By JALEN ASHBY
Freelance Reporter

Capitol Hill was abuzz today as Senate confirmation hearings began for the new head of the Food and Drug Administration (FDA).

The long-vacant seat has been held in the interim by Max Chandler, the FDA building custodian with the most seniority.

The last commissioner of the FDA was confirmed by the Senate during the Trump administration. In fact, it was his Mar-a-Largo caddy. Experts, however, were adamant that carrying golf clubs does not qualify a person to manage an agency tasked with protecting the health of the nation.

In response, Trump berated the press with, “He gets a lot of headaches. That is good enough for me. FAKE EXPERTS!”

After the nomination gaff, the Biden administration staff was quick to offer another candidate, but partisan politics stymied every confirmation. Republicans finally go on board when Gerald “Bams” Lessen was put forth as the administration’s best choice. He wasn’t particularly educated, never heard of Critical Race Theory, and never had an abortion.

Lessen has risen quickly through the ranks of the drugstore. Originally hired to work the receiving dock unloading supplies, he was promoted to clerk, then senior night shift clerk in just over a year.

Senate panel members were quick to pepper the candidate with questions. What follows is the Congressional transcript.

Senator: How long have you worked for Rite-Aid?

Lessen: I started between my sophomore and junior year and then continued working during my junior and senior years.

Senator: So you are a senior in college?

Lessen: High school.

Senator: I see. The FDA has over 12,000 workers. Do you believe you have the skill set to manage such a large organization?

Lessen: I have two bratty little sisters, so yeah, I got mad skills.

Senator: Mr. Lessen, one facet of the FDA is to regulate machines that emit electromagnetic radiation. What can you tell us about that?

Lessen: I am pretty sure that’s how the Hulk got started, so definitely something to regulate.

Senator: The Food and Drug Administration also regulates tobacco and marijuana. Is this something you can adjudicate in an unbiased manner?

Lessen: Seriously? That skank is so hype, dude!

Senator:...and?

Lessen: I have no further comment, dude.

Senator: Let the record reflect Mr. Lessen states, “That skank is so hype, dude.”

Moving on, the FDA is responsible for the control of prescription drugs. For instance, without FDA approval, new drugs and medical therapies will not make it to the marketplace.

Since your nomination has been made public, have you been approached by anyone from the pharmaceutical industry?

Lessen: Chah! You bet. They were waiting for me at the school bus stop when I got out of class. They had a limo too! Not a trashy Lincoln, but a Bentley. I’d love to work for them after this FDA gig.

And they have been sooo nice to me. Almost every day, they pick my bros and me up to go to skate parks, arcades, and even NBA basketball games. They even got Lebron James to give me his jersey right in the middle of the game!

And I don’t know if it’s my new Axe Body Spray or what, but every time we go out, a totally hot babe wants to be my girlfriend!

Senator: OK, we will leave all the ethics violations for another time.

Mr. Lessen, do you possess an extensive knowledge of food safety?

Lessen: Totally. Moms was huge into food safety. If a pot is on the stove, grab it with an oven mitt, even if you don’t think it’s hot. Poke holes in the cellophane when you microwave. Wait for the pizza to cool, or you will get a blister on the roof of your mouth.

Senator: Clearly, you have benefited from excellent parenting. However, I was thinking more in the vein of outbreaks of E.coli or Listeria in the nation’s food chain.

Lessen: That’s a thing? I would totally devote one or even two study halls to get up to speed on that.

Senator: Is that right? I am sure the nation would appreciate your sacrifice. Mr. Lessen, have you ever been involved in a double-blind study?

Lessen: Dude, is this a trick question? If you are blind, you can’t study anything. Or is this like a double negative where a double-blind person can really see? Whoa. Freaky dude.

It was at this point that a clearly irritated Congressional Sergeant at Arms made the unusual move of grabbing a microphone.

Sergeant at Arms: Mr. Lessen, will you refrain from addressing the Senator as “dude.”

Lessen: Whatever, Mein Fuhrer.

Senator: Let’s try and keep it civil, please. I call to my fellow members of Congress. Show of hands, who agrees with me that this is as good as we are going to get for a nominee?

Mr. Lessen, congratulations, you are the new leader of the Food and Drug Administration.

Lessen: Sweet! So does this mean I still have to take the SATs. I think I just leap-frogged over the whole college learning thing.

Senator: We’ll see what we can do.

WWGN

Short Subjects:

By ROY BEAN
WWGN Legal Reporter

It was a day of firsts at the high court and one that has left legal pundits stunned. Given the current state of the institution, this is perhaps expected.

The dark cloud of influence peddling over Chief Justice Roberts’ court has no doubt led to the changes. With a rash of stories coming to light of lavish gifts given to justices by ultra-wealthy donors, it was thought the court would finally make a code of ethics to set boundaries for those that sit on the court.

“Oh, hell, no.” Chief Justice Roberts said with a chuckle. “We are still going to define law according to the highest bidder. But given our sworn duty to the American people, we want to make it transparent.

“We are doing away with deals behind closed doors, undeclared graft, and general mob-like behavior. Now we are taking payola right out in the open through sponsorships. In fact, I’m honored today to proudly wear the logo of our first sponsor, Qantas Airlines (the irony is not lost on anyone except the court itself that the airline’s logo is a kangaroo). I also have a new “Chik-fil-a” gavel, and we are having “Hobby Lobby” trucker hats printed up. Beat that Congress”

Chief Justice Roberts showing off his new Chik-fil-a gavel.

The abrupt change in couture aside, the order of the day was the long-simmering case of PENIS v Booty.

With all the issues before the High Court, it came as a shock when the justices accepted the case at all. In an interview for OAN News, Justice Kavanaugh was asked why the court excepted such an unusual case and format. He admitted, “We basically accepted the case because it is fun to say PENIS v BOOTY. We have to deal with a lot of heavy stuff, so a case like this is a relief.”

What made it so unusual was how the case would be conducted. Most of the time, the court spends its time clarifying specific details of one case, but on today’s docket, an aggregation of cases will be adjudicated in quick succession. Beginning with a short opening argument from both sides and a word or two for each case.

This case has languished in the lower courts for years. The original issue began in Redlands, California, when the local chapter of PENIS brought legal action against Biological Origins of Ontogenesis and Taxonomy, or BOOTY, as it is commonly called. BOOTY is an international foundation whose mandate is to manage the common names of all living things.

At the heart of the case is PENIS’s opinion that the names of animals can have a profound influence on how they are treated by humanity, and, as such, a derogatory name is tantamount to cruelty.

However, BOOTY contends that common names are the will of the people. Each name is chosen without votes or mandates but in a truly grassroots manner. BOOTY relies heavily on the argument that a long history of an animal’s name takes precedence over what is trendy today. This is a line of reasoning the High Court has been in favor of for some time. Except, of course, June 24th, 2022.

World Wide Global News has exclusive access to the transcripts from this historic session of the United States Supreme Court.

The proceedings got off to an awkward start when Chief Justice Roberts, thinking his microphone was off, turned to Justice Gorsuch and said, “Neil, turn the volume down on your phone. That Tik Tok music is distracting.”

First on the docket was a lizard from the American Southwest known as the Gila Monster.

Atty: Your honors, my client is a 12-inch reptile that spends 90 percent of the day underground bothering no one, yet has been maligned for centuries by the gross mischaracterization of the name “monster.” It has caused undue hardship and mental anguish as a result. And we ask the court for a name change to Gila Lout. I think we can all agree that lout is a defamatory name but does not rise to that of monster.

Justice Gorsuch: Counselor, your client is venomous. Is this not true?

Atty: Well, yes, that is technically correct, but my client wouldn’t hurt a fly...actually, that’s not true. Insects are part of its diet. However, there have been no documented human deaths from a Gila monster, and we believe that merits a name change.

The court looked up from their phones, and a majority nodded in affirmation.

Justice Gorsuch: Sounds stupid to me, but okay. Next.

The next PENIS attorney stood before the judges.

Atty: Your Honors, my client is a simple member of the salamander family living quietly in streams in the eastern United States. But to the chagrin of the entire species, they are called Hellbenders. Let me assure the court that my client and, by extension, the entire species in no way bend or mutate the mythical place known as hell. This is a falsehood of biblical proportions.

Justice Alito: Yeah, that seems kinda weird. What is your suggested name change?

Atty: There are several names historically used for my client, but sadly, none are as popular as Hellbender. We leave it to the wisdom of the court to decide.
How about Allegheny Alligator?

Justice Alito: Nope.

Atty: Grampus.

Justice Breyer: Nope.

Atty: Lasagna Lizard.

Justice Alito: Getting closer.

Atty: Snot Otter.

Justice Alito: Bingo. Next.

After a bit of a tussle, an attorney brought before the judges a visibly angry Tasmanian Devil. With a mighty lunge, the 20-pound carnivore broke its restraints and ran under Justice Robert’s robe. It began to wreak havoc with an ungodly sound.

Chief Justice Roberts: Cheese and rice! Get it off, get it off, get it off!

Fellow Supreme Court Justices pointed and laughed in a rare example of unanimous agreement in the court.

