Last week, Donald Trump uttered a chain of words that no adult over the age of 9 should ever have uttered within earshot of another human being.  During a White House briefing, Trump suggested using sunlight and disinfectants inside the human body to kill the COVID-19 coronavirus.  This week, Trump doubled down on his idea by suggesting that light and disinfectants could also be used to kill computer viruses.

                   “What if we hit the hard drive with tremendous ultraviolet light… or another light source,” Trump suggested.  And it got worse.  “What if we brought in moonlight through the USB port… or maybe another light source, like candlelight or Charlottesville tiki torchlight?  Or maybe… we could insert many, many fireflies into the USB port to kill the computer virus with tremendous light?”

                Trump, looked to his experts, who were in shock, continued.   “I hear that disinfectants kill computer viruses in like 5 seconds.  What if we injected the disinfectant into the motherboard?  Almost like a deep cleaning of the CPU.  Seems like it could work to me.  In addition, bleach also works great for cleaning Klan robes,”  Trump added.

            Trump’s suggestions were met with swift criticism by every corner of the normal thinking public.   But, then there were the Trump supporters.

           “I done poured that there bleach all inside my laptop, as per Trump’s suggestion,”  says Reno Baker, 44, of Kentucky.   He waves away smoke from his still smouldering laptop, continues.  “So, basically, the computer went hog shit crazy.  Melted and billowed up with fire and smoke like a Nascar, multi-car crash.  It was like a moonshining still gone haywire.   But, hey, I’m sure I killed that dang virus.   Mission accomplished!”

 

               Rudy Cavanau, 47, has been addicted to refrigerated lunch meat, specifically poultry, for over 25 years.

                  “I like it chilled, and it’s pretty much all I eat… aside from pumpkin seeds and ice chips,” says Rudy.

              And even though his refrigerated lunch meat habit puts him at greater risk of high bold pressure and heart disease, Rudy still hasn’t been able to quit, even for the sake of his health.

                   “I have an 18 lunch meat sandwich a day habit,” says Rudy.  His mind wanders, returns.  He continues.  “My habit has cost me everything.  My wife left me after she caught me crouched down, behind the washing machine, at 3am, repeatedly French kissing… a turkey and cheese hoogie.  I hocked everything I owned just to get that next fix.  My lowest point was when I found myself in the back of a food truck, giving oral pleasure to male Gypsies in exchange for leftover turkey wings.”

                     Rudy has tried multiple methods to help him kick has habit, including Lunch Meat Excessive Eaters Anonymous, without success.

              “Yeah, that didn’t go too good,” Rudy admits.  “Because for some strange reason, they would always serve cold cuts after the meetings.  Took me 6 months to realize that I had been going to the wrong joint.”  Rudy chuckles, continues.  “I had been going to meetings for people addicted to eating soap.  It was weird.  After the end of every meeting, the air would filled with bubbles.”

            Rudy thinks, continues.  “Then I tried medication, but the side affects made my kidneys itch… and my hands tremble, which was problematic in my job at the nitroglycerin plant.  Had to get a new job.  Later, I even tried hypnosis, but staring repeatedly at a swinging watch gave me vertigo, which was problematic at my new job as a doll house roofer.”

           It was at that point that Rudy reunited with his former life coach, an iguana named Bingles, to help him finally beat his addiction.

                   “I was desperate,” Rudy says.  He looks into his hands.  No answer there, continues.  “Bingles came in, sat me down, ripped the turkey bologna patch from my arm, and then he gave me the advice of last resort.  He told me to just quit straight up… you know… go cold turkey.”

             And there it was, the method that had such obvious ironic peril within its framework, that it would surely land Mr. Rudy Cavanau into cyclical relapse and torment.  Good luck, Rudy.

                  Yesterday, Logan Spiers, 44, won the 17th annual International Dry Feet Down Hill Racing Contest, at WormHole Square Slopes.   The event featured about 100 contestants with extremely dry and ashy feet, who raced barefoot down a mountain slope covered in a mixed layer of  corrugated cardboard and rice paper.

                  “I trained really, really hard for this event and finally my dream has come true,” says Mr. Spiers.   “First, I cut all consumption of vitamin A from my diet.  Second, I carefully tripled my intake of sugar to push my diabetes into overdrive, to insure my skin would become good and dry, but not to the level where my feet would fall off.   I also soaked my feet every day in a solution of sodium sulphate, sawdust and Tennessee corn whiskey.  Then I stuck ’em in the oven, covered in a layer of pound cake batter.   Set the oven to 350.  Baked for 40 minutes.  Turned feet over.  Baked for another 40 minutes until batter was flaky to the touch.”

