A few weeks ago, Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow on Groundhog’s Day, predicting six more weeks of winter.  However, subsequent photo analysis has revealed that the groundhog also saw the ghost of Prince, which prompted debate and controversy.  The Jimi Hendrix Purple Hazatometer confirmed these findings.

                          “We’ve never seen this phenomenon before,” says Rochelle Coats, chief meteorologist from NASA.   “In the past, the groundhog has seen his shadow in the shape of a middle-aged lentil bean with a touch of scurvy.  But this additional spectre is new and honestly, we’re not sure what it means.”

                 For clarity, the Nasa team consulted Lisa Flemming, President of the Prince Fan Cub, for answers.

                   “It obvious what the groundhog’s reaction is telling us,” says Ms. Flemming.   “We are going to experience six more weeks of winter… plus Seventeen Days.  In addition… Sometimes It Snows In April.   Furthermore, there is an increased likelihood of turbulent seismic activity, resulting in a possible… HouseQuake.   This disruptive activity will be foreshadowed… When Doves Cry.“

        Ms. Flemming considers the entirety of the situation for a moment.  Her brow furrows with deep concern, continues.   “And after all is said and done, there will be a deluge of Purple Rain, which will saturate the earth until everything is Soft and Wet, followed by a massive outbreak of pink eye and finally… we will see the most cases of blue balls the world has ever known.”

                 Every seventeen years, cicadas, also known as locusts, return in massive, swarming numbers in many parts of the United States.   And this year… is the year.

               “It’s been seventeen years and once I get these twenty-eight layers of sleep-crust out of my eyes, I’ll be ready to go”, says Nowell, spokesman for the 2021 Cicada Return.  Nowell uses a small wire brush to remove the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes, continues.   “It’s good to be back.   Hibernating for seventeen years has its perks, don’t get wrong.  But I mean after you get up, you’re looking at a lot of problems.  Like, I’ve got the worse bedhead, bedsores, and morning breath you could imagine.  You just don’t understand.”

                Nowell gargles with some mouthwash spits, continues.  “In addition, unless you pay in advance, you’re looking at seventeen years of back rent due.  That’s why I set my alarm clock for sixteen years, eleven months, and three weeks.  So I can roll out of here before my landlord, Mr. Lee, shows up.  They cut the gas and electric off years ago.  That’s why it’s so damn dark and cold in this joint.”

       Scientists are not exactly sure how and why cicadas reemerge every seventeen years.   Nowell shares his insight.

                           “You see, during our seventeen year underground dormancy, there will be a time period above ground, within that, when certain events will occur that will be so utterly existentially fucked-up that we just don’t want to witness to any of it.”

                    Trump.

             “Exactly!  We waited until his shitstorm, Kabuki sideshow, landfill of swamp nightmares was over before we came back.”

                  On what he missed the most while he was in hibernation, Nowell gets a little misty-eyed in between encrusted eyelids.

           “3 Doors Down.  And now I’m awaiting there return.”

            A lobster, known as Kurt, read his last will and testament yesterday, before being removed from his tank and, no doubt, steamed and eaten with garlic lemon butter sauce.

                    Initially, Kurt had left all of his worldly possessions to his brother, Lazarus.  But because Laz, as he was known, had just been pulled from the tank a few minutes earlier, Kurt decided to distribute all of his possessions amongst the remaining lobsters in the tank.

                     Kurt’s Will read as follows:

        To my other brother, Larry, I leave my twenty-four piece Sears & Roebuck tool set and a 1988 vintage bottle of Bartles and Jaymes wine cooler.   To my uncle, Frederick, I leave my Weber barbecue gas grill and a half-bag of Kingsford charcoal briquettes.  To my best friend Trevor, I leave my childhood sled and my collection of Biz Markie mixed tapes.  And to my beloved wife Alice, I leave 10,000 shares of Blockbuster Video stock, three, ten dollar Red Lobster gift cards, my parking pass to the left hand corner of the tank, and a half-bag of Kingsford charcoal briquettes.

               Last month, Majorie Tanner Bates, filed a complaint with the WormHole Square Celebrity Commission, alleging an insufficient amount of notoriety in her life.

                     “Everyone is supposed to have fifteen minutes of fame,” says Ms. Bates.  “Collectively, I’ve only had twelve minutes and forty-four seconds of any kind of fame.”

           Counting the six minutes, forty-one seconds she was on the local news for witnessing a UFO… which later turned out to be a drone delivering a large silver dildo to a college dorm.   And then the five minutes, twenty-eight seconds she was interviewed at a local flea market for selling a set of rare Mr. Magoo cufflinks.  Additionally, she was on TV for thirty-five seconds in a PSA about the dangers of Spontaneous Human Combustion after consuming a corndog, immediately followed by a Red Bull.   That indeed would be a total of exactly twelve minutes and forty-four seconds.