A quick-thinking bailiff followed the animal under his boss’s robe, and after what seemed like an eternity, he emerged holding the hissing and spitting creature by the scruff of the neck. In its mouth was a large chunk of what appeared to be tie-dyed yoga pants.

The Tasmanian Devil’s attorney quickly began collecting papers.

Atty: I think I see where this is headed, your honor. Thank you for your time.

After a brief recess, the group returned to the court, where Justice Roberts gingerly took the bench.

The cases proceeded apace, with some winners and some losers.

One loser, the crocodile, is now called the “Waterside Death Beast,” but, in a surprise ruling, the Komodo Dragon is now known as Komodo the Friendly Dragon.

The ogre-faced spider’s name has been changed to “Christina” at the suggestion of Justice Kavanaugh. When asked why he simply said, “I like beer.”

Returning from yet another extended vacation, a refreshed Justice Thomas, who has spoken but a handful of times during his thirty-plus years on the bench, began yelling in a booming voice.

Justice Thomas looking relaxed or possibly totally baked on marijuana edibles.

Justice Thomas: Hey! You tits knock it off!

Justice Roberts leaned forward to look at his colleague.

Chief Justice Roberts: You okay, buddy?

Justice Thomas: Well, just look at them.

Lost in the general clatter of the courtroom were a pair of tit birds in the back row having a very animated argument.

Justice Roberts hammered his Chik-fil-a gavel and began speaking sternly.

Chief Justice Roberts: Somebody needs to restrain their tits. Counselor, are those your tits?

Atty: I wish. My client is the satanic leaf-tailed gecko.

Chief Justice Roberts: Somebody better step up, or I will be forced to hold them in contempt.

Just then, the courtroom door opened, and an attorney ushered in two birds with blue feet.

Atty: Sorry, your Honor. Yes, those are my tits. I was looking for my Blue Footed Boobies. They were in the wrong courtroom. Boobies, what are you gonna do?

Chief Justice Roberts: Counselor, restrain your tits and boobies. I will not have them assail the dignity of this court.

Blue Foot Boobies in the wrong courtroom.

The last case of the day proved to be the most contentious. A harried PENIS lawyer who had previously won the cases for the Rasberry Crazy Ant (now the Rasberry Lovingly-eccentric Ant), the Screaming Hairy Armadillo (now the Having-a-bad-day Armadillo), and the Chicken Turtle (now the It’s-oK-to-be-scared Turtle), stepped up to the defense table.

For this case, though, he began without a defendant.

Justice Alito: Counselor, where is your client?

Atty: You honor the logistics of bringing my client to this hearing made it impossible for them to be here.

Justice Alito: The court takes a very dim view of trying a case in-absentia.

Atty: Of course, but I believe the extreme circumstances will justify the absence. You see, my client is a Hagfish and lives at the bottom of the ocean.

This information perked up Justice Barrett.

Justice Barrett: A fish, you say. Tell me more about your client.

Atty: Well, it is unusual, to say the least. It is a scavenger that lives on the ocean floor, as I said. It feeds off the dying and injured, often entering their prey through the anus and consuming them from the inside out.

It has no vertebral column and, when threatened, covers itself with slime to elude capture.

Justice Barrett: Yes. Yes. that’s all well and good, but as fish, they must produce roe, correct?

Atty: Yes, I believe that’s true.

Justice Barrett: Aha, so you admit it! Do you know what roe is, counselor?

Atty: Um…its….

Justice Barrett: Roe is unborn baby fish, and it makes Jesus cry! You, sir, are fostering the murder of untold millions.

Justice Roberts tried to get her attention, but her messianic rant continued. She began quoting scripture and detailed the rapture and plagues that will fall upon mankind if roe continued.

She only stopped when Justice Roberts grabbed one of Kavanaugh’s beer koozies and hit her in the face.

Chief Justice Roberts: Amy! Amy, we talked about this. I will let you wear the crown of thorns and cross around your neck if you promise not to turn everything into another Roe v Wade. Remember our deal?

You haven’t even been here three years, and you’ve already denied half the population sovereignty over their own body. That should make you happy. Just be cool, and I’ll let you ruin many more lives really soon. OK?

A broad smile broke out on her face. She nodded gratefully and went back to reading her bible.

Justice Barrett’s creepy stare puts sinners on notice, “I’m coming for you! You will be cast into Hell forever through God’s mercy!”

Chief Justice Roberts: Now, counselor, Hagfish is an unfortunate name, but this animal intrigues me. It is spineless, preys on the dying and weak, attacks its client from behind, and, when threatened, covers itself with impenetrable scum.

I don’t know why, but I feel a certain fealty to this creature. Does it go by any other name than Hagfish, maybe an older one? Remember, historical names carry a lot of weight with the court.

Atty: Yes, your honor, it does have a much older name, its original name, in fact, but we thought a name change to “Slickfish” or “Bottom-buddy Fish” might be in order.

Chief Justice Roberts: That doesn’t make sense to me. If it has an original name, that should take precedence. What is the original name?

Atty: Um…Lawyers of the Sea.

A collective gasp went up from the bench. Murmurings of “Well, I never,” “the nerve,” and “this is an outrage” could be heard. Justice Kavanaugh unsteadily got to his feet.

Justice Kavanaugh: Not cool, bro! Not cool!

The sloppy drunk justice then threw a nearly full bear can at the PENIS attorney.

Justice Kavanaugh does the unthinkable and throws a can that still has some beer in it.

Atty: Whoa…I didn’t name the damn thing!

Chief Justice Roberts: Order! Order in my court!

This admonishment brought the hackles down on the other justices.

Chief Justice Roberts: I think we can all agree the idea of precedence is pure nonsense. The name remains Hagfish.

A small round of applause came from the bench.

As this most unusual Supreme Court case came to an end, the majority of court observers were satisfied that, in the end, PENIS really gave to BOOTY.

With a sharp gavel rap, Chief Justice Roberts adjourned the court. A relieved Justice Kavanaugh wobbled in his chair and, with a sloppy grin, cheered, “Toga, toga, toga! Party at my place! BYOB with barbeque. It’s going to be awesome. Ted Nugent is going to be there, and we’re going to machine gun some woke stuff.”

Justice Barrett demurred. She gathered her bibles and returned to her cloister.

As for Justice Thomas, he left with his carry-on luggage en route to another vacation.

Chief Justice Roberts gave a satisfied look at the courtroom, grabbed his Luis Vitton briefcase, and walked out with his gold lamay, slip-on Sketchers flashing beneath his robe.

WWGN

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Urban planners redesign newly destroyed city.

By VICTORIA KAY
WWGN Staff Reporter

When asked about the habitual destruction by Transformers, urban planner Jay Hockuli just shakes his head.

“At first, we joked about job security,” states Hockuli, “but after a while it was just frustrating. We would just have the ribbon-cutting ceremony when these chuckle-head robots would come along a smash the stuffing out of everything.”

Then it was back to the zoning board, standing in line for permits and endless feasibility studies. Beginning in 2007, the wave of destruction has happened about every two years since.

The hostilities began when a civil war erupted on another planet between the Autobots and the Decepticons.

Yet, all of that is lost on Hockuli as he makes yet another master plan for an urban center.

“All I see is a Chevy turn into a monster robot and totally flatten a perfectly good mixed-use housing development,” he recalled.“I eventually became paranoid about objects turning into robots. In fact, one time, when I came out of my own apartment and saw a yellow Camaro parked out front, I smashed it inside and out with a ball-peen hammer.

“Turns out it was just somebody’s yellow Camaro. And get this; State Farm won’t even cover the damage.

“They were all, ‘You did what? Oh, hell no, we are not covering that.’

“So, guess who is the proud owner of a used Camaro with ball-peen whacks all over it?”

Here in the Pacific Northwest, planners are being proactive and have taken precautions to protect Seattle’s most precious landmark — the “Bezos’ Balls.”

Anaya Clark is in charge of the so-called “Operation Nutshot.”

“With Amazon so important to the local and regional economy, we have to save the architectural manifestation of Mr. Bezos’ danglers at all costs,” she explained.

“Our working assumption is these robots from another planet are pretty much like Europeans, and Europeans love their football, or soccer, we call it.

“The Bezos’ Balls do have a soccer ball-ish appearance to them. I can just imagine a Transformer kicking a Bezos ball and yelling ‘Gooooooaaaal’!

The planners have poured over various ideas to deter the intergalactic raiders.

“One of our first thoughts was to have the city emit a foul odor but realized that didn’t help Chicago in 2011,” Clark stated.

“Then we thought of blasting Nickleback songs from every rooftop. We’d put in on a constant loop.

However, we dropped that plan when every focus group we interviewed said they would rather have the city ruined than listen to Nickleback.”

It was Clark’s husband, Edmond, who came up with the most plausible plan.

“He works in the yard a lot and suggested we up-size one of those motion-detector, impact sprinklers that keep cats from pooping in your garden.

A giant impact sprinkler has been installed atop the Bezos’ balls to ward off possible Transformer attack.
Photo with lens flare by Michael Bay.

And here’s the genius of the plan. The sprinkler will shoot out salt water. I don’t care what planet you’re from. You get salt crystals in your gears, it’s going to hurt,” Clark said.

