Item:  Man nurses beef with priest. Sean O’ Casey, resident of Sandy Neck, Massachusetts has had a long standing "beef" with parish priest, Father O’ Donahue. According to Mr. O’ Casey, Father O’ Donahue has been giving too many "hail, mother fucking marys" for penance. Says O’ Casey, "Last week I go to church and without provocation Father O’ Big Goddamn Deal Donahue comes up and says ‘is there something you would like to tell me about your altercation with Chris O’ Riley?’" And I say, who’s been spraying that around?" And Father O’ Mr. Big Deal says Chris says you cursed him out because he beat out a bunt single at the sandlot yesterday. So I say, "Jesus H. Christ, what’s this gonna cost me?” And Father O’I Can’t Wait Til Confession O’Donahue says, “That’s gonna be 12 hail Marys." I mean what’s up wid dat? I just did 7 the week before. I mean Mary ain’t got time to hear 19 hail mother fucking Mary’s coming from me. JesusMaryandJoseph!!”  Shit Fuck, Goddamn, Alright, already!" Hell Mary!
 

Item: Environmentalist Sentenced to the Environment. Norman Buckwheat, field researcher for Coastal Carolina Community College Conservation Corps, had his retirement revoked in district court last week after he was found to be an essential part of the ecosystem of the rare Snidely Whiplash Snail Darter. “Sure, I fed’em for forty years in the creek behind the gymnasium,” said Norman, “but hell, I’ve got several hundred million years of evolution on those freakin’ fish. I betcha I’m more endangered than they are. Freakin’ fish.” In fact, it turned out that Norm was, in fact, more endangered than the aforementioned rare Snidely Whiplash Snail Darter, currently on the federal list of nearly protected species. The court stenographer, Clara Hawthorne, was then sentenced to fulfill every natural urge expressed by Mr. Buckwheat, as long as it was basically natural. “I guess you could say I’ve found my niche,” said a wry Norm Buckwheat, his arm draped around the comely stenographer. “Naturally, the last thing I want to do is go against my nature.” The ruling stated that Mr. Buckwheat could relinquish all duties except his daily tossing of Pepperidge Farm thinly sliced white bread into the brackish pool. Mr. Buckwheat insisted he would appeal the verdict on the grounds of evolutionary malfeasance until Clara snuck up behind him one day, bumped him into the creek behind the gymnasium where the minnows ate him alive.

ITEM: In another stunning, coma-inducing, yet purely pedestrian development, nothing happened last week. Again. News centers around the world were jettisoned into a tizzy. Forced to come up with something……anything, Peter Jennings got Up Close displaying  his butt tattoo of Ho Chi Minh. “You can clearly see how from a certain angle it looks like Teddy Roosevelt. Sitting on the can and carrying a big stick.” Inside sources at various otherwise reputable agencies reported that news editors conspired to invent crimes, wanton acts of destruction, and heartrending tales of impossible reunion “but they chickened out.” Yassir Arafat, in a panic, announced a revolutionary kefiyyah wrap but could provide no sources to properly fold the wrinkled tablecloth. Boris Yeltsin was hospitalized or as they say in Moscow, was “stove up” with bolus cramps but the Chechens blew up critical power lines so the story was converted to thermal energy and is presently floating around Asia without a passport and driving your average dictator crazy. The estimated revenues lost due to advertising which depends on live news coverage was 2,587 billion trillion drachmas, an amount of money which nobody could put into real terms because all the people who knew were out back “trying to make something happen... again.”

Item:Man loses shadow of his former self. Geoffrey Delachampe, one time loser, with behavioral disorders that included alcoholism, drug addiction, uncontrollable tongue clucking and numerous facial ticks yesterday became Glen Haven, Connecticut's citizen of the year, man of the year, father of the decade and president of Microsoft, Inc. Friends and family from all over the quad-county region flocked to Glen Haven to see the "new" Geoffrey Delachampe. Said former friend and former fellow high school dropout Stan Wiggins, "Hell……I mean…..like whoa….what's this all about? I dug his shadow a whole lot more. Jeff and I used set tires on fire just a few days ago! Man o' Chevitz, already!" Delachampe's brother, "Big Hank" Delachampe stated, " I just hope he doesn't forget all the little people." Geoffrey Delachampe himself was being feted so frequently that this reporter was unable to get an interview. His shadow, Deoffrey Gelachampe, was found near the Rooti Tooti We're All So Nudie Lounge collecting used crack vials and discarded bits of string, and had this to say-"FUCK HIM! and the goddamn '52 Chevron Algonquin he rode off on!!!! I mean what about my feelings?" Apparently the break up was not mutual.
 
