One of King Kong’s nipples ( the left one ) was admitted into WormHole Square Medical Center with, what doctors are calling, a serious exhaustion and stress-related condition.

         “The Kong nipple, known as Ruxton, came in with low blood pressure, shortness of breath, anemia, and severe, severe, areola displacement syndrome,” says, Dr. Victor Santos, the attending physician.  He goes on.  “Currently, the nipple is undergoing treatment to promote stimulation, and hopefully he will perk up and be upgraded to stable condition soon.”

      Among the list of treatments being administered to the ailing nipple include, an ice block intravenous drip, and opening the window until to room’s thermostat drops to, what is known as, ghetto apartment in the winter time room temperature.  In addition, a frozen sponge mop from the cryogenics lab, is applied to the top of Ruxton’s head every two hours, to simulate the erotic licking of a big, cold tongue.

           “We have also applied psychological therapy by showing Ruxton various images of people, places, and things that represent the cold,” adds, Dr. Santos.      “Hopefully, these thoughts will land in his subconscious mind, and help with the stimulation response necessary to get Ruxton up and around again.”

          As to how and why Ruxton came to be detached from King Kong in the first place is somewhat of a mystery.

         “We were estranged, Kong and I,” Ruxton says, weakly.  “We had disagreements. Politics, religion, and… choices in body sprays is what ultimately made me split.  I mean –Axe body spray, really?”  Ruxton closes his eyes, takes in a few shallow breaths, continues.  “Imagine that scent combined with the Skull Island humidity and prehistoric funk.  No thanks, I was out.”

             Yesterday, in the 1600 block of Thames Street, Sydney Rhodes, 65, was accosted by several large turtles who mistook his age spots for their Galápagos Island home.

        “I was walking along the street when them turtles cornered me and demanded money,” Mr. Rhodes said.  “I had just come from the bank and cashed my social security check, my soybean subsidy check, and my accident settlement check, for that time when I slipped on a wet onion skin at Denny’s.”

         Lee Smoats, a marine biologist who witnessed the event, attempted to set the record straight. “These particular turtles are part of the Galápagos Islands/Baltimore Inner Harbor exchange program. They have no interest in money.  They saw the gentleman’s age spots on his head, and they were instantly reminded of their Island home.”

      It didn’t help the situation any that Mr. Rhodes had just come from the all-you-can-eat seafood buffet at Long John Silver’s, and his pockets were stuffed with seafood.

             “Yeah, I had shrimps in my pockets… thirteen, medium sized, fried, in the right pocket, twelve medium, one large, in the left,” Rhodes said.  “I also had three clams in my back pocket and some calamari under my shirt.  I woulda had more, but, them raw oysters kept sliding down my damn pants!”

            Mr. Rhodes then pulled out a coupon for bottomless scollops and taunted the turtles with it. He said that he was once hoodwinked by a syndicate of salamanders, in an elaborate pyramid scheme, and that is why he is so suspicious of amphibians.

                Last week, Public Enemy icon, Flavor Flav, married world-famous landmark, and London tourist attraction, Big Ben.

          “Yeah, boyyeee, you know what I’m saying?!” was the response from Mr. Flav when asked if he’d take Big Ben to be his lawfully wedded wife.  However, confusion followed shortly thereafter, because no one could attest to the actual gender of the world famous clock tower.

             Big Ben’s mechanical maintenance man, Sir Nigel Dwight, explained.  “I’ve examined the clock’s mechanical parts and I’ve documented both male and female inner workings.  After all was said and done, I just put my hand under Big Ben’s long hand and told him to cough, and all was good!”

        The clock tower was officially renamed Elizabeth Tower back in 2012.  Big Ben is actually just a nick name.  Again, Flavor Flav. “I don’t care about none of that, you know what I’m saying?  We’re in love, and that’s all that matters, naww mean?”

            The couple has recently endured rumours of Flavor Flav having a sexual relationship with Cogsworth, the clock from Beauty and the Beast.      “Not true, yo,” says Flav.  “I asked Cogsworth for the time at a Knicks game once and people started a rumor that he was my side bitch, and shit.  That shit was crazy, yo!  Okay, so I did go home with him after the game… but all we did was cuddle and talk about the benefits of daylights savings time – I swear!  You know what I’m saying?”

          They say opposites attract.  It appears to be true with Flav and Big Ben.  “I’ve learned so much from Big Ben,” says Flav.  “Like how to say Bloke instead of Homie… and how to drink tea from a cup instead of a forty from a brown paper bag.”

        And Big Ben has learned some things from Flav as well.   Like how not to worry about being on time so much.  “It’s okay to be twenty-five minutes to three days late for some things.  You know what I’m saying,” says Flav.  “Like job interviews, grand openings for weave shops, and funerals.  Don’t worry about being on time for them shits so much!”

      Case in point; ​Flav was two and a half days late for this own wedding.  Again, Flavor Flav. “I knew Big Ben would be here whatever time I rolled up in this bitch.  I mean- where the mothafucka gonna go.  You know what I’m saying?”