                Mr. Spiers looks down at his feet, grimaces, continues.

               “My other training consisted of line dancing with iguanas and kicking an empty can of lima beans across the Mojave desert… barefoot.  I later trained exclusively with an iguana named, Bingles, who showed me how to trim my toenails on the side of a cactus, and how to spit 30 feet into a bucket, while suffering from extreme hydration.”

                 This was the fourth time Mr. Spiers had entered the race.  His previous best result was 25th place last year.

                  “The extra training and focused determination made the difference this time,” Spiers says.  “And right before this race, I smoothed my calloused heals with 150 grit sandpaper to reduce drag, and I polished my bunions with furniture wax, for better aerodynamic flow.  I want to thank Bingles for helping me make my dream come true.”

 

                Yesterday, a mime and a signer ( sign language expert ), squared off in a debate at the WormHole Square Auditorium.

                 “Actually, as of this time, we are still not sure who won the debate,” says moderator, Mariam Collins.

          The judges, who consisted of 3 New York City cab drivers and the entire cast of the movie, A Quiet Place, were still tallying the scores.  The topic of the debate was Free Speech: Absolute or Limits?  The mime argued that free speech should have no limits, and the signer argued that free speech is not absolute.

              In the audience and supporting the mime, were French cinema buffs and Charlie Chaplin’s uncle, Otis Chaplin, who works part-time in a library as a shusher.  And supporting the signer were retired bell tower workers, the guy from Slingblade,  a third base – baseball coach, and several members of the regional Rock, Paper, Scissors championship team.

            Ms. Collins refers to her notes on an index card and proceeds to replay key moments of the debate.

                  “So… the signer opened with… Free speech is not absolute, and quoted the 1919 case of Schenck v. United States, where Holmes argued that… You can’t yell fire in a crowded theatre and cause a panic.  Points awarded!  However, the signer quickly lost points by incorrectly crediting Sherlock Holmes and/or Larry Holmes with the quote.  In addition, all of the judges agreed that it was okay to yell whatever is necessary to clear the theatre during any Michael Bay, or Tyler Perry, directed movie.”

             Ms. Collins shuffles to a new index card, continues.  “And then the mime countered and jujitsu-ed with … Why then, is showing a movie permitted inside a fire station?”  

                 Ms. Collins taps the side of her right temple three times with her index finger, continues.  “Points awarded!”   She goes on.

               ” The mime then cited the 1969 case of Brandenburg v. United States, which basically overturned the Schenck case.  But, the mime lost points here because several judges disagreed and  believed that free speech is not possible during a 69′.”

                The legendary Lost Dryer Sock has reportedly been seen riding on a dog sled during the annual Iditarod race in Alaska.

                   “I was sitting on my front porch eating a slice of pizza when I saw the sock,” said Alaska resident, Lance Dizzletree.  “The pizza was cold as I recall.  And for the record, I don’t recommend Dominos delivery during a blizzard in subzero temperatures.  And tipping the driver the standard 18% is optional under these conditions, I would add.”

           Dizzletree smiles broadly, continues.   “I last saw the sock, a tan, cotton, calf-height, crew sock, about 20 years ago, right before I competed in the Anchorage Bi-Polar Polar Bear Arm Wrestling Tournament.”   Dizzletree frowns, continues.  “I was a semi-finalist.  I was vanquished by a polar bear named, Clyde Turner, in the semis.  Clyde had a proclivity for Neutrogena hand lotion and humming dirges by candlelight, as I recall.”  Dizzletree shakes off the memory, continues.  “So, through my binoculars, I see the sock along with the other mushers and dogs, sledding up the Rainy Pass, across rim of the Bering Sea, through King’s Landing, on to Winterfell, and then through the New Jersey Turnpike.“

                And that is when Dizzletree’s account becomes fuzzy.  He rubs his brow as if to sharpen his recall.

               “So… now all the mushers are heading towards the home stretch, which is in Nome.  The Lost Dryer Sock is somewhere in the middle of the pack.  And then… POW!”

              That’s when the Lost Dryer Sock’s sled reportedly hit a pedestrian walking on the race course.  The sled then tumbled down a hill slope.

                 “No one has seen the sock since then,” Dizzletree adds. But, you know who I did see?  Clyde Turner.  He was the dumbass pedestrian hit on the race course.  Through my binoculars I can see Clyde laying in the snow, critically injured… and he’s looking at me through a pair of binoculars of his own.   And over the crunching, teeth shattering sound of me chewing a slice of pizza, which is frozen by now, I can faintly hear Clyde humming a dirge.”  Dizzletree holds back some conflicted sorrow, continues.  “Clyde then points directly at me… right before his lights went out.”