 

Item:  Man gets best beating he's ever had -- bar none. Four-on-the-Floor, Ohio. Snip Dillard, frequent visitor to Count Chili's Bacon Back Rib and Chowder Head Shank Steak Stewed Like You Like It and Wings To Go Pizzeria, received what he called "The best beating I ever had, bar none". The bashing was courtesy "Dutch" DuPree, a resident alien from Winnipeg who is half Caucasian and half European and considered the meanest man in Four-on-the-Floor, Ohio (he did win last winters spare tire toss at the Is There Really an Ohio? County State Fair). Snip received the complimentary beating at Big Wanks Silver Lining Grill and Socks That Fit Gift Emporium after calling "Dutch" (and we quote) 'a certified dork with an overstuffed cod piece.' By most accounts Dutch "just kinda flipped his lid" after hearing the Snip's critical remarks. Shortly after the beating Snip seemed to have lost a small portion of his ability to generate some sensation of his own presence. Snip now spends most of his time in the living room of his majestic 28x40 double wide mobile home on the banks of the Cuyahoga River just outside of Four-on-the-Floor, Ohio. Mostly he's found sitting in the Living Room on a reclining chair stuck half way up (or half way down if you're optimistic).
 
 

Item:  After months of anticipation, World Headquarters released its Annual Report today, covering the fiscal year from Equinox to Solstice and back again. Wall Street reacted like a bunch of big fat investors who didn’t care about anything but themselves and their damn money. “What’s up with that? But, okay. Okay.” responded HQ CEO Howard “Holé” Wheat expansively. “We have bigger things in mind,” he continued. “Very big.”  When pressed by financial analysts, Wheat stated, “We’re trimming some of the uglier gluten from our portfolio and divesting all of the really dumb non-performing issues while aggressively pursuing the strategy that got us to the top the heap, which we’re not at liberty to reveal until we straighten out the finer points of our personal philosophy tomorrow morning after we have about nine good cups o’ java, local time, wherever we happen to be. If you know what I mean.” More on this breaking story tomorrow morning. 
 
 

Item: Tomorrow morning. H. Holé Wheat announced at tomorrow’s press conference, which was scheduled for later today, “Despite pulling an all-nighter, we still have not straightened out the curly edges of our personal philosophy. The tensile strength of our non-linear suppositions proved too much. We even had Big Ed spread-eagled over our collective ambivalence, and it still wouldn’t stay down. Shit. It must’ve been the humidity, cuz I really sweated all over the part we agreed on. Does it show? And where’s my damn coffee!? Oh, here it is!” Mr. Wheat assured HQ’s readers, voters and hordes of brown-nosing sycophants that “things” will “remain” “things.”.  But please pass the non-dairy creamer…this way… regardless. Stay tuned. More to follow behind. 
 

Item:  Dateline Smuteye, Alabama: The Institute of Psycho-Physics, or “I P-P”, has announced the first fairly reliable standard for measuring brain activity: the “Brain/Week,” which tracks whether a person knows more this week than last week, according to Dr. Harley Davidson, no relation. “A brain week of 1.0,” explained Dr. Davidson, “indicates no change from last week. A brain week of .95 indicates the individual forgot only 5 per cent of everything he knew last week, which we feel is pretty good!” Chimed in Dr. Trot Nixon of The I P-P, “It seems the average person today reaches his or her peak brain/week at about 30 foot/pounds ---“ At which point Dr. Davidson quickly interrupted, pointing out that, “There is, of course, no real connection because the foot/pound measures the weight of one’s lower extremities. Harrumph.” At which point Doc Trot sneered, “And Dr. Davidson hasn’t had a very good brain/week/month – he’s just now accelerated to .25. All he’s good for these days is throwing hot rats in vats of ice water.”  Whereupon Dr. Davidson stuck his thumb in his mouth, smiled weakly and began twirling his dazzling, deceptive comb-over between his thumb and index finger and one other finger.