                         “I am due two minutes and sixteen seconds of fame to make me whole again,” Ms. Bates says.  “I suffer from severely low self esteem, Estrogen, and television ratings.”

           To settle her complaint, the WormHole Square Celebrity Commission sent a reporter/photographer ( an intern with zero photography experience and with a jaundice eye ) out to cover Ms. Bates and her latest celebrity-level, newsworthy accomplishment.  Unfortunately, the Commission could find nothing noteworthy about Ms. Bates at the time of their visit.   The two minutes and sixteen seconds of fame that she is still owed will be put into their official file to be reconciled at the appropriate place and time.

                   Two weeks ago, Dawson Riley, 256 years of age, filed a complaint with the NAACP after he was called several “N” words by an employee of the WormHole Square Cemetery.

                   “He was in the graveyard trying to dig up a corpse so he could have sex with it,” says gravedigger, Joe Conner.   “He had condoms, a shovel, Teddy Pendergrass music going, the whole bit. So I called him a… necrophile.”  Mr. Conner tosses a shovel full of dirt over his shoulder, continues.  “And as he and I were discussing the situation, the guy just straight-up falls asleep in the middle of his sentence.  That’s right, started snoozing right there against that tombstone.  So I called him a… narcoleptic.  Thirty seconds later the guy wakes up and finishes his sentence from before he fell asleep, like it never happened.  But his sentence didn’t follow my original question one bit.”  Mr. Conner puts his shovel down, continues.  “So then I called him a… non sequiturist.   Then the guy started spouting some nonsense about how he was just here to protect the garden and its treasure and such.  So, at that point, I realized the guy was… a Gnome.  And I yelled it out loud and I told him to get the hell off of the property!”

                      Mr. Riley’s complaint included being called a necrophile, narcoleptic, non sequitarist, Gnome, as well as, a nitwit, noodle, and a numbnut, needle dick Norwegian netherworld lover.  The NAACP summarily dismissed the complaint.

                  Two weeks ago, Nicholas Lesko, a Polish sausage from South WormHole Square, decided to take a DNA test to affirm his Polish ancestry.  But the results were not what he expected.

                     “Apparently, my ancestry is not from the Polish, Central Europe region of the world, but rather, from processed scraps of meat from the intestinal, snout, and anus regions of the North American pig”,  says Mr. Lesko.   He skims his test results, continues.  “Man, this is unbelievable.  My great, great grandmother, I was told, was a matriarch Kielbasa from Warsaw.  Not true it seems.  And my great, great grandfather as told to me, was supposedly a brave Bratwurst sausage, who played a vital role in the fall of Hitler by strickening him with a fatal case of food poisoning.  Also not true, it appears.”

                         Lesko scans the DNA results, sighs, continues.  “It says here that I am 22% swine testicle stock and 12% entrails.   Really?!  My whole identity has been a lie.  All of the great people of Polish decent that I’ve always aspired to be was all for naught.  People like, Chopin, Marie Curie, and Mike Stivic, Archie Bunker’s son-in-law on All In The Family.“

                On January 6th, 2021, Donald Trump incited a crowd of his supporters to converge on the Washington Capitol, where they violently breached the building in a brazen act of insurrection.

                  “We done did just what our leader, Trump, told us to do,” said Zed, from the movie Pulp Fiction, who was part of the violent mob.  “So we marched down to that there Capitol and tried to take back something that didn’t rightly belong to us!   This is the greatest achievement of my life… except for that time I had a… insurrection in my pants and then climatic achievement with Marsellus Wallace in the basement of my Confederate pawn shop.”

                  With last Wednesday’s events, Donald Trump has added INSURRECTIONIST to his lengthly resume of disgusting achievements.  Other entries include: Demagogue, Ku Klux Klan Leader, Swamp-lord, Cult Leader, Minion Wrangler, and Viking Canoe Captain of one.

                  Another Trump supporter at the site of the insurrection was the creepy-eyed, porch troll, dueling banjo kid from the movie, Deliverance.  He was seen in Nancy Pelosi’s office playing an unplugged medley of Linnard Skinnard’s greatest hits on a washboard.

               Leonard Boone, 46, was admitted into the WormHole Square Medical Center, after swallowing a car battery, in hopes of giving his new career selling used covered wagons, a boost.

                      “Mr. Boone came in yesterday complaining of stomach pain, nausea, and car battery acid reflux,” said Dr. Linda Anders, the attending ER physician.  “We’ve tried various procedures to remove the battery including, pumping his stomach with a torque wrench, industrial strength laxatives, and pulling the battery out with an engine hoist.  All without success.   We’ve also found a stomach ulcer the size of a Frisbee.  Another issue is that the positive connection clamp of the jumper cable is attached to his liver, and the negative clamp is attached to a chain of heart monitors in the ICU unit.  So removing that cable will be no simple task without killing people and tripping the circuit breaker to the coffee pot in the employee lounge.”