          Rochelle Kent, who has been diagnosed with multiple personalities disorder, has filed a class action lawsuit against WormHole Square Clothiers. In her lawsuit, Ms. Kent, ages 48, 36, 22, 67, 18, 105, 2 months, 53, 79, and 256 in Galapagos
turtle years, etc., claims that WormHole Square Clothiers engineered a deceptive advertising campaign, which coerced her to buy a pair of their underwear advertised as One Size Fits All.

       “I bought a pair of these underwear, which fit me perfectly… but, do not fit any of my other personalties ​at all,” Ms. Kent says.

      Ms. Kent’s 36 year old personality, who goes by the name, Karen Blakewood Esq, and is acting as the lawyer representing the group, says, “These ill-fitting underwear have caused irreparable harm to my clients!”

         Anna, 22, complains of constant wedgies, which distract her from texting while she’s driving.  Louise, 67, who works in a haberdashery, complains of an impingement, resulting in decreased circulation, which causes her vagina to suffer “dizzy spells,” and short term memory loss.

          “I can never find my keys,” Louise says.  And 2 month old, Mikey, says, he’d really just rather wear a goddamn diaper occasionally… especially after breast feeding.

    Ms. Kent has a total of 3,625 different personalities, as diagnosed by her psychiatrist and confirmed by the United States Census Bureau.  Among her other personalities included in the lawsuit, are Unk Man, a 53 year old retired welder, and a dead, stuffed, fruit bat named Mr. Skuttles.  Turns out, the panties fit Mr. Skuttles perfectly.  The class action lawsuit was revised to include only 3623 participants.

           The Keebler Elves, long known for baking and selling delicious cookies, have begun cooking and selling ​soul food instead, in order to keep up with market trends and customer demands.

       “We were struggling just to pay the rent on the Hollow Tree by selling only cookies,” says, Keebler spokesman and chitterlings and hot sauce supervisor, Bud.  He goes on.  “Yeah, we were facing some tough economic headwinds with the traditional cookie line we had been offering.  Add to that, rising overhead costs like Elf magic liability insurance, diabetes related health care costs, and ​several, recent, sexual harassment settlements.  We had no choice than to augment our product line.”
​
Initially, the product line reflected a mix of cookies and soul food, such as Graham Cinnamons and catfish platters, and Frosted Animal Cookies and Black-eyed-peas with a side of grits.

          “Those combo platters did not go over well,” asserts, Bud.  “So we just decided to borrow from the famous Sylvia’s of Harlem’s menu and add our own touch to it.”

  And the results have been incredible. Sales are up 68 percent year- to -date.  Bud is secretive about what the added touch is that makes their soul food so popular.  Again, Bud. “Let’s just say it’s a love of cooking, baking and a heavy dose of Elf magic that hits the sweet spot that our customers love.” ​

     Bud vehemently rejects the rumors that the added Elf magic consists of MSG mixed with the crushed bone powder of former D.C. Mayor, and honorable crackhead, Marion Barry.  Bud looks out from the Hollow Tree at the long line of customers, smiles confidently, continues.  “We’ve come a long way from fudge striped pigs feet and neck bones with coconut sprinkles.”

          Hershel Lomax, 66, was found dead yesterday in the produce section of a WormHole Square grocery store.

       “Apparently, he was attempting to open one of our plastic produce bags, so he could put some tomatoes in it,” said, store manager, Karen Bates.  “And he was standing there sooooooo long trying to open the bag – but he couldn’t – that he just died and the tomatoes grew up, around and over him.”

      Authorities have no idea how long Mr. Lomax may have been dead, or why no one noticed him before yesterday.  Again, manager Bates. “I thought he was part of the tomatoes display… until I noticed this weird, corpse-like odor emanating from him.  Even then, I really didn’t pay much attention to it, because the store pretty much smells like that most of the time anyway.”

             These little plastic produce bags can be very difficult to open if the right technique is not used. Once again, manager Bates. “Most customers lick their fingers to separate the plastic bags.  Some customers wiggle their fingers back and forth and blow down into the bag when an opening of a crease appears.  Still, others pray to the petroleum gods from which the plastic bags are made.”

          When none of these options are successful, most customers simply give up out of frustration, choosing to carry their fruits or vegetables by hand or going without them all together.

      According to preliminary reports, Mr Lomax had a condition known as xerostomia, or dry mouth, so he was unable to produce enough saliva to lick his fingers, and thus he had no way to open the practically, hermetically sealed bag.  Once again, store manager, Karen Bates.  “He was very determined to open that bag and put his tomatoes in it.  I mean – who could blame him.  That Tomatoes On the Vine Sale was one hell of a deal!  Unfortunately, his frugalness, determination, lack of spit, and zero dexterity cost him his life.”

             Labor union leader, Jimmy Hoffa, who was last seen in 1975 ​and assumed dead, was found in Baltimore, working in a bowling alley.