As a backup strategy, the military has been put on high alert. When called, they will swoop in and shoot ineffective bullets, rockets, and missiles at the robot that will do absolutely no good.

When asked why this plan is always used, Clark said, “We just do. I don’t know why. It’s in all the urban planning textbooks, but I’ve never heard of it working.

“Seriously, Godzilla, King Kong, it never works.

“The thing is if we don’t call out the military and the city gets flattened, some troll is going to post on Facebook, ‘Why didn’t they call out the military?’ You can’t win.”

The planners do have a backup, backup plan. If they are given at least two days’ notice, they intend to use Amazon Prime and ship the entire city to somewhere safe.

WWGN

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THIS JUST IN: GIANT SPRINKLER PROTECTING BEZO’S BALLS IS ACTUALLY A TRANSFORMER!

By LIONEL MESSI
WWGN Sports Reporter

As feared, Bezos’ Balls get kicked soccer-style. Operation Nutshot was deemed failure.

Sprinkler turned Transformer gives the Bezos’ Balls a kick.
Another hack photo by Michael Bay.

Just before press time, an urgent fax was received at WWGN International Headquarters. It indicated that the humongous impact sprinkler mounted on the Bezos Balls to protect them from Transformers was, in actuality, a Transformer itself.

The orbs were kicked down 6th Avenue and then between the Westin Hotel Towers. “Goooooaal” could be heard throughout the Puget Sound.

Anaya Clark, head of Operation Nutshot — the task force with the job of protecting the Bezos’ Balls — was quick to take the blame.

“This one is on me. I actually ordered the giant sprinkler from E-bay. It was in a rush, it was super cheap, and the seller had a great rating.

“I went back and looked at the packaging, and the return address is the planet Cybertron> I think that’s where Transformers come from. “Yeah, it was a real ‘duh’ moment.

“Anyway, the military is on the way to do more collateral damage than the Transformer itself.”

Citizens are urged to stay home and play some relaxing Kenny G until the threat has passed.

The only real hope to thwart the space raider is to get the local Major League Soccer team to intercept the ball and then keep kicking it out of reach until the Transformer becomes frustrated and goes home.

Unfortunately, the Sounders are in Columbus, Ohio, for an away game.

WWGN

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Pfft, what’s the big deal with Transformers? Gimme 40 years, and I’ll transform into a raging alcoholic and destroy

everything I touch.

Federal officials celebrate the completion of an 8 billion dollar downtown renewal plan in Birmingham, Tennessee. Locals are astonished at the improvements. Said one jubilant citizen, “We were so tired of all the urban blights.

By Dorothy “Dot” Botts
Senior Highways and BighwaysReporter

Maintenance of America’s infrastructure has been a thorny issue kicked down the road by many administrations. But White House officials have recently unveiled a plan they state is practical and will save the nation’s taxpayers billions of dollars over the next two decades.

The United States Department of Transportation spokesperson had this to say: “If none have collapsed since I checked the internet, then there are 133 bridges that span the Mississippi River. Our plan is to consolidate them into one central bridge accessible to everyone.”

Exactly where the bridge will be built has been an issue of some contention. The original plan was to have it at the geographic halfway point somewhere near the northwest Tennessee or Arkansas border. This would mean the bridge is closest to the most people based on geographic distance.

However, after consultation with White House officials, it was decided to locate the bridge in Possumneck, Mississippi.

The decision has traffic experts and casual observers both scratching their heads.

Anonymous sources say the real reason for the bridge’s placement is that a powerful Southern Senator has a cousin named Goober who owns a two-pump gas station in Possumneck and would be set to make millions upon the bridge’s completion. An investigation into political kickbacks and graft is ongoing.

Other areas of the nation’s infrastructure have been reviewed for cost-cutting measures, including Interstate Highways and roads, nuclear plants, national parks and the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) to name a few.

In the case of the FAA, expensive control towers will now be one guy with a bullhorn and a phone app standing on a ladder.

Global warming will be promoted in order to evaporate water, thus solving the crumbling dams situation. A source who wished to remain anonymous stated, “lack of water will greatly improve dam safety.”

Rest areas will be closed along the Interstate Highway system. Instead, travelers will be encouraged to buy government-approved “Tinkle Totes,” a biodegradable jug drivers can simply chuck out the car’s window when full.

This will be accompanied by a public service announcement campaign: “You should have thought about that before you left.”

Of great concern to safety engineers is the state of highway viaducts. These small bridges that maintain the flow of traffic are in a woeful state.

Government officials have been testing small, easy-to-maintain ramps instead of an actual viaduct. Once they have narrowed down the correct pitch and ramp speed for the vehicles, the information will be passed down to the automotive industry so they can begin designing trucks and cars with beefier shocks and roll cages.

The Department of Transportation conducts an unsuccessful attempt to design inexpensive ramps instead of viaducts to cross roadways. This test simulated a typical American family on vacation. The results were that speeds at the end of ramps need to be much higher.

Government accountants say treasury coffers will be filled when National Parks are changed into National Trailer Parks. This has caused an uproar from the Sierra Club and the like, but proponents say the difference will be hardly noticeable. Instead of wolves and herds of bison, there will be junkyard dogs and herds of Walmart shoppers.

Tourists are encouraged to visit the parks but stay in their cars as trailer trash meth-heads may attack even if unprovoked.

Expensive nuclear plants have already been privatized. After careful vetting, one half has been sold to the company that rents furniture by the month and the other half to a guy who owns a phone accessory kiosk.

As for the almost uncountable road cracks, potholes, slumped shoulders, and frost heaves, the Department of Transportation has just purchased 100 million orange cones.

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AND NOW A WORD FROM OUR SPONSOR: “STEP IN ITS”

Well, that’s our first style magazine, a cover, and one advertisement. Somewhat shorter than anticipated, but let me know in the comments if you liked it.

Thanks for checking out World Wide Global News! - Chris

Bender fends off a folding chair from Oscar “Sausage Grinder” Meyer. The match ended in a disqualification when Sausage Grinder felt he was disrespected by a squirrel in attendance and attacked the entire audience.

By C. D. McGruff
Senior “Raslin" Reporter

Montreal, Canada - The World Anti-Doping Agency (WADA) announced today that it, at long last, will take up the thorny issue of wiener dog wrestling and its involvement with illegal doping. The long-simmering debate continues on whether it should remain a sanctioned sport or penalized in light of the performance-enhancing drug issues.

Wiener dog wrestling is nothing new. The first tournament was held during the 1904 World’s Fair in St. Louis, Missouri. It proved to be so popular a quick-thinking vendor came up with a new item called the hot dog to commemorate the sport.

Soon after, the Wiener Dog Wrestling Foundation (WWF) was formed. Tournaments have been standard Saturday night fare all across the Midwest and Southern parts of the United States ever since.

Richard Handler, wiener enthusiast, and longtime sports writer, has covered the sport for decades. “I grew up in here Morrowville, Kansas, and we love to see the wieners wrestle. I reckon that’s why the Hall of Fame is here. Growing up, it was all I could think about, and when given the opportunity to write for “Pure Bred Wrestling” magazine, I jumped at the chance.”

For many years, “doggie-style” wrestling, as it is often called, consisted of three two-minute periods where the object was to pin the opponent’s shoulders to the mat for three seconds. Competitions took place on an open mat, with each competitor wearing singlets and ear protection.

The sport has had a few ups and downs since then. In the late 70s, Greco-Roman-style wrestling was introduced. In this form of the sport, the back legs cannot be used to throw or trip a competitor. It lasted less than a season as no wiener dog could pin the other.

“Beginning in the late 90s, we began to see a drop in attendance,” said Handler. “I blame the internet. Fans were bored with good, clean wrestling matches. In an effort to save the sport, some unscrupulous promoters came in from Las Vegas. The first thing they did was move the sport from a mat to a ring. You know, the kind with ropes around the edges.”

As the sport continued to adopt the flash and showmanship of “professional wrestling,” the fans began coming back. It was not a seamless adoption, however. Older wrestlers that came up in the traditional sport could not understand why their opponents were wearing leather masks and capes or why managers could get away with distracting the referee to hide blatant cheating. Many believe that was the last generation of wrestlers to wear the traditional singlet.

Even so, wiener wrestlers were becoming stars in and out of the ring with endorsements, appearance fees, and cameos in movies. Competitors like Bruno “The Body” Von Weinerhousen, Cooper “Who’s a Good Boy” Docsun, or “The Mongolian Stomper” were household names. Yet, as with other sports, once fame and fortune were to be had, performance-enhancing drugs followed. This is where WADA steps in.

“As an organization, WADA has no opinion on which wrestling style wiener dogs adopt,” said a WADA spokesman. “We just want to see a clean sport. If you’d ever seen a wiener dog in a steroid-induced rage, you’d understand why.”

As for the contestants themselves, are they happy? They typically are on the road for more than 300 days flying from city to city in a carry-on kennel. As one ardent fan put it, “Wiener dogs were bred to hunt badgers. Literally, anything is better than going headfirst down a badger hole.”

