ticket.

            “Subway performers come a dime a dozen, but turnstile jumpers, like peddlers who sell watches made from cantaloupe rinds, are the greatest impediment to a fiscally sound and egalitarian society the world has ever faced,”  says, Andy Donaldson, a subway peddler… who sells watches made out of cantaloupes rinds.

            The velociraptor eluded capture and was last seen heading uptown on the M- Train towards Broadway.  Authorities believe that this is the same velociraptor that has been on a spree of carnage, attacking a grandmother, an Amish farmer, and a pimp over the last several months.  The velociraptor is wanted on a litany of charges including, assault, turnstile jumping, robbery, interrupting a song before the bridge and identity theft.

                 Melvin Denton, 42, has very expressive stomach growls, and a WormHole Square linguist has recorded some outtakes of famous speeches emanating from his gut.

                     “I believe his stomach growls are a combination of several obscure languages, including Silbo Gomero, Pawnee, and South Baltimorean,” says, linguist, Oscar Pascal.   Pascal adjusts his headset, continues.  “Yesterday, I recorded and translated a Patrick Henry quote from 1775.  In the quote, Henry says “Give me liberty or give me death.”   The little known outtake from that quote goes on to say,  “Actually… about that death thing… what I meant to say was not, “give me death“, but, like – give me a verbal warning first, or a jaywalking citation, or if push comes to shove, make me give Benjamin Franklin a lap dance… again… while he tries to get his kite up.”

                    Mr. Pascal jots down some notes, details, continues.  “So, here’s a translation of an outtake from a Franklin D. Roosevelt speech from 1933.   “So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is… fear itself.”    And then the stomach growl translated outtake.  “So, there’s fear to fear… and let us not forget these murder hornets, Covid-19, and the vision of Donald Trump, giving hair styling tips, while wearing a see- through wet suit.”  

           Pascal shudders at the thought, continues.  He adjusts the attenuator on the recording equipment.   Mr Denton’s belly growls, loud, then faint, but in stereo.  “Sounds like Lincoln’s Gettysburg address coming through now,”  Pascal says.   “Four score and seven years ago…”   Pascal squints, moves in for better sound.  “Oh then Lincoln goes on about a game of darts in which he was cheated by a carpetbagger.  And then on about how it’s really hard to get a good suit in his size and then something about how excited he is about “scoring tickets to the Fords theatre.” 

                       The session then comes to an abrupt halt when, what was thought to be the next great stomach growling sounds of historic significance, actually turns out to be a burrito-fueled dispatch of flatus wind with equally historic impact in it’s own right, fills the room.

              A company offering hourglass repair services in, as little as, 2 hours has some of its customers confused and others dissatisfied.

      “It’s deceptive, misleading, and ruinous to my game nights,” says, Dexter Potts Jr.   “My hourglass had a hole in it, after I accidentally shot it with a BB pellet, as I was trying to kill a zombie flying monkey, what was trying to eat the insulation behind my dishwasher,” Potts adds.

                 Mr. Potts took his damaged hourglass to UR GLASS  HOURGLASS REPAIR, where he hoped to have the timing device fixed in time to be used during a self-hosted game night event.  Unfortunately, this was not the case.

                  “Some games have a crucial time limit,” Mr. Potts says.  “What’s the point of playing Strip Boggle, if players have all day to find the answers?!  My game night was a disaster.  I wasted $32.50 on chips and aphrodisiac infused Jello, and now my chances of becoming a successful swinger have been ruined as well!”

           “First of all,  Mr. Potts’ hourglass sustained extensive damage and his expectations of a speedy repair were unrealistic,” says, Defilbus Jenkins, owner of UR GLASS HOURGLASS REPAIR shop.  “There was significant sand loss, which required a sand transfusion, which required a physical accounting and full replenishment of each and every grain of lost sand.   27,679 total grains of sand to be exact!  Do you have any idea how long it takes to fill an hourglass, by hand, with 27,679 individual grains of sand?!  Especially, taking into account my repetitive motion seizures, which caused me to count and recount four goddamn times!”

                 UR GLASS HOURGLASS REPAIR has been in business for many decades.  One of Mr. Jenkins’ more famous clients includes, The Wicked Witch of the West, from the Land Of Oz. The Wicked Witch infamously threw her hourglass to the ground, smashing it in a cloud of sulfur and residual reefer bong dust.  It was done in an attempt to prevent Dorothy and her companions from escaping the Witch’s castle.

              “The Wicked Witch’s hourglass had to be gutted and  restored from the frame up,” Jenkins says.  New glass – the whole shebang.  It had sustained severe potash displacement, smoke damage and as a result, several of her flying monkeys suffered PTSD and subsequently, went AWOL.   Some have even been rumored to be living behind dishwashers to this very day.”  Mr. Jenkins frowns, continues.  “I was never paid for my repair work on the Wicked Witch’s hourglass.   Sadly, she was liquidated by Dorothy with a bucket of water that very night.   I still have a civil case pending with the Oz County Court system.”

       A side note to this story:

           Hourglass’ are not actually filled with sand, as the shape of actual sand is not ideal for good particle flow.   Hourglass’ are actually filled with quartz, marble dust and leftover bread crumbs from Subway sandwiches.

                       Last week, Florida Public Health officials confirmed that someone in the state had contracted a very rare brain-eating infection that was caused by a living amoeba.