          “I’ve been here since 1985… and I’m still organizing to this very day,” Hoffa says.  “Not unions, you understand, but, more like – bowling shoes and groups of people with reservations of 6 or more into the Ten Pins Discount Club.”

       Hoffa has been able to live undetected for so long because of the unique nature of his job. “I’m never working the same task two days in a row,” he says. “That’s the key to laying low and inconspicuous. Today, I might be here at the front desk.  Tomorrow, I might be dishing out fries in the cafe.  The next day – I”m cleaning the John… or I’m doing all three jobs simultaneously.  You never know where I’m gonna be in this joint.”

       Hoffa seems content with his current place in life for now.  Although he plans to look into the possibility of forming some new, under represented labor unions. “Pin Setters and Bowling Ball Polishers Local will be my first union endeavour,” he says.

       Hoffa picks up a pair of number ten bowling shoes from the counter.  He pauses, sprays a heavy dose of disinfectant inside each shoe, and then he gets into the biggest reason why he’s been here so long.  “I love the smell of this shit, you understand?”  In fact, Hoffa is a bowling shoe disinfectant spray junky.  “I’ve got a fifty spray a day habit,” he confesses.  “At my lowest point, I was sucking off Teamsters two at a time to get a hit of this shit, you understand?”

  Hoffa turns away, sniffs deeply, his attention now on a group of 6 bowlers.  He smiles and aggressively tries to persuade them to join the Ten Pins Discount Club.

      A children’s birthday party turned tragic yesterday when Javier Jones, a 47 year old, male, Flamenco dancer, was mistaken for a piñata.

       “My neighbor was taking a short cut through my backyard, the kids thought he was the piñata, and well… they went wild turkey on his ass”, said Oliver Buford Sr., who hosted the party.

        Mr. Jones suffered bumps, bruises, severe lacerations, and internal bleeding as a result of the beating.  “I think the festive colors he was wearing, plus his Old Spice, eucalyptus and liquorice flavoured cologne, added to the mistaken identity,” Mr. Buford stated.  He went on.  “The same thing happened two years ago when the kids put a horse in a coma after a Caribbean festival.”

           The good news is that Mr. Jones is expected to make a full recovery from his injuries.  Oddly, several pieces of candy ejected from his body during the beating.  “We’re not sure if the candy came from inside his body or what,” Buford said.   At that point, through an abundance of caution, the kids were permitted to eat those particular pieces of candy only after they had been wiped off with hand sanitizer.

      “My taffy tasted like peroxide and spleen,” said ten year old, Oliver Jr.  He went on.  “I was here two years ago when we beat the cover off that horse.  The only difference between that accidental beating and this one is that…the horse was a better dancer.”

      Karl Rutgers, 77, officially, has the longest ear hair in the world.  Measuring at 645 feet long, the ear hair has proven to be quite useful in multiple situations.

          “It makes for one hell of a combover,” says, Mr. Rutgers, as he relaxes in a cozy, wicker chair.  Mr. Rutgers also used the ear hair to string his harp, which he plays on a semi-profession basis at the WormHole Square Symphony Orchestra.

      “I’ve been growing this ear hair for forty-seven years,” Mr. Rutgers says.  He goes on.  “Back in the day, I only used my ear hair to dip my tea bags and as a high wire prop for a flea circus I ran on a part-time basis.”  Mr. Rutgers proudly points to pictures of his high-wire fleas in action.  He smiles, continues.  “Nowadays, my ear hair has more applicable possibilities.  Like, my grandson uses my ear hair as floss.  It has just the right amount of ear wax on it to smoothly get in-between his teeth without causing his gums to bleed.”

   In addition, Rutger’s wife, Jenny, uses his ear hair to sew on armadillo tail extensions.  His son, Karl Jr., uses his dad’s ear hair as fishing line and his other son, Emory, uses the hair as string to fly his kites.

   “My wife is great,” Mr. Rutgers, adds lovingly. “She also used my ear hair to knit me these socks and this G-string I’m wearing.”

     John Faison, a troll who lives under the Wormhole Street Bridge, was cited yesterday for multiple violations of the City’s housing code.

       “I found no lids on his trashcans, overgrown grass sprawling all over the property, and an unregistered tire swing on a Weeping Willow tree,” said, Melvin Davenport, the officer who issued the citations.  He went on.  “These code violations are a public nuisance.  They create a breeding ground for rats, varmints, and hillbillies of all sorts!”

  Officer Davenport flips to a second page in his citation book, continues.  “I also issued a citation because Mr. Faison has not reported any bridge toll collections in months!”  Officer Davenport points through the under bridge opening.  “These are the violations I saw upon first inspection,” he said. “When I went to the rear of the property, down by the stream, I also found an old, rusted-out canoe and twenty-three of Flavor Flav’s old clocks.”

Officer Davenport draws his attention down to the bottom of the next citation, continues.  “In addition, I also found the skeletal remains of three billy goats, Billy Graham Sr., and three cast members of the Beverly Hillbillies.”