                 The Lost Dryer Sock has not been seen since.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                 A local horse named, Octavio, is trying to determine whether his headless physical affliction is hereditary, or is a result of something else.

                “My grandfather didn’t have a head,” says Octavio.  “And although my granddad was born with a head, he did not come to lose his head until after he got mixed up with the mafia – through no fault of his own.”

             As it turns out, Octavio’s grandfather was Khartoum, the horse whose head was chopped off and left in a Hollywood movie producer’s bed, in the movie, The Godfather.

              “Does what happened to my grandfather and my condition have a hereditary link, or is it just a coincidence?” Octavio wonders.  He scratches around the rim of his neck, continues.  “And I honestly don’t recall exactly how I became headless.  I vaguely remember once drinking from a horse trough labeled sulphuric acid.  Relevant?  Maybe.”   He shrugs, thinks further.   “And for a time, I was an assistant for a samurai, who had a malevolent sleepwalking disorder.  But, is that relevant?  I’m just not sure.”

                    Octavio just can’t remember things that might help shed light on the answers to his question.  Not having a head simply makes remembering details that much worse.  Local veterinarians have conducted DNA tests to determine a hereditary link with inconclusive results.

             “The only thing the DNA tests have found so far is that I did inherit my grandfather’s  acne, migraines, and chronic sinusitis, which oddly, still gives me trouble to this very day, especially during allergy season.”

 

 

            Underarm deodorant cakes, or those residue stains that buildup and form in the armpits of shirts and garments, have proven to be an integral part of modern technological advancements.

                  “We integrate 6 deodorant cakes into every Tesla battery pack,”  says, Elon Musk.   “Our lithium-ion batteries are comprised of lithium, nickel, manganese, cobalt oxide, etc.  But, without the addition of the deodorant cakes, the batteries wouldn’t have enough power to pull a rickshaw to the local Denny’s – let alone a Tesla 4 door sedan.  The deodorant cakes also taste better than anything on the Denny’s Grand Slam Breakfast menu.”

               Musk insists the manufacturing process involved to acquire the deocakes, as he calls them, is revolutionary and has changed power output technology forever.

              “In the first phase of our electric car battery development, we harvested the deodorant residue build up directly from the garment armpit area.  Perspiration, aluminium, drudgery oil, slog juice, toil steam, and other chemicals  would be extracted via several connected 7/11 Big Gulp straws, while the subject was still wearing the clothing,” Musk says.

             But, in time, residual Mountain Dew build up contaminated the fuel cells, so Musk and the Tesla team had to find another way to extract the elements from the armpit stains.

         “Next, we employed lasers to cut out the deocakes,”  adds Musk.  “It was fast and efficient, but hard to control.  Several of our employees lost arms in the process… and our company’s volleyball team slid into a 25 game losing streak.”

             So, being the mindful environmentalist that he is, Musk sought an organic solution.

                “Now, we employ armadillos,”  Musk says, enthusiastically.  “Because they have the most teeth of any mammal on earth, they chew out the deocakes in no time,  with zero emissions.  Although, one down side is that a few of our employees have allergic reactions to armadillo saliva.  Nothing physical, but sometimes the employees get the urge to crawl across random highways in Texas.”

             In addition to electric cars, Musk also uses the deodorant cakes in the Space X program.

            “We put 220 deocakes in the main propulsion unit of the Falcon rockets in order to generate enough thrust to reach the earth’s orbit,” Musk says, as he looks upward.  “30 deocakes go in the guidance system, and then we double up 2 deocakes, which  are then used to level the billiards table in the employee break room.   We even put one in the flux capacitor, but were unable to achieve time travel.  I guess that only works with Deloreans.”

 

 

                           A caveman, named Mel, says he lost everything because he invested in Facebook.

                   “I was looking to diversify my financial portfolio,” says Mel, from near a tar pit.  “I was reasonably well rounded, with some bonds, mutual funds, and gold Faberge dinosaur eggs.  But, I wanted more.   At the time, I was looking to invest in either Facebook, the wheel, fire, or cave paintings.  I was torn.  Ultimately, I decided to dump all my assets into Facebook.”

           And that was the beginning of the end for Mel.  Two months later saw the beginning of the end of the ice age, and with it, volatility in the market.   Facebook’s stock plunged.  Mel had not taken into account the weather projections from the Farmers Almanac.  But, his biggest miscalculation was the fact that computers would not be invented for another 5 millions years.