Item: Dateline United Nations, NY, NY, NY. The Security Council figured the hell with all this constant crap about the Middle East, Sudan, and roving bands of howling, pork-fed do-gooders and decided to do something real for a change: admit some fresh blood to the wheezing institution in the form of The Cleveland Indians.  When queried as to why the world’s fattest international diplomatic forum would declare a Major League Baseball team a permanent member,  several prime ministers pulled on their ears, pointed to their elbows, and casually spit sunflower hulls on the dais. “These guys have been getting shelled game after game,” said Koffi “Pudge” Annan, chewing to himself. “All relief efforts have failed up to this point, and their supply of bats is quite low. Plus, their annual income kicks the ass off all those countries sitting in the back row.” General Manager John Hart would not respond to reporters unless they referred to him as “Il Duce Magnificooo”, and hinted that enlightened monarchy would beat the crap out of democracy in a five game series, especially given their respective records in the regular season.

Item: The Al Gore Presidential Campaign announced today that Al Gore (you remember Al Gore, don't you?) will replace his  serious, stiff, uptight, thin-lipped white persona for a persona that has a tad more zip, pop, crackle, pizaaz, oomph, and ethnicity. "Obviously we are a little worried about that 'whacky' Bill Bradley", said newly appointed Gore spokesperson, Shasta McNasty. "I mean Bill is such a goddam flaming gas, such a go-go guy when he turns it on on on on. We aren't blind! We know the score. We see the crowds, the wild, naked, raw enthusiasm. So are we gonna stand around like fucking Al Gore??? Shit no. We are going to pull a little razzle dazzle in this so-called campaign. Starting next week, Albert (Albert is so cool! A lot cooler than just Al)  Albert is gonna shake, bake, cook, sautee and roil-an'-boil. He's gonna groove, gonna get in the mood and do what needs to be done which is to get snappy and get happy,  not crappy not sappy ....which is what the American people want, apparently. The American people want danger. They want boldness, but boldness and danger that's snappy and happy without too much boldness and too much danger...If you know what I mean?"  Most of the reporters present blew chunks, present company excepted.
 

Item:  Man mauled while tweezing his weasel. Jason Shcrempe was killed yesterday when his pet weasel, Trevor, became extremely agitated during a routine tweezing. Investigators arrived at the scene in a panic. Trevor was gone. Only shards of his one way bus ticket to Huffakers, Nevada were found scattered about Mr. Schrempe's apartment.  Checks were missing, Schrempe's collection of bits of string, tin foil and Kruggerrands was arranged artistically in the bathtub, and that's about it. 
 

Item:  The American people got together early this morning in a freezing ass cold meat locker near Lebanon, Kansas, the geographic center of the lower forty-eight, in order to just party down and eat some high fat, non-nutritive carcinogens.  People came from as far away as Key West and Fiji, which is about far away you can come from. “There were a lot more good-lookin’ babes here than I expected,” observed Roger Chumley of Lebanon. Gail Gayle, one of the good-lookers in attendance, noted, "Sure are a lotta shiftless meatheads here. Same ole same ole. Christ Almighy! Yeah, a Genny Cream Ale, please. Make that a double. If you know what I mean."
 

Item: Upyersjohn, the rising pharmaceutical company, has announced the newest in contrapreventive medicine: the Clinic in a Condom. Licensed and distributed under the name brand, "Terminator XXX", these condoms mark the latest in nanotechnological convenience. Not only is the Terminator lined with antigens for the twelve major sexually transmitted diseases, but it also features an aqueous film of biolipids in which swim scores of microbiologically genengineered urologists, infectious diseases and sperm killing experts. "Yes, of course they're licensed" said Jonny Wadd, PR rep for Upyersjohn, "they just have really small diplomas."

ITEM: A coterie of extremely fascinating statisticians from Vista del Mar, New Mexico deduced from raw polling data, the 10 least likely horrible things that may happen to us already preoccupied and mildly vexed citizens:
1. Government sex and golf vouchers
2. Dan Quayle re-announcing his intent to run for president…ha, ha…what a chance!!!
3. C. Everett Koop in a thong bikini.
4. MC Koop bustin the hiphop charts with his latest 12 inch: “Touch My Rash, Homey”
5. The “Friends” cast moves to a tenement in Jersey City, and demands a cut in pay
6. Alan Greenspan blurts out that he suffers from Tourette’s Syndrome, and that “he doesn’t know what the fucking hell he’s been saying” all these years.
7. Boeing recalls its new fleet of Chevron Algonquin 737’s.
8. Free Beer.
9. The Republican sponsored “Pussy Tax”
10. Windows 99