WWGN

Lottery winner, Charles, “Chuckster” Knarfle, relaxes at the pool with cousin Melvin and their wait staff, Opal Von Bismark and Manfred Turlington.

By ROBIN LEECH
Senior Lifestyle Reporter

Lady Luck took a liking to local man Charles “Chuckster” Knarfle. For years he and his court-appointed ward, cousin Melvin, have pulled into the Chevron station to gas up his truck, load up on Twinkies and buy a lottery ticket (each ticket number is based on a favorite Dukes of Hazzard episode). After all this time, the only thing he has received is a nose full of gas fumes and Type II diabetes, but that all changed last Friday. Halfway through a dozen of the tubular sponge cakes, the winning lottery numbers splashed across the screen, followed closely by a mouth full of Twinkie. He matched all six numbers. Those Duke boys had saved the day again.

After the celebratory gunfire died away, Chuckster realized he had a decision to make. With the amount of money he won, he could either have fancy things or a fancy lifestyle, but not both. The decision was an easy one, Knarfle said. “I’d just get lost in a double-wide trailer. Besides, everyone I ever met whose home had more than two axles was too uppity for me. Then one-night cousin Melvin and I were watchin’ ‘Down Town Abner’, and it hit us like a case of RC cola, we’d get us a butler and a female butler,” he said.

After asking neighbors where to get good help and a thorough search of Craigslist, they thought they were stumped. Fortunately, they found a copy of “Wealth” magazine while shooting rats at the dump. A few want ads later, and the perfect house staff was hired.

Manfred Turlington is a third-generation butler whose father and grandfather worked their entire careers in the employment of the Rothschild family. The headmistress of the trailer is Opal Von Bismark. Opal boasts a domestic servant lineage going back to the Prussian Empire. She still owns a flintlock pistol given to her family by the royal House of Hohenzollern, the traditional rulers of Prussia. Legend has it her heir gave a Hohenzollern royal that very weapon in a duel which his Highness fortunately won.

While the transition from coupon clippers to Trailer Park Tsar has been easy for the Chuckster and cousin Melvin, the same can’t be said for his staff.

“Master Knarfle's monetary compensation is truly second to none, but the accommodations are less so,” Turlington states. “With my previous employer, I was given my own apartment on the Rothschild’s estate. Under Master Knarfle's employment, Opal and I have bunk beds in the spare bedroom. With only one bathroom, the morning ablutions can be...awkward.”

According to Master Knarfle, Opal, much to her chagrin, has a tendency to “blow up the bathroom,” as it were, and he is quite vocal with his complaints. Also, he tends to leave the door open when using the lavatory. He reads the comics in a loud voice to the entire trailer. Apparently, Garfield can get up to some hilarious high jinks.

“I used to be a sommelier to some of the most influential people in the world, but now I can only bring a Sterling silver tray with quarts of Miller beer. I have informed him several times that the Champagne of Beer doesn’t mean it is champagne, but he insists it is”, Turlington said. “Then there are the nicknames. Mr. Rothschild always called me Mr. Turlington unless it was a private moment of levity when he would call me Manfred. Master Knarfle, on the other hand, has at various times called me Mr. T, T-Bone, or, to my dismay, Turdlington. The last one happens most often during a soirée with friends when many quarts of ‘champagne’ have been consumed

“But without question, my most odious duty is dealing with Melvin, or as most people call him behind his back, ET. It is my assumption that he is the result of centuries of inbreeding. He is a foul-tempered, odious gnome that spends most of the day on top of the refrigerator (the vibrations calm his nerves). He stares down at everyone like a Renaissance church gargoyle. Every Sunday, I must gird myself when it’s time to give him his weekly sponge bath.”

Things are no less difficult for Ms. Von Bismark. Early in her career, she spent three years learning to cook in the very prestigious Le Cordone Blue in Paris. Now the menu is somewhat limited. “Breakfast is always Fruit Loops, chitterlings, and grits with red-eye gravy and a side of bacon. Lunch is always pimento cheese sandwiches with fried okra and cornbread and a side of bacon. Dinner, however, has a bit of variety. It is either fried chicken, steak, or chicken-fried steak. If guests are expected, fried catfish with microwave burritos a la carte are provided — all with a side of bacon. Vienna sausage, however, must be no more than an arm’s length away at all times.

While the meal preparations can be pedantic, the real frustration comes on Saturday when Ms. Von Bismark and Knarfle’s “Lady Friend” go shopping.

She explains, “First of all, “Lady Friend” insists we dress exactly the same in uncomfortable high-heel shoes, hot pants, and ‘Can’t Touch This’ tube tops. We always park in the “rich people parking” as she calls it. I believe everyone else knows it as the handicap spot. The Dollar General Store is always happy to see us come and even happier to see us leave, having filled up two shopping carts for under $30.”

My interview with the house staff was conducted beneath a large velvet Elvis painting at a small table in a corner of the living room, and it was cut short by a commotion from the back of the trailer. A sweaty Chuckster and Lady Friend rushed into the living room, barely dressed.

“Turn on the Wheel!” He shouted as the pair flopped into matching recliners.

As if expecting it, Mr. Turlington withdrew the TV remote from his vest pocket and switched the channel to ‘Wheel of Fortune.’ Ms. Von Bismark exhaled in resignation, donned rubber gloves, grabbed a bottle of bleach, and trudged to the rear of the trailer. Turlington pushed a serving cart between the two, donned his white gloves, and cracked open two quarts of champagne. He gave a tight smile and took a deep breath as his employer angrily threw a Vienna sausage at Pat Sajak’s head.

It is not uncommon for people who suddenly come into great wealth to run through it at a breathtaking pace. World Wide Global News will check in with the Chuckster and gargoyle Melvin in the future to see how he fares.

WWGN

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Anneli and I have some awesome stories for you today, including watermelon snow, do-it-yourself log jam removal, the world's best potato chip, and the literal translation of country names.

I set my small box of personal items on the empty desk. It was my first day on the job at World Wide Global News, and I was as surprised as anybody. I’d already had a career on the monster and paranormal beat for the Independent New Service in Chicago. Yet, the ennui of retirement and the allure of a substantial paycheck brought me back into the coven of reporters and editors.

Several months ago, I had done some freelance work for World Wide Global News, and I guess they liked what they read. So here I am in the tidy little town of Vashon, Washington. And, with the pandemic officially relegated to the history books, the residents of this thirteen-mile island were ready to enjoy a returning sun, tourists, and hopefully some weird happenings.

Even before my pencils were sharpened, the mail clerk plopped a scented envelope on my desk. Hardly anyone knew I was back in the game, so the author of the missive piqued my curiosity.

In an eloquent calligraphy that belied the writer, it was from none other than the Abominable Snowman. Apparently, he had met some other monsters in a chat room, and they began sharing war stories about how poorly society has treated them. Having followed my career, they thought I would give them a fair shake, so they contacted me for an interview.

Much has changed with monster reporting since I hung up my tape recorder. Instead of a clandestine meeting in a dank cave, haunted house, or fog-covered graveyard, I was to interview the Abominable Snowman, Bigfoot, and Godzilla on a Zoom call.

Unexpectedly, I was as nervous as a cub reporter before the interview began. These were some of the biggest A-listers in the pantheon of monsters. I looked at my notes again and let them in from the Zoom waiting room.

Editor’s note: Due to Abominable Snowman’s ridiculously long name, it has been shorted to AbSno for this interview

Carl: Welcome, monsters. Thank you for taking this meeting. I know you all have busy schedules, so let’s get right down to it. Each of you would like to speak about how society has been less than fair to you during your various reigns of terror. It seems like a hard sell to me, but I am ready to hear you out.

Let me start with you, Bigfoot. According to my notes, your major issue is the fact that no one believes you exist.

Nothing but silence could be heard. I quickly scanned my screen and realized Bigfoot was on mute.

Carl: Bigfoot, your mute is on….Big….Bigfoot, turn off your mute…

Godzilla: MUTE ON!!!

Carl: I got this, Godzilla. I don’t think yelling is going to help. Wait…I think he’s got it.

Bigfoot: …ssholes that don’t think I exist!

Carl: We didn’t get every word of that, Bigfoot, but I think we have the sentiment.

To be fair, let me read what some of your critics have said. Dr. Thomas Hasselbeck, a noted paleo-biologist from the University of Montana, states, “We have found more T. Rex poop than evidence of anything remotely resembling Bigfoot. If this is a real animal, it must, like every other life form, have a minimum number of individuals for a genetically healthy population. Yet, we have never found a carcass in the woods. No one has ever shot and killed or disabled one. We’ve never had one hit by a car, It’s never been caught on a trail cam or doorbell camera. As everyone knows, every square inch of earth is in the background of someone’s selfie, yet we’ve never seen Bigfoot photobomb anyone’s picture. This is nothing more than a cryptid fan’s fevered, wet dream.”

That’s a pretty harsh assessment, Bigfoot. How do you respond?

It was silent again, then.

Bigfoot: You’re stupid.

Carl: OK, well, I guess that’s a response. You know this could all be resolved if you just turned on your camera.

Bigfoot: Um…the camera doesn’t work.