                  “This is a single-cell amoeba, so we’re actually talking about just one culprit here,” says Florida Health official, Ron DeSalvo.  “An APB has been put out for this individual, last seen in this swampy area here, picking his teeth with a bobby pin, before disappearing under the water.”

                The brain infection known as Naegleria Fowleri is extremely rare, with less than 150 total cases reported in the U.S. since the 1960’s.  This, according the Center for Disease Control, and Vanna White, who normally only turns letters, but has been known to turn the occasional number or two if the situation is serious enough.

                   The amoeba enters through the nose, and left untreated, can progress into a tragically, deadly infection known as amebic meningoencephalitis.  It can also lead to cocaine-inspired flashbacks of 1980’s music and fashion, which can be even more tragic.

                 “Yeah, it starts eating away at the brain matter until the individual is rendered incapable of any educated thoughts,” says, Mr. DeSalvo.   “The amoeba is usually found in warm, fresh water lakes, ponds, and swamps where Trump MAGA rallies are often held,” says, Mr. DeSalvo.  He goes on.  “Yes, and anyone who has ever snorted cocaine with Billy Ocean or Muddy Waters is at an even greater risk of contracting the infection,” adds DeSalvo.   “The amoeba also thrives in swimming pools, hot tubs, and Neti pots.  The amoeba has also been found in tea pots containing the rare teabag flavor, Ginger Amoeba Chamomile.“

                    Symptoms of amebic meningoencephalitis include, nausea, fever, vomiting, and sometimes catching an immediate erection and subsequent premature ejaculation at the sight of swastikas and confederate flags.

 

               Donald Trump, by a landslide, was rated the most despised crime boss ever, by several former mobsters, criminal influencers, and excommunicated members of the Richard Nixon fan club.

               “I’m still trying to figure out how Trump never caught syphilis from having sex, in the raw, with all them porn stars,” says, Al Capone.

                 Al Capone suffered from neurosyphilis due to his own untreated syphilis back in the1930’s.

               “I ignored my syphilis symptoms for a long time, hoping it would somehow magically just go away, disappear,” Capone admits.  “You know- exactly the way Trump ignored the Covid-19 pandemic.”   Capone rolls his eyes, continues.  “My symptoms were obvious, drips and warts on my johnson.  They told me to go to the doctor.  They warned me of what could happen if I didn’t address it soon, but I didn’t listen.  Even after my junk turned green and whistled Dylan’s ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’, every time I took a leak, I still didn’t listen.  It was like ignoring the proverbial elephant in the room, you know?”  Capone thinks back to the 1930’s, continues. “Infact, that’s how I think I caught the clap in the first place, from that fat chick in that proverbial brothel on Chicago’s upper Eastside!”

                    Donald Trump and Al Capone have a lot in common.   They both were from New York.  Both were heads of crime families.   Actually, Trump, is more like the dickhead of one now.   Capone had a long list of criminal activities including, bootlegging, racketeering, murder, corruption, and cheating on his golf score.  Trump, likewise, has a long list of criminal behavior and corruption.  But, Trump’s operation is more sinister, including con jobs, cheating hotel contractors, ripping off Trump University students, fake charities, self-dealing, multiple sexual assault allegations, blackmailing Ukrainian Presidents, bigotry, racism, referring to nazis as “very fine people,” siding with Russian dictators and other world despots, hiding his tax returns, disgracing the office of the Presidency, and cheating on his golf score.

       Don Vito Godfather Corleone, had similar disdain for Trump.

           “I can’t stand the guy,” Don Vito says.   He brushes his cheek lightly, continues.  “I’d rather watch The Godfather III movie 1000 times before being caught dead in the same room with that “bone spurs”, draft dodging, comb over-coward!  Honestly, watching this buffoon and his family run this administration is like watching 1000 Fredo Corleones run a Tesla auto plant!” Don Vito shakes his head, disgusted, continues. “He calls himself a wartime president?  Nonsense!  In times of war, we go to the mattresses to protect our families.  What does Trump do?   He sleeps on the mattresses… with porn stars… without protection.  Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes.  Donald Trump sleeps with the porn stars!   That is not justice! Trump also walks around in a pandemic without wearing a mask, and… he grabs women by the pussy without wearing a glove!”  Don Vito frowns, strokes his cat, continues.  “And all this Putin business is nothing short of traitorous.  The closest business we ever did with Russia was running Vodka down from Canada with my son, Carlito… um, I mean, Tony Montana… I mean, Michael!”

        Tony Scarface Montana,  also shared his enmity for Donald Trump.

               “The guy’s a cockroach!  La cucaracha!  I’ve seen guys like heen before, and heen – you can never trust a guy like heen.  Always lying, always with the forever bullshit!   Heen and his whole revolving door administration, the republicans and the Fox News propaganda machine who cover for his incompetence, treachery, and corruption.   A swamp full of cucarachas!   They are the bad guys, not me.  Not Tony Montana!  Honestly I’d rather sit next to an actual, six foot cucaracha with athlete’s foot, before I sit next to this guy!”

                     Other crime bosses who shared disparaging remarks about Trump, included, John Gotti, Tony Soprano, Frank Lucas, Walter White, Bricktop, Nino Brown, El Chapo Guzman, Johnny Casper, and Mr. Burns.