Item:  Once again, World HQ has sent its entire correspondent out of the “ivory” tower and headlong into the “world” to score another “Red Hot” HQ exclusive that’s way too hot, hot for the questionable mainstream corporate media “mindset” (IF you know what I mean). At HQ’s behest, the American people have answered perhaps the most vexing question of the day: What is the problemo with American society such as it is?
1.  The Environment
2.  The Genetics
3.  Spurious and misleading categorizations of life into “this”  vs. “that”
4.  Panels of Experts 
5.  Mulligans
6.  Warped and knotty 2x4’s. And they won’t even deliver’em.
7.  Foreign languages. Except Spanish which is no problemo. 
8.  The Poetry Problemo.
9.  Famous people who suck which is practically all of ‘em.
10. Smelly Garbage which is basically all of it.
11. Spilling tomato paste and smearing it on your tie or cashmere sweater, IF you even have one.
12. Crappy music. Especially crappy alternative Celtic music.
13. Hair that shows up in the wrong places.
14. Exercise which basically sucks but ya’ gotta do it and that’s what really    sucks because if you don’t do it YOU’RE GONNA DIE, but you’re gonna die anyway and that really sucks, too... big time but never mind we’ll be OK. Huff. Puff.
15. TheFruitcake. There’s only one.
16. Love (Don’t get us started).
17. Fuckin’ etiquette.
18. That voice in my head. Yeah, that one. No, this one.
19. That fish thing on the back of cars, feet or no feet. Whatever.
20. The 1997 Chevron Algonquin V-8, fully loaded with bucket seats and wire wheels and beer. $5500 OBO. Must sell. No serious offer refused.

Item: Presidential Candidates Challenge Hurricane Floyd to Open Debate. Spooked by a drop in the polls, and acutely aware of the rush of media into the powerful draw of Floyd's 250 mile long arms, a once polarized contingent of  oval officeseekers united in a call for Floyd to "talk about the issues that are being raised". Speaking for a score of high-office hopefuls (including Cybil Shepherd and Warren Beatty, who refused to answer questions as to whether he would be running, noting only that "it's about unity, not divisiveness. And oh yeah, it’s about me."),  Al Gore said of the blustery partycrasher, "We all know that Floyd is going to have an impact. We're not denying that. We just feel that he should have the opportunity to clearly state his positions. Talk about the issues in an open forum. Send it over the internet, have a completely interactive environment, empowering Floyd, empowering us, empowering the American People, a cybernetic online democracy channeling the primal flow from the chaos-spewing hole of an F5 fucking hurricane, distributing it throughout the neural net of this great nation, mutating in the brain of each citizen, morphing into a global groupmindorgy with Mother Earth herself. That would be the ideal scenario. All we are saying is: let the dialogue begin."  G. Dubya Bush nodded his endorsement of Gore's vision, and added his own stern appraisal: "All I know is what I see on the Weather Channel, and frankly, that just doesn't cut it.  All that meteorological mumbo-jumbo is just spin control. The American People deserve an explanation. What exactly is Floyd doing? Where is he headed? How does he stand on abortion or wheat quotas? I personally don't care where he came from or what he may have done in the past. We need to get some understanding of what he's up to right now." Bill Bradley threw down his own gauntlet, challenging the hurricane to a game of Horse. "I still got a few shots", quipped the ex-Knickerbocker, leaving the stakes to be agreed upon at a later date. Indeed, Washington insiders aren't playing down the significance of Hurricane Floyd's sudden appearance on the scene, nonplussed and unclear of what might result from the collision between politics and what some are calling "a natural force". Reporters have been unable to approach Floyd for comments on these latest developments.  Shirley McClain, not speaking for brother, claims to have received an atmospheric communique from Floyd, which is as follows: “The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind, a really stiff wind. If ya’ know what I mean.”