Carl: Oh, is that right? The microphone works perfectly, but the camera mysteriously doesn’t. I think I’m going to side with the good Dr. Hasselbeck here and declare Bigfoot nothing but a hoax.

OK, it looks like Bigfoot has left the meeting.

That went well.

Let’s move on to you, Abominable Snowman. What would you like to say about how society has treated you?

AbSno: Truth be told, I think Bigfoot is a load of hooey too.

Anyway, here’s what gives me heartburn with people and the press. What’s with the demeaning adjective before my name? Why do they always have to say “abominable” snowman? Why not “huge” snowman or “big” snowman, like Bigfoot.

Nobody says “odious” Bigfoot, “reprehensible” Chalupacabra, or “douche nozzle” Godzilla.

Carl: For the record, I think it’s chupacabra, not chalupacabra.

Godzilla: What “douche nozzle”? Douche nozzle bad?

AbSno: It ain’t good.

Godzilla: Godzilla, never hear “douche nozzle.”

AbSno: You’ve been asleep since the Cretaceous Period. You’ve missed a few things.

Carl: I think we’re getting off-topic here. Bigfoot is also known as Sasquatch, isn’t the Abominal Snowman, also known as Yeti?

AbSno: Interesting, you brought that up. First of all, I don’t remember signing off on letting any company use my name, “Yeti,” to sell overpriced beer coolers. I have half a mind to pursue litigation with my Abominable Lawyer.

And as for “Yeti” itself, it is a Tibetan word that literally translates to Big Dumbass Snowman, so yeah, I’m also called Yeti.

It’s not fair. I’m not a monster!

OK…I just heard it when I said it out loud. I am a monster but not, you know, a monster, monster. For instance, I’ve never stomped the crap out of Tokyo like Godzilla.

Godzilla: Oh sure, bring that up. That was 80 years ago. Youthful indiscretion.

Carl: Godzilla, this is Abominable Snowman’s time, ok?

So if Yeti is not a good name, what would like to be known by?

AbSno: Bob.

Carl: Bob?

Absno: Bob.

Carl: Hmm, that really doesn’t have the gravitas I expected. No parent is going to say, “Don’t stay out late, or ‘Bob’ will get you.” Just spitballing here, but how about Snow-squatch? It’s got that whole mystery ape vibe to it.

AbSno: Carl, in my community, we prefer the term primate, not ape. People go ape-shit. Nobody goes primate-shit.

Carl: Noted.

Just a second… Bigfoot, we all know you are back on the call. The host has to let you in. You really don’t know how Zooom works, do you?

Anyway…

Godzilla: ARRGH! Godzilla, just Googled “douche nozzle.” Godzilla stomp Abdom…Abob…Yeti.

AbSno: Any time, lizard-boy! It’s called endothermy. Try it sometime, you cold-blooded freak. You won’t make it halfway up my mountain. It will be like a cold snap in Florida, where the iguanas get stiff and fall out of the trees.

You’ll be an off-brand, T. rex, roadside attraction. Freak!

Carl: Yeti could you…

AbSno: Bob.

Carl: Bob. Could you not bust balls, assuming Godzilla has them. It’s just not a good idea to antagonize a 30-ton, fire-breathing lizard.

It was then we heard an ear-splitting noise, but when Godzilla came back into camera view, it stopped.

Carl: Godzilla?

Godzilla: Yeah.

Carl: What was that horrendous noise?:

Godzilla: Godzilla hear nothing.

Carl: Godzilla, will you unblur your background?

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Carl: Godzilla, did you just destroy that village?

Godzilla: Uh, no.

Carl: Godzilla…

Godzilla: You’re stupid.

OK. Yes. Godzilla destroy. Me sorry. Godzilla no have neocortex in brain. No good at impulse control, understanding consequences, long-term planning.

Carl: I’ll see what I can do about getting you a neocortex, but in the meantime, just relax. Don’t stomp any more villages, OK, and don’t use that destructo-beam gizmo that comes out of your mouth. What is that thing anyway?

Godzilla: No idea, but freaks Godzilla out too.

AbSno: It’s radioactive halitosis, and it probably fried your neocortex.

By the way, hey ‘zilla, can you get me 15% off my car insurance?

Godzilla: AAARG…

Carl: Yeti, damn it…

AbSno: Bob.

Carl: Bob, would you stop pissing off Godzilla. Now, what did he just vaporize? Was that an orphanage or a hospital?

AbSno: I think it was a Bed Bath and Beyond.

Carl: Thank god, an empty building.

AbSol: Good time to get some new hand towels cheap.

Carl: Focus, Bob! And what is your problem with Godzilla anyway? Don’t monsters stick together?

AbSno: You’d think so, but Godzilla is the golden boy that thinks his metric-ton turds don’t stink. He gets all the media attention. He’s got the movie franchise, a line of toys. He gets to stomp all the seaside vacation spots.

Me? I live in the Himalayas. Do you know what I do every day? I watch it snow. Oh, that’s not true. On a really exciting day, there’s an avalanche.

Carl: Have you tried building snow forts? That’s kinda cool.

AbSno: I've built snow cities, but believe it or not, making pretend buildings out of snow is not as exciting as it sounds.

Carl: That’s unfortunate, but monsters don’t get to pick where and how they terrorize, right? I’m sure vampires would like to get stuff done during the day, but…hold on.

Godzilla, if you could stop wanton destruction for just a bit, that would be great. OK, your turn Godzilla. Can you tell us what your issue is with the public? And could you turn your blur back on? Lotta gore in the background.

Godzilla: OK, must get notes. Godzilla angry that “zilla” is used to imply bad things.

Carl: That’s your beef? I can’t say I saw that coming, what with every military on earth trying to kill you. Can you give an example?

Godzilla: Bridezilla, ratzilla, momzilla, promzilla, hogzilla, pimplezilla, that one hurt, and zillazllla which doesn’t even make sense.

Carl: I see your point, but there are good things too. Like…um, Mozilla, right?

Godzilla: Oh, you mean the thing you see when your email doesn’t get through? Yeah, OK. How wonderful to be associated with that.

Carl: I see your point, but I think the utter destruction of entire cities brings with it a lot of negative connotations.

Oh, you know, we have to wrap this up because I only have the free version of Zoom. It’s going to time out in a minute.

So, to sum up, Bigfoot, in fact, does not exist. He is just an incel, covered in Cheato dust, that lives in his mom’s basement.

The Abominable Snowman is bored and wants to be known as Bob.

And Godzilla needs a neocortex and hopefully will not ravage stuff if people stop using his name as a derogatory suffix.

That does it for World Wide Global News. This is Carl Kolchak saying good night and good news.

WWGN

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By DUNCAN WINCHELL
Senior Cult Reporter

Mt. Juliet, Tennessee: Last night, local police were alerted to a disturbance on the south side of the city. Passers-by called 911, reporting sounds of distress emanating from a large building.

Officer Jeff Lynch arrived on the scene, stating, “Our unit got a call for a welfare check on a building in the 1900 block of Little Street. When my partner and I approached, we could hear screams and moans from what sounded like a multitude of voices. We knocked and announced our presence several times to no avail.

“I radioed my sergeant, and she stated there was no backup available, but due to the nature of the situation, it was decided to breach the door and make entry into the building. Someone’s safety might have been at stake.

“We broke down the front door and immediately tripped over two people copulating on the floor. Once our eyes adjusted to the low light, we realized hundreds of people were all having sex. All except one guy at the front hosing them down and trying to whack some parrots that were dive-bombing him.

“Once I relayed the information to my sergeant, ten patrol cars showed up in minutes. Given there was no obvious crime being committed, we twenty or so officers stood quietly talking amongst ourselves and taking selfies until everyone was done. Our thinking was if anybody needed to be arrested, it would be easier post-coitus. That’s why we train for just this kind of situation.

“It took longer than we expected because of one guy. Even the sex fiends were getting impatient, calling out, ‘While we’re young, Frank!’. Apparently, Frank’s a late bloomer.

“We took turns interviewing people, but we could only stay in the building for a few minutes. The stink of sex and bird crap was overwhelming. After an initial investigation, it turned out everyone was over 21 and consenting, and no illicit drugs or alcohol were found. Frankly, I’ve found more illegal activity at a PTA meeting with too much box wine. We had no choice but to take a few pictures for Instagram and leave.”

I was typing away at my news desk when the call came over the police scanner about a sex orgy in progress. I was shocked. However, when they got to the address, it all made sense. It was none other than the Church of Hidden Revelations and Immediate Salvation, The CHRIS as it’s known locally.

I had been after the notoriously reporter-shy “Reverend Pud” for some time. To his followers and the outside world, he is the pulpit pugilist. A flamboyant dresser and microphone screamer that extols his follower that the only way to salvation is through the good Reverend.

What happens in The CHRIS has been coffee shop gossip for years, but nothing definitive has ever come of the innuendos. Now, however, with police statements, backed up with body cam video, the reverend had some explaining to do

After leaving message after message for the Reverend, I found a stern-faced goon standing at my desk. He peered down through his sunglasses and said, “Are you Duncan Winchell?”

“Yes”

“The Reverend has granted you an interview.” He left a folded note on my desk, scanned the room, and walked away.

