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.

                 A genie named, Justin, was evicted from his lamp yesterday over a longtime rent dispute with his landlord.

                     “It’s more than just a rent dispute,” says Justin, from the sidewalk.  “That lamp has a lot of issues that the landlord refused to address.  Like the kitchen faucet dripped constantly, and it was really hard to concentrate when I was studying for my real estate license.   It was always cold inside the lamp during the winter.  And it was like a fucking sauna in that lamp in the summer, because there was no air conditioning, no windows, and my hot tub only had one setting.”

              Justin spits on the sidewalk, continues.  “All I got from the landlord were excuses, like the lamp is too small to fit an air conditioning unit in there.   That’s bullshit!  If I could fit a hot tub, full-sized futon, love seat, and an IKEA dining room table in there, why couldn’t he install an AC unit?!”

            Among Justin’s other complaints include pests, like roaches.  “When I was in the lamp these roaches were relatively the size of small horses.  If I didn’t get back home before 9pm, they would take over my bed, which is one of those Sleep Number beds.  They liked to set it on 95, which is too firm for a Genie, so I was forced to sleep on the floor, which was sloped, so it killed my back and has ruined my posture.   Also, sometimes I found dead roaches floating in the hot tub, which was bothersome because it was really, really hard to focus on studying for my real estate license when the place smelled like vermin stew.    The only upside was that the roach’s antennas provided excellent reception for my bootleg cable service.”

                 Aside from good cable service, Justin can find nothing else about living in the lamp that was beneficial.

            “Every time somebody rubbed the lamp, the place would fill up with smoke, which would set off the sprinklers.   My carpet would get wet and smell like mildew for weeks, until I dried it out with kerosene and a match… which, would set off the sprinklers… and here we go again.”

                 With the mounting issues getting worse, here is what Justin says brought to situation to a head.

         “And not only was my shag carpet ruined, but my magic carpet got wet as well, and wouldn’t fly anymore.   I took it to the shop for an estimate.   2,500 bucks for a new vertical stabilizer and nylon hover thrusters.  Landlord refused to pay for it.  He said my renters insurance should cover it.  But, I couldn’t get renter’s insurance because the lamp is considered a mobile domicile with no fix address.  When I got back home, the landlord had changed the locks and my shit had been put out on the sidewalk.”

                The landlord asserts that he had fulfilled the Warranty of Habitability in this case.  Justin disagrees.

         “Nonsense!  I’ve studied twenty-five percent of my real estate license review book, and this is nothing short of redlining, gentrification, and the landlord throwing lamp shade in disguise.”

 

           Samuel Yoder, a 67 year old Amish man, was attacked by a velociraptor, disguised as the Monopoly Man, early Saturday morning.

               “I was outback building a shed when a gentleman, with a moustache and wearing a top hat, approached me-inquiring about erecting a red hotel on my Pennsylvania property,” Mr. Yoder said.

               That’s when the velociraptor reportedly attacked Mr. Yoder, ripping into his flesh and almost severing both of his arms and legs.  After the attack, the velociraptor ran off into nearby woods.  Mr. Yoder, barely alive, immediately called out for help.

               “Well, I didn’t immediately call out for help,” Mr. Yoder, was quick to say.  “The first thing I did after the attack was to get up and finish building that there shed I had been working on.   Then I fixed a wagon wheel, permed my beard, and then I painted a barn.  Then I called out for help.”

               Soon after, three of his Amish brothers responded to the scene, and the four men, collectively, proceeded to build an entire church, two coffee tables and a birdhouse.   The medical attention Mr. Yoder subsequently received consisted of the natural remedy of sprinkling apple pie crust into his wounds and adjusting the suspenders on his overalls to maximum height.

                    A $200 reward has been offered for any information leading to the capture of the velociraptor, who authorities say fits the description of a velociraptor that attacked a 78 year old grandmother, this time last year.  Not sure if the $200 reward would be in form of currency, canned goods, or will be left open to straight bartering after passing GO.

                  A blind snake named, Zeracody, can now see, thanks to a pair of dice that are used as filters and make his vision possible.

             “It’s a miracle and serendipity all in one,” said Zeracody.  “It’s what’s possible when your ophthamologist is dedicated to puns and has a serious gambling addiction.”

         And although Zeracody’s eyesight has been restored, the introduction of the dice as ocular aids, has not been without some unforeseen side affects.

            “Sometimes when it’s cloudy out, images I see through the dice become black and white, pixelated, deleted scenes, from old classic movies,” Zeracody said.  “A lot of Hitchcock stuff.  Like… I saw something from Psycho once, but instead of Norman Bates appearing with a knife in the shower scene… he had an eviction notice.  Or, like – scenes from the movie The Birds, but with only pigeons.  But, the pigeons don’t attack people.  They walk around with signs protesting the low quality of sidewalk pigeon food.  And did I mention that these pigeons walk like Captain Jack Sparrow, and fall over every two minutes because they have vertigo.  Stuff like that.”

         Still, Zeracody is thankful to have the ability to see anything at all, whatever the images may bring.  “Somedays I see the world as it is,” Zeracody added.  “And sometimes I see A Fist Full Of Dollars… as a handful of food stamps.”

 

              Last week, the WormHole Square Art Museum, unveiled a sculptured work that has since drawn praise and criticism.