                       Mr. Boone started selling used covered wagons six months ago, but things have not worked out exactly as he’d planned.

                           “I had sold just one darn wagon in all of six months,”  Boone said from his hospital bed.  “I’m not sure if the demand is just not there for used horse drawn covered wagons from the 1800’s, or if it’s just me not applying myself motivationally.”  Boone coughs, spits a mouthful of battery fluid into a cup, continues. “So I figured I needed something to, you know, “jump start” my career.  And yes, I know, I went the literal route with this, but I was desperate.”

                   Interesting, things did pick up for Boone for a while after he swallowed the battery.

                          “So the day after I swallowed the battery, I sold a brown, 1885 stagecoach, low miles, one owner, no accidents.  Great!   The next day I sold a brown 1889 chuckwagon convertible, four horsepower, wooden, spoked wheels.  Wonderful!  And then the day after that, I sold a covered wagon with a moon roof, anti-lock brakes, cruise control, and a sack of potatoes on the dash used as an airbag.  Fantastic!”

           Boone takes a moment to catch his breath, continues.  “And then I hit a dry spell!”  He shakes his head, returns with tacit confidence.  “But I’m not going to let anything hold me back from achieving my career goals!”

              Then one of Boone’s many monitors beeps and a Check Engine light flashes in amber yellow.

                 The year 2020 will go down as one of the worst years in recent memory.  There were a full list of calamities, deaths and weird shit that went down that made 2020 particularly bad.

        Australia had bushfires that burned more than 15 million acres… and singed countless vaginas in the outback.  California had massive wildfires as well, and then things got much, much worse when millions were force to watched the Sonic The Hedgehog movie.

     George Floyd was killed by police, sparking worldwide outrage and protests, including demands for police reform and replacing confederate statues with holograms of the cast from Alf.

             Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg passed away, making room for Republicans to confirm a new conservative Justice faster than Bruce Jenner running a decathlon and Caitlyn Jenner catching a run in her stockings, during a Kardashian altercation.

            2020 saw the blatant rise of White Nationalist groups, or as Donald Trump likes to call them….Republicans, some cops and golfing buddies, who wield alternative clubs, with low IQs and high scores on the back nine.

          Trump was impeached by the House Of Representatives, after presenting overwhelming evidence of his guilt, only to have the Senate fail to convict, which prompted O.J. Simpson to faint after first doing a spit-take with a mouth full of organic orange juice.

                73 year old Donald Trump and 77 year old Joe Biden were the two nominees of their respective parties.  But many people thought they were watching the Robert De Niro movie, War With Grandpa.  The first two debates were sponsored by AARP, Ben Gay, and Fixodent.  ( not to be confused with the Baltimore discount body and fender shop, Fix Yo Dent )

           Trump lost the 2020 Presidential election to Joe Biden and proceeded to claim, without any evidence, that the election was rigged against him.  It was like the time Boris Badenov, from the Bullwinkle & Rocky Show, accused Bullwinkle of sleeping with Natasha, based only on the faint scent of moose-testicles on Natasha’s lipstick.

          2020 was about the second hottest year on record… forcing millions around the world to consume their mixed drinks 15% faster than in previous years.

                 But the biggest story of 2020 were the vicious attacks on WormHole Square residents by a velociraptor, disguised as the Monopoly Man.  In the past year, the velociraptor has attacked a grandmother, an Amish farmer, a pimp, and a subway performer.               As we move into 2021, the velociraptor still remains at large.

 

 

             The Grinch, who infamously tried and failed to stop Christmas from coming, is now battling his own similar, personal issue.

               “According to his very own theme song, the Grinch is suffering from “a heart full of unwashed socks” and that may be contributing to his premature ejaculation problem,” says Dr. Daniel Crawford.   “The song goes on to say that the Grinch’s soul is “full of gunk”, which may also be part of the problem.”

                    The Grinch disagrees with Dr. Crawford’s assessment.

              “All my life I’ve been trying to stop events from coming; including Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, and the third Matrix movie,” says The Grinch.  “You name it, I was trying to stop it from coming, with absolutely zero success.  I think psychologically, the inability to stop things somehow transferred into my subconscious mind.   And now here I am tapping out… before I even get into the ring.”

                     The Grinch has tried, without success, a variety of treatment options.

                 “There is one more treatment option available to the Grinch that he hasn’t tried,” says Dr. Crawford.  “It is designed to slow down, control and delay any type of stimulus action, but it is somewhat controversial.   It includes the Grinch being under hypnosis while he watches a sloth make love to a turtle on the floor of the United States Senate.”