A few days later, I was standing before the inner sanctum of The CHRIS. Two more goons were on either side of the door, and after a radio call to a superior, the ornate door was opened for me.

I was expecting a large room sparsely decorated with holy relics and maybe a red carpet leading to a throne. It was a large room, alright, but it was filled with…everything. Nearly every inch of floor space was occupied with something. The only open space left were two small couches facing each other in the middle of the room, with several small trails leading to various parts of the room.

I saw the reverend in the distance with his back to me, talking on a cell phone. I tiptoed through the clutter noticing a Viking helmet here, a dozen vacuum cleaners there, a mountain of garbage bags that appeared to be filled with clothes.

On a table, a long chrome-plated tube caught my eye. It looked like a telescope of some type. I picked it up and looked through one end to get a better view across the room.

The Reverend was off the phone now and said, “That’s a colonoscope.”

“What’s that,” I said, turning it left and right, “an off-brand kaleidoscope?”

“Not really. Back in the day, doctors used a colonoscope like that to look up people’s butts.

My brain was still trying to register what he said when he continued, “And you’re looking through the wrong end.” I put it down like it was on fire and wipe my hands on my pants. “That table is for old-timey medical instruments.”

As we snaked our way through the trail to the couches, he continued. “Here’s what they don’t tell you in Cult Leader School.”

“Cult Leader School?”

“Yes. I was pre-dental a first but changed my major. When you are a cult leader, and you get a new follower, it’s kind of expected that they turn over all their belongings as an offering to the church. It's, like, the first thing they teach you in Cult Leader School.

“What you don’t realize is you get everything. Do you know I have over one-hundred lawnmowers. All of them are old gas burners that no one wants. I don’t even have a lawn. I mean, I had a lawn. Now my porch, my back yard, and my front yard are completely covered with used appliances and sofas. Anybody driving by thinks I’m the richest man in Tennessee.”

Just then, a trio of brightly colored parrots flew across the room. “Is that where you got the parrots?”

“Oh, the parrots, or as I like to call them, the diarrhea-sky-rats. I have seven in all. Do you know those things can live for a century? I’m going to have to will them to my grandkids. I swear Kevin only joined my cult so he could get rid of those damn birds.

The birds squawked as if they knew they were being talked about.

“But as you can see, I get a little bit of everything. I have a velvet Elvis painting. At least, I think it’s Elvis. Maybe an Elvis that’s been taking Prednisone. I have a stuffed Canadian musk ox, because who doesn’t need that? If I want to see on in person, no problem, I have a 1968 snowmobile. I have some poison from Australia called Vegemite and an x-ray showing someone with a candy cane in their butt. That answers a lot of questions about last year’s Christmas party. You better believe I’m using that colonoscope for this year’s party.

I have a shotgun with the serial number removed. I’m sure that won’t come back to haunt me.

“Creepy dolls, check. Kayak with a hole in it, check. Fourteen-foot Shoney’s Big Boy statue, check. I even have three bumper-pool tables, and on one of them, the bumpers look like boobs. My followers are nothing if not classy.”

Church of Hidden Revelations and Immediate Salvation followers pray amongst the offerings.

By the time his rant was exhausted, we were each on either side of a coffee table. He motioned me to sit. He then offered me a candy dish from the table between us, “Wax bean?”

I look dubiously at the pale yellow glob in the bowl.

He took one himself and said, “If you’re going to be taken seriously as a cult, you need dietary rules, and if you want to do it right, the rules should be arcane, illogical, with no scientific merit whatsoever.”

“And you choose wax beans?”

“Wax beans, the vegetable that evolution forsake; pale, bland, limp. Its most endearing feature is wax. A perfect, enigmatic, sacred food.”

I took one so as not to offend. With the holy legume down my throat, I began my questions. “First, let me say thank you for granting this interview.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. I’ve been a subscriber to World Wide Global News for some time. I’m scaledape885@aol.com. I like that your stories. They are well sourced, grounded, and tell it like it is.”

“Thank you, Reverend Pud.” I set a tape recorder between us. “So…’ Pud,’ is that a nickname or acronym of some kind?

“No, that's the name on my birth certificate. I am a twin, and my older brother, by seven minutes, is Spud. Mom thought we both looked like potatoes. She thought Spud and Pud would be cute yet respectable names.”

“Did your brother Spud go into the field of cult leadership too?”

The Reverend lit a cigarette and blew the plume skyward. “No, poor Spud went down a dark path and became a Life Coach. What a crock, right? You don’t need any kind of licensing or training to call yourself a life coach. Ridiculous and dangerous to the public, I say.”

Overlooking the eye-watering hypocrisy, I continued, “Tell me more about this call to sacrifice a virgin?”

Ignoring my question, he said, “You know what else they don’t tell you when you become a cult leader? All the writing. Every one of us has to write a manifesto and book of laws and such. It’s exhausting.

“I’m working on my third book now.” He plopped a 500-page tome on the coffee table. “Here’s the first and the most important. It’s called ‘The Holy Book of Waivers’, and it contains every kind of legal safeguard a cult leader would need. In a nutshell, it says I will give you access to god, and you will consider my teachings ‘sincerely held religious beliefs. That’s my legal stay-out-of-jail card.”

He placed a much thinner book on top of the first. “This is book two. A kind of how-to book for followers. The Book of Waivers is kind of boilerplate cult leader stuff. Not a lot of variation. But book two is my own creation for my own brand of faith. I wrote it when I was a rookie, and lately, I’ve been thinking I can do better.

“So now I’m working on book three. Kind of like my version of the New Testament.”

I pulled out a rubber chicken I’d accidentally sat down on, “If these works are considered ancient, holy relics aren’t your followers going to be suspicious.”

“Nah, religions are always finding new texts that verify the previous text. The circular argument is as old as faith itself. I’ll just tell my flock that god told me to look under a pile of laundry or in an old suitcase, and voila, new religious doctrine.

“Besides, nobody is going to complain because these rules will be so much better. For instance, in book one, we had ‘The Ten Edicts of Piety’. Those are the biggies to follow if you want salvation.

“In book number three, I whittle the edicts down to around six. I got rid of rules against killing, stealing, and lying. They really harsh the buzz of my religion. Besides, humanity has known those are big no-nos for tens of thousands of years. Before writing was even invented. Putting them in a code of ethics seems redundant.

“I’ve also been working on some life-affirming messages. It’s kind of like a religious puff piece to fill out the book. That and lots of pictures should make for a decent read. Get a load of these pearls of wisdom: ‘Don’t do drugs and Stay in school, and If life gives you lemons, punch life in the neck.’ What do you think?”

I gave a polite nod. “Those are very nice.”

“How about this, ‘A Third turns into a Turd when you take out the ‘HI’ and add a ‘U’.

I wrinkled my nose.

“OK, I’ll have to workshop that some more. But this next is Pulitzer Prize-worthy scripture. ‘The day after tomorrow is the second day of the rest of your life.’ Tony Robbins even stole that one from me.

“Tony Robbins? The motivation guy?”

“The same. If you’re a cult leader, you either love him or hate him. In the locker room, we call him, ‘Tony Robs Them’. No matter what, you can’t deny his staying power. It’s a racquet even Charles Ponzi would admire.”

He turned the manuscript sideways on the table for me to see. “With book number three, here are my first three Edicts of Piety; Sloth, Gluttony, and Lust. Give the people what they want, am I right? I’m still mulling over the other three. The fourth is definitely going to be something about hygiene. It can get pretty ripe in the church on a hot day.

“For the fifth, I’m thinking about one that says to protect and honor all other creatures. I figure, they share the planet with us and deserve our love…”

It was just then a parrot flew overhead and crapped all over the Reverend’s Holy Spiral Notebook.

A shocked reverend flicked parrot guano off his vestments, “What the…! That’s it! Where’s that shotgun? He started furiously plowing through his offerings, opening boxes, and flinging items out of his way.

I quickly followed behind him. “Now, Reverend, protect and honor all other creatures.”

“Oh, eff that. I’m not putting up with this for another eighty years.” He flipped open a box and stopped. Inside was a large collection of snow globes. “Perfect.” He gathered up an armload and started throwing fastballs at the birds.

The parrots avoided them easily, and as each globe of a famous city crashed against the wall, they would squawk in unison as if mocking him.

He ran back for more ammunition, and I yelled out, “Reverend Pud! This is beneath the dignity of your standing in the church?” He stopped and looked at me, breathing heavily. I said in a softer voice, “Hand me, San Francisco.” He looked around aimlessly. “It’s OK,” I said, “I’m sure it wasn’t on purpose. Let's get back to the interview, OK?”

With slumped shoulders, he trod back to the couch and lit another cigarette.

I gave him a moment to collect himself and asked. “I want to circle back to this whole sacrifice a virgin deal.

“Alright, alright. I know that’s what you came here to ask. CNN has been blowing up my phone ever since the news broke.”

“Reverend, it just seems like a passé practice these days. You really can’t point to a culture where sacrificing a virgin really solved anything.”