                    “It’s a 3-dimensional work of art, but it’s in 4-D,” said artist, Indigo, who created the sculpture.  “The 4-D’s are daffodils, dolphins, dildos and dynamite.  You know-things that go together in a potentially explosive way, yet with enough eclectic flair to make the viewer think about being either enlightened, frightened or horny.”

                Among some of the museum patrons who praised the sculpture included porn stars who have season tickets to SeaWorld, and nuns whose astrological sign is Pisces.   Among the crowd of patrons who did not appreciate the sculpture included nuns who are not Pisces, and Wil E. Coyote.

               “Dynamite and dolphins do not go together organically,” said Wil E.  “Dynamite and roadrunners – now that’s a theme!”

           “I was really trying to create something in 6-D,” artist, Indigo, admitted.  “I had two additional D’s in mind, but I couldn’t find a creative way to add a dwarf playing a didgeridoo and Deebo, from the movie Friday, into the piece.”

                  Last night, a major piano concert was interrupted at the WormHole Square Concert Hall, when a homeless man, emerged from inside the piano, and demanded silence.

           “I was trying to sleep,” said Curtis Fletcher, 52. But it’s really hard to do so with all this goddamn Sir Elton-type clanging  going on!  I’m a vet, and I could sleep better in a foxhole on the shores of Normandy, for Christ’s sake!”

               Pianist, Sergio Pastore, was midway through Beethoven’s Piano Sonata #17, when Mr. Fletcher pushed the lid open wide, emerged from the Steinway grand, and asked Mr. Pastore to keep it down or he would be forced to call the landlord.   Mr. Fletcher was promptly escorted out of the venue.   On his way out, he was reportedly heard asking patrons for spare change to replace his 4 dead, pet salamanders, still inside the piano, with new ones.

             “I had been living inside that music box for six months now,” Fletcher said, from the sidewalk in front of the concert hall.   “It was the G sharps that did me in.  Those G sharps fuck up my circadian rhythm big time.”

 

                 WormHole Square Mayor, Sharon Brody, has been under investigation for corruption for months.  Yesterday, she faced the press with hired PR guys, Bento and Johny, in an attempt to clear her name.

                 “The video of me smoking crystal meth with the ghost of Marion Barry has been overblown.  After all, smoking crystal meth is not illegal, as long as you don’t exhale, as long as you’re a Democrat … and as long as your partner is not of this world,” she said.

            Mayor Brody has also been charged with accepting $200,000 in bribes of gift cards intended for needy children.  In exchange, she awarded a 5 million dollar, no-bid, road work, contract to her uncle’s nephew’s baby-mama step-sister-gurl-in law’s fraternity brother’s Loyal Order of Water Buffalos.    The scope of work was to repair seven potholes along South Broadway.

             Bento then raised his hand and inserted,  “Those were some very, very, very… very deeeeeeeeep potholes, I assure you.”

              Johny then added a quip for pseudo-factual good measure.  “Yes, fall in one and you’ll end up in New Zealand, I’m told.”

              Faced with additional video evidence, Mayor Brody remained defiant.  “These absolutely damning slam-dunk, guilty as sin videos, mean nothing.  I will fight all of these spurious charges until my last breath!”

              The Mayor was then reminded that in WormHole Square, even inanimate objects have a voice, and that several potholes had already agreed to testify against her.  That is when Mayor Brody hastily left her office under the whispery, ghoulish chants of the ghost of Marion Barry.

           “Those bitches set you up!  Those goddamn bitches set you up!”

               Mayor Brody was reportedly seen later clutching her passport as she drove her white Mercedes Benz head long into a pothole along South Broadway.

                  A lemonade stand established to raise money for a local charity, was initially set up next to a counter that holds urine samples, which has been causing major problems at the WormHole Square Medical Clinic.

     “We suspected something was wrong when our customers starting complaining about the lemonade,” says, 8 year old, Mike.  “Stuff like, the lemonade’s too warm, too tart… or that it smelled like the mattresses in the geriatrics department.”

          The confusion only grew from there when all of the urine samples began coming back positive for diabetes.

          “We put a bunch of sugar in our lemonade,” says Mike.  “A bunch!”

            Putting these two services so close together was bound to cause problems. Even with signs clearly posted, the confusion is likely to continue, because the lemonade stand and the urine sample counter are located next to the Optometry Department.

         The Shadow- Finger- Puppet version of Star Wars: Rise Of The Jedi, flopped at the box office, over the weekend, grossing a paltry $358 domestically, in wide release.

                “These box office numbers are somewhat disappointing,” said, executive producer, Kathleen J. F. Kennedy.   “But, with overseas revenue, cable, and Boy Scout camping  jamborees, we should easily recoup our production budget of $4,275, and go on to net a substantial profit.”

           Critics have universally panned the Shadow- Finger- Puppet release of Star Wars: Rise of the  Jedi. 

           “The action, battle scenes lacked finger and thumb dexterity and coordination,” said, critic, Jack White.  “At times, it seemed more like all thumbs.  Overall,  director, J.J.J.J Abrams’ vision lacked creative storytelling.  The lighting and set designs were dull, featuring pedestrian cinematography that, at times, resembled a security guard waving a flashlight.   I thought the  actors lacked on screen chemistry, particularly Harrison Ford and Mark Hamill, who resembled two arthritic index fingers, painfully bending through the galaxies.  And Billy Dee Williams’ performance lacked so much passion that no amount of Colt 45 malt liquor could rescue him from this disappointing production.”