             “I didn’t think about the computer thing,” Mel says, with deep regret.  “You know?   Sure, Commodore 64 was around at the time, but it was limited.   In retrospect, I should have put my assets into the wheel,” Mel laments.  “But, back then, I didn’t really see the potential in a round object that could make driving on the road, while drinking coffee, putting on mascara, and talking on a cell phone, in between bouts of road rage, possible.“

               But, that was not Mel’s only investment miscalculation.

                 “I missed out on fire as well,”  Mel admits.  “Just didn’t see the potential in an element that could give warmth, illumination, and also light thousands of marijuana joints at the Woodstock Festival.”

               Mel says his stock broker should have been more forward thinking.

                 “My broker should have been more in tune with projections from the Neolithic Age, instead of relying on cave etchings from the Stone Age and the Wall Street Journal.  I had bad advice, plain and simple.”

                  As a result, Mel lost everything.  He soon found himself cave-less, with nothing but a threadbare wooly mammoth’s shirt on his back.    Even so, Mel says he may be down, but he’s not completely out.

               “Got some super hot tips on companies to put my future monies into, like Tower Records, Borders Books, or Blockbusters,” Mel says with excitement.

 

 

                  Peabo Alston Jr., a long time criminal, has given up his law breaking ways because of a bag of Cheetos.

             “Twelve years ago, I ate my first and only bag of Cheetos,” said Mr. Alston.  “After I was done, I noticed this thick coating of orange cheese dust all over my finger tips that I couldn’t get off.   I tried washing my hands repeatedly, but the cheese dust was still there.  Tried bleach, sandpaper, a blow torch, and a mixture of sulfuric acid, Easy Off over cleaner, and… beeswax – you know, to retain the moisture in my skin.   Nothing worked.   Then I resorted to removing all the skin off both my hands with a potato peeler.  But, when the skin grew back, the orange cheese dust grew back with it.”

                      During this period, Mr. Alston continued his practice of breaking into houses and stealing  expensive items such as, jewelry and electronics.  He also stole not-so-much expensive items like ceiling fans, George Foreman grills, and velvet paintings of Jesus and civil rights leaders at the Last Supper.  Until ultimately, the orange cheese dust on his hands made it easy for the police to identify and arrest him.

             “Everything I touched had my damn orange fingerprints all over it,” Alston said.  “Wood, glass, Shag carpet, greasy, shredded, hash browns – you name it.  I even stole a fish tank once and left orange fingerprints floating on top of the goddamn water!”

                 Alston then tried using gloves to contain the powdered dust prints, but that proved unsuccessful.

                 “It worked for a minute,” said Alston.  “But eventually, the cheese dust filtered its way through the gloves and left my DNA forensics all over the goddamn house.   I tried all kinds of gloves.  Winter gloves, boxing gloves, even O.J,’s old glove.  Nothing worked.”

                After a time, Alston says the orange cheese dust on his fingers started to glow in the dark, migrate up his wrist and eventually covered both of his arms.   That’s when he gave up crime for good.

               “It was like shooting up a flare gun at 3am when I was running down the street, with a velvet painting of Al Sharpton, eating a bologna sandwich, with a motion blur of orange cheese dust particles trailing behind me.   I would get caught so fast by the cops, that the merchandise I had wouldn’t even have time to depreciate!”

               These days, Alston makes an honest living working at a large airport.

              “I work on the runway, landing planes.   No lights, I just wave my arms, while I eat my hash browns.”

            Yesterday, Elrod, a snail who sells thumbs via his self-drawn wagon, was fined $1850 for a bevy of infractions.

            “We found Mr. Elrod in violation of several ordinances, including selling hand digits (thumbs) without a permit,” said, officer Cindy Rockwell.  “The permit he showed at the time of the violations was actually a photocopied Century 21 real estate license, and was not even authorized to sell real houses, but only approved for sales of doll houses, chicken coops, and coleslaw, in the lower east village in Shanghai.  In addition, Mr. Elrod was also issued a citation for displaying expired tags, and for having excessively loud sounds of the ocean reverberating from under his shell.”

         Elrod’s wagon was eventually searched and several items were seized; thumbs and counterfeit thumbs among them.

           “Yes, we found contraband in the wagon that were not even thumbs, like fat fingers of old Italian mobsters, anorexic big toes of X-Benetton models, and curled corndog tips from the 1988 Iowa State fair-still in edible condition.”

          But, because the corndogs had been transported in the wagon, Elrod was issued yet another citation for transporting a combustible compound along the interstate without a permit.