He stubbed out his smoke and let another. “Well, of course, I wasn’t really going to sacrifice a virgin. It’s just another cult leader gimmick. The point of all of it is to present your followers with a horrible event that will undoubtedly happen if they don’t follow your instructions. Instructions that only you know because of your mystical powers, paranormal visions, relationship with god, or whatever.

“Generally, you need to gin up some crises about every year or so. I keep a list of them in my day planner. Last year it was the end of the world; cliché, I know, but it gets the rubes attention. Before that was a global economic downturn. That always gets a “meh” response but keeps my believers from thinking for themselves. In late 2019, I hit prognosticator gold, baby, when I pulled an infectious pandemic out of my ass. Seriously, what are the chances? I was as surprised as anybody. And let me tell you, enrollment skyrocketed. The problem was most of the new converts were anti-vaxxers, so over the next few months, enrollment took a nose dive.

“With the pandemic winding down, if figured it was time to fill my believers with dread again. Then I realized I hadn’t used the schtick of sacrificing a virgin to assuage god’s wrath in quite a while.”

“But, Reverend, you weren’t going to really go through with it?”

“Off the record? I can’t have all my secrets out there.”

“Off the record.” I clicked off my recorder.

“Sacrifice a virgin? No way! First, we don’t have a volcano to chuck her into. Second, first-degree murder is not a good strategy for a long-term grift.”

I nervously watch a parrot fly overhead. “If your congregation didn’t have a spontaneous boink-fest, what were you going to do?”

“The time-honored method of all cult leaders. Fakery. I have a wonderful gal at the nearby college, Middle Tennessee State. She’s a theater major, and for a few bucks, she comes in and does an Oscar-worthy performance.

“She’s jumped out of a wheelchair for Heal-the-Lame-Fest and threw away her white cane for “Cure-the-Blind-Gala, but her best was the Diabetes-No-More-Palooza. You wouldn’t know it, but suddenly being able to metabolize sugar gets the crowd on its feet. Probably because most of my followers are Boomers.

“I’ll have to say, I was surprised my worshipers found a virgin loophole so quickly. I mean, how smart can they be if they’re following me?”

I turned the recorder back on. “How many followers do you have?”

“That’s a trade secret we all keep. It’s like big companies that get to decide what’s a profit and what’s not. It all depends on who’s asking. Besides, it’s the quality of devotees, not the quantity. Scientology has Tom Cruise, and I have the guy from the Six Flags commercials. Well, not the guy. It’s a set of triplets that are kind of a cover band for the Six Flags guy. I hear they are tearing up the Elk’s Club circuit.”

The Reverend sat back and lit another cigarette. “I think the sixth edict will be no more than one pack a day, and you can only smoke filtered cigs. And no menthol. Menthol is addictive, you know.”

After a loud knock on the door, one of the goons came in carrying several garbage bags. “Reverend Pud, we have a new member. Here are some of his clothes.”

“OK, throw them on the clothes pile” He dutifully chucked the bags on the enormous pile of clothes climbing up the wall. He turned back to the Reverend but was obviously reluctant to say something.

Pud, with a suspicious tone in his voice, said, “What?”

“Well, Reverend Pud, this new member was a … collector.”

“No!” Pud turned to me. “My followers must have some double recessive gene that makes them collect things.” He looked back to his goon, who had his head down, twisting his toe into the floor. “Well, what is it? Is it thimbles? Does he collect thimbles or decorative spoons?”

“No, reverend”

“Baseball cards. Tell me it’s baseball cards.”

“No, reverend”

“Out with it, man! What is it!”

“Lawnmowers.”

“Damn it! OK, edict number seven - lawn care is an abomination to god, and anyone doing so will be cursed for all eternity!”

I bade my farewell as the good Reverend Pud as he began to make room for his new offerings.

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PART 2: WHATEVER HAPPENED TO ILENE'S UNDERWEAR? IS IT CONNECTED TO THE FALLING RATE OF VAGILITY?

By Donna Queen
Senior Boxing Reporter

The sports world was rocked today when it was announced that Taylor Swift and Tonya Harding will meet in a winner-take-all boxing match. Fans of both celebrities expressed shock at the decision.

Skeptics were quick to suggest it is all a sham to get their names in the limelight. However, others noted that the recent so-called “Money Fight” between Conor McGregor and Floyd Mayweather had a final purse estimated at almost half a billion dollars between the two fighters.

Boxing legend and commentator Joe “Tomato Can” Palooka stated: “This is not so far-fetched. The fan base between the two is enormous, and the curiosity factor alone will bring in hundreds of millions of viewers. If they plan on a real boxing match and not some foxy-boxing spoof, then even the loser will take home at least $50 million dollars. I will definitely pay to see them fight.”

Las Vegas already has the odds makers hunched over their calculators. People in the Swift camp note that Taylor is 20 years younger than Harding. Swift’s boxing style is like her songs; both have plenty of powerful hooks. Yet Tonya’s proponents say Harding has experience in the ring, as well as the rink. She was a world-class athlete and is accustomed to grueling training regimens.

The fight is slated to take place in Madison Square Garden under the jurisdiction of the New York Boxing Commission. The rules will be fairly standard, with 15 three-minute rounds.

Taylor “Nashville Knockout Swift:

Ms. Swift arrives early at the gym every day, eager to begin training. Not only did she change to a very restricted diet, but she has also changed her touring schedule to accommodate the bout. Nothing is taken for granted.

“She is a born fighter,” states Lou “The Manchester Mangler” Poppateal, the singer’s voice and fight coach. “We start every session with an abdomen workout. I will whale away with blows to her stomach, and I will wear out way before she does.

“One time, a sparring partner came in a little hot and caught her with a straight right to the mouth. She spit out a front tooth like it was nothing and proceeded to punish the guy with massive body blows. She always says, ‘Kill the body, and the head will die’. I think it is a lyric in one of her songs.”

Swift’s music manager has some qualms about the new direction in her life, though. “I am not surprised at her dedication, but the missing tooth is worrisome. Now she whistles when she sings”

Tonya “Portland Pummeler” Harding:

Tonya Harding has several bouts to her credit involving over twenty rounds of full-on boxing. Her record is three wins and three losses to some very worthwhile competitors

While she doesn’t have a knockout punch, her quickness and a lightning jab should help keep Swift at bay.

Harding will need all of her ring savvy too. Reports coming in from boxing scouts say Swift is a brawler, stalking her opponent around the ring and trying to wrap them up in the corners.

“I have no illusions about Taylor,” Hardings states. “She has ten inches of height on me, so I am planning on a stick-and-move type fight. If I get in a clinch with her, I am toast.”

As far as sponsors for the bout go, it has been a bidding war from the beginning.

Inside sources believe Harding will be sponsored by Holly Carburetors and Cronk Energy Drinks. Her outfit for the bout will be ala, Mike Tyson. She’ll have a black tee and trunks with no socks.

Swift will be wearing the logos from Estee Lauder’s line of perfume, revitalizing moisturizer, and their latest offering, boxing groin protectors. NASA is also slated to be a sponsor. When asked why the government agency would sponsor a boxing match, their spokesperson said, “NASA engineers are huge fans of Taylor Swift. We scrubbed a mission to Mars to be her sponsor.”

The date of the bout is yet to be determined, but it is expected to be aired on Pay-Per-View and Nickelodeon.

WWGN

ROY, MYSTIC FROM THE UNKNOWN, PRESENTS “PRECISION” HOROSCOPES!

If you were born today, there’s good news and bad news.

Tonight you will find yourself in bed with a romantic partner way above your league — that’s the good news.

Earlier in the day, you stood in front of the refrigerator deciding whether the milk had gone bad. You chose poorly — that’s the bad news.

During a romantic embrace, you will have an unannounced, immediate, and complete digestive system evacuation.

I’m not going to lie; it’s bad. This incident will be proof that you cannot die of embarrassment because you are not dead.

Your romantic partner uses social media to tell millions of followers about your “accident.” The post will be the most clicked in history.

The Witness Protection Program is your only hope for a normal life.

Besides that, everything looks good.

Oh, and your lucky number is 2.

ROYETTE, APPRENTICE-MYSTIC FROM THE CULVER CITY, PRESENTS “IN THE BALLPARK” HOROSCOPES!

So, yeah, I was dating the drummer from this indie band called Stuff Your Love. I was also boinking the lead singer of the band on the side. One day I meet the backup bass player, Roy, and he tells me dating two guys from the same band is not a good idea and my romantic future doesn’t look good.

I spend the next weekend shacked up in an RV with the keyboard guy because he jumped started my car. I figured I’d repay the favor. Anyways, Monday morning, the drummer and singer break up with me. Can you believe it? I called Roy and said, “Roy! It came true, just like you said! How do you see into the future? Teach me!”

And the rest is history. Roy took me under his wing and taught me everything about astrology over a pitcher of margaritas. Here’s proof of my new, awesome psychic power.

Leo: Your sign is named after Leonardo da Vinci, so you should read The Da Vinci Code so you can find hidden messages and stuff. Also, never use a fork. Take my word on this one.

Pisces: You are the sign of the fish. You know, like dolphins and such. So don’t ever put a plastic six-pack ring on your head; you’ll never get it off.

Virgo: The virgin. I hate to break it to you, but you’re going to be a Virgo for the rest of your life. I recommend becoming a nun or hardcore gamer, so you’ll be with your own kind.

Aquarius: Aquarius is the “water bearer,” and in astrology terms, that means you will have to tinkle all the time until you die. Always get an aisle seat when flying. Other than flying, how will the rest of your life go? Depends.

Gemini: I don’t know how your life will be lived, but I do know how it will end. There will be a

That’s right. It ends just like The Sopranos.

Libra: The symbol of your sign is the scales. You know, like fish scales. I don’t know why. You don’t even like fish. Yours will be a life of overcoming adversity. In kindergarten, you will annoy all your classmates by eating all the crayons. Yet, later in life, you will achieve great success by winning the Masters Golf Tournament, while eating crayons.

Scorpio: You will spend most of your life treating chlamydia. What is wrong with you? All of this could be avoided if you just hooked up with a Virgo.

Capricorn: You are the sign of the GOAT which means “Greatest Of All Time”. Congratulations. What you are great at remains to be seen. It could be dancing, making wine, or flicking boogers. Really a crapshoot with the Capricorns.

Cancer: The name of your sign pretty much tells your future. Sorry. Maybe it’s just a weird mole.

Sagittarius: Sagittarius is not even a word. This zodiac sign is totally made up.

Aries & Taurus: I sat down with my fellow astronomers, and we decided twelve zodiac signs are too much, so we cut it to ten. Aries and Taurus, you're out. This decision was not taken lightly, but there were many omens that foretold this. For instance, Aries and Taurus are both crappy cars from the 1980s. OK, there was just the one omen. Clearly, it means something, though.

WWGN

SENTURY 21 PRESENTS:

REAL ESTATE AGENTS THAT WENT FROM SELLING A HOME TO BRINGING DOWN THE HOUSE!

For One Night Only: Kathy and the Realtones®

Wearing their classic yellow blazers, you’ll hear all your groovy favorites!

Open House, Closed Heart

He left me in Escrow

Contingent Love

Your Brokered My Heart

Fannie Mae, but I Won’t

A PITI Party for Me

It was a Pre-approved Romance

I’m High on a Variable Mortgage

Balloon Payment of Love

And who can forget this chart-topping power ballad!

Disclaimer:

The person or persons buying tickets to see Kathy and the Realtones® heretofore known as “Entertainment” shall be heretofore known as “Attendee”.

All ticket sales are final. All sales must be signed in triplicate with the goldenrod colored copy remaining in the possession of the Attendee while viewing the concert.

Entertainment does not warranty that songs played will be suitable for Attendee. Assessment of said songs is solely the responsibility of Attendee.

Furthermore reading this agreement means you cannot sue, enter a class action suit against, or even think mean things about Sentury 21. So there.

WWGN

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Fliers are flocking to this novel approach to travel.

Sara “Dairy Queen” Anderson has her hands full as she hands out rattles, changes diapers, and refills baby bottles.

Money seems to be no object to fly in peace.

By KONDY NASTE
Senior Travel Reporter

While Southwest, United, and many other airlines are jumping on the bandwagon, it was Delta Airlines that rolled out a program like no other.

“It’s such a great idea I can’t believe nobody thought of this before,” says Margo Phlaps, Senior Public Relations Officer for Delta Airlines. “We took a deep dive into the complaints we’ve received over the last decade, and crying babies was hands-down the most hated part of flying, even more than crashing.

“Our marketing team decided on a soft opening for the service. Which means we made it available but did very little advertising. Out of nowhere, we got so many reservations it crashed our computers.

“When the system went down so quickly, the first thing we thought was the system had been hacked by terrorists, but it was just parents wanting to fly without their kids”

From a logistical standpoint, Delta had to think outside the box. Kurt Robertson, operations lead for Delta, explains.

“My team spent a lot of late nights prioritizing what is important and what is not. Reuniting babies separated from their families during a trip was near the top. Profit was, of course, number one, but reuniting families was right up there.

“So to get babies and families back together, sooner rather than later, we took a cue from our baggage handlers. If your kid gets lost and we can’t find it in, say, twelve hours, no worries, we’ll deliver it to you wherever you’re staying. So start your vacation; we’ll drop your bundle of joy right at your motel door. Some parents have even started dropping an Apple Air Tag in their diapers. I don’t know if it will help find their kid, but they’ll never lose the diaper”

In-flight operations also presented a challenge. On the plus side, more kids can fit in one seat. A flight that can handle 180 to 200 adult passengers, depending on seat configuration, can handle at least 450 babies.

Some of the basics of flying had to change, too, like loading passengers. To expedite the process, the crew will line up and pass the babies to their seats in a person-to-person manner. Much like rapidly moving sandbags during a flood.

Genna Davidof is the engineer in charge of the interior of Delta’s fleet of planes. She states several modifications had to be undertaken.

“We knew we had to make some changes, but within reason. When changes become too drastic, the FAA has to approve the modifications for safety or some such thing.

“One simple example is when we have a colicky baby-passenger melt-down, the overhead bins become “time-out units.”

If your baby is too large to fit in the overhead bin or under the seat, Delta is in beta-testing for the “Check Your Child Program”. You just leave them at the end of the jetbridge like a stroller, and the ground crew does the rest.

Still in the testing phase, A ground crew attendant checks the bar code stamped on the “Chuggage” or child luggage in the “Check Your Child Program”.

Many pundits in the airline industry are asking, “With so few flight attendants, how to handle a flight of unhappy babies?”

Davidof was confident, “If we have too many cranky kids, we can drop the oxygen masks. They jangle around like mobiles over a crib. I know it sounds weird, but it’s a loophole in FAA regulations.

“It’s expected the oxygen masks will drop from the overhead when the cabin loses pressure, but it doesn’t have to lose pressure.”

Other re-purposed items are tray tables that are now changing tables, an emergency plush toy is under the seat instead of a life jacket, and now a diaper and an air sickness bag is conveniently placed in the seat back. Delta’s got you covered at either end.”

“We had a few test flights,” Davidof states, “and we quickly found out that hundreds of dirty diapers inside a plane fuselage make for such an ungodly stench that no human can bear it. You’ll die faster and more painfully than any type of smoke inhalation.

“I’m serious; a plane full of poop-filled diapers is where people go when hell is too good for them.

“To mitigate the problem, we made it so that even at 500 miles an hour and at 40,000 feet, you can crack a window.”

And as a typical profit-driven corporation that uses many workers to benefit the few, Delta had some ideas to boost the bottom line.

They had a major reduction for in-flight entertainment options, which saved a mint on licensing fees.

Instead of a variety of movies and songs, they have “The Teletubbies” for the movie and “Baby Shark” for the music. They are both played on an endless loop.

This pared-down entertainment option did have some consequences.

It was first noticed after the mechanics were doing a routine check of the plane’s exterior and began to see bulges on the skin. At first, it was thought the pressurized cabin had caused metal fatigue, and the bulges were evidence of weakened areas in the plane’s fuselage.

Fortunately, it turned out to be flight attendants just knocking their heads against the bulkhead, typically on long-haul flights. Children’s programming has no mercy.

To get the real story of this new paradigm of flight, I talked to the “boots on the ground”; a ticket agent and a flight attendant.

Jan Puce, who has worked as a Delta ticket agent for over thirty years, states, “Despite calling it a ‘babies only’ flight, there are a few adults. We reserve several middle seats for those people that pay for their entire trip using only SkyMiles.

Puce continued with a reptilian grin, “People that actually redeem their mileage points deserve special treatment.”

Running down the concourse, I caught up with a spit-up-covered Sara Anderson as she dragged a heavy garbage bag filled with soggy diapers down the jet-way. I asked her what she thought of the new Delta offering.

“Don’t let anyone tell you that flying has lost its glamor,” she said, heaving the sack over her shoulder. “The flight was great. It was so nice to see Delta making a profit, “she continued, looking directly into the security camera.

“As far as the guests on board, well, let’s see, I had the pleasure to serve creepy twins, ala “The Shining,” that only wanted to suck on lemons.

“One kid was like a toddler evangelist. He was laying hands on others, faith healing, and generally exhorting everyone to repent or go to hell. Nervous fliers are like that.

“Then there’s the quadruplets. I think they were quadruplets. They could have been septuplets, for all I know. They were running around like an unruly litter of badgers. Every time I turned around, one of them was throwing a dirty diaper at another guest. I swear, it was like an AARP flight to Las Vegas.

“We had some droolers, of course, but that’s pretty standard stuff.

“Yet, one passenger got my attention. This kid had the biggest friggin head I’ve ever seen on a baby, or seen on an adult, or seen at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade. And when it cried, Jesus Christ, it sounded like a bull elk during rut.

“But the weirdest was the angry kid in a black turtle neck. I swear he had a Mein Kampf coloring book. He should be on the “no-fly” list right now. Like before nap time.

“All and all, a pretty typical flight, though.”

If this idea proves as profitable as predicted, Delta promises more flights limited to other select groups like people that clap when the plane lands, people that look for spit ends in their hair for the entire flight, and people that clip their toenails during the flight.

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