Item:  Police in Deweyville, Utah today arrested Lulu Shepherd, suspected in several armed bank robberies in the tri-regional region of Saskatchewan, Delaware and Tonga. Known by the sobriquet the "Bawdy Bandit" because of her proclivity to enter a bank with guns smoking, a fresh appliqué of Dusky Dawn lip gloss, hips thrust forward and shouting, "Make me feel like a woman!!!!" After this risque remark, Lulu would throw open a cloth bag and say, "Fill me up, baby, they’re having a sale at Fredericks of Hollyood!!!" Lulu was arrested at the Lo Sodium Salt Flats Trailer park just outside of Deweyville after police were called to an unrelated domestic disturbance. While there Officer Needham overheard that signature pouty shout, "Make me feel like a woman!!" coming from the next trailer and decided to "check it out, if you know what I mean." Lulu came to the door in a sweaty teddy and a holstered bottle of AstroGlide and was immediately arrested and taken downtown. Several times. Somewhat later, she was booked.

Item: Early yesterday afternoon, in the outskirts of Huffakers, Nevada, a packed school bus hurtled toward the Nye County State Road Number Eight railroad crossing as the alarm bells sounded. A freight train with three hundred ten cars barreled down the scorching, steel tracks, terrifying the innocent, beautiful young children on board. The black and white striped guard bars lowered into position and miraculously, in the nick of time, the bus stopped. The menacing freight train belched flame, smoke and rude noises. Bathed in the sweet doppler tones of the passing locomotive, the children sobbed and sweated in the unrelenting desert sun. 

Item: Cause of Moral Turpitude Uncovered under Mormon Tabernacle Choir. The widely decried "loss of moral compass" in modern America has been traced to a small room under a very big room: in the sub-basement for used vestments underneath the massive choir chamber. Said Davis Klamm, sub-contractor for Kingdom of Nod Home Warranty and Heavenly Indulgence, "No wonder children on every street corner are witnessin' weird episodes of evisceration, ritual satanic cannibalism, howling homosexual rape, casual hypocrisy and bad art. What they got here is what we call an ethical black hole." Pointing to box 24a on his clipboard checklist of Household Do's and Don'ts, Davis explained, "Yep, that's yer problem. Acoustics gotta be just right for the virtue vacuum to form, but it'll suck the fear o' god outta you and then some." Church elders are confident that the $40 deductible for Davis' ionization of free radicals in the sub-basement is a good deal but will also lead to a golden era of human peace love and understanding.

Item:Dateline Mashulaville, Noxubee County, Mississippi (about a hundred miles from a petrified forest) (you could look it up): At Aunt Ruby's County Line Bar & Ya'll Come & Git It Creepy Crawler Bait Shop, Bubba Greer and Junior Quitman engaged in a constructive inquiry as to, "Who's the Man?" Bubba at first quietly insisted that Junior was the man, to which Junior demurely protested, "Hey, Man, how can I be the Man when You the Man?!?"Whereupon Junior, with growing agitation, firmly expostulated, "No, man, I ain't the man: YOU the goddamn Man!!" Bubba then retorted with rancor, "No way--- I know who's the man and who ain't the man and what I know is You the MAN!"Sensing a potential brouhahahaha,scientists from Noxubee County Federal Office of Animal Husbandry, who were on the scene at Aunt Ruby's County Line Bar, promptly investigated and with the aid of actual scientific principles, sound methodology and six big ole rectal thermometers, assscertained that in fact that while Bubba Greer was indeed A man, Junior Quitman was indisputably The MAN. At which point Bubba stated with generous Mashulaville panache, "I knew he was the man!"

  Item: Defrocked priest refrocked. Father Arlen Whortle, late of the Lafayette, Louisiana parish, Our Lady of Perpetual Annuity, was defrocked because of allegations he succumbed to temptation and broke one of the Ten Commandments: the one that says–Thou shall not kill. According to sources Father Whortle purchased (with parish funds) a patriot missle launcher and destroyed the small town of Bogalusa, LA. Father Whortle never denied purchasing and firing the launcher but always insisted he aimed toward Mississippi where "no harm could be done." After an intensive investigation Cardinal Bonano of Naples (Florida) revealed he could find no rule against the purchase and use of such a weapon. In fact, he found several instances in church writings where it was encouraged. Stated Cardinal Bonano: "Hey, itsa ina the book." It was also ascertained that Bogalusa was, indeed, destroyed but not by the missle. Apparently, Bogalusa natives, the LaCroix boys, had another accident involving dynamite, whiskey and voodoo. Anyhow, to wrap things up, Father Whortle voluntarily surrendered the launcher and was given his frock back but was transferred to Point Barrow, Alaska. (It was a thermal frock.)

Item:   The South Claxton Gypsum and Pyrite Concu., Inc has announced a new method of improving your consciousness:  EAT MORE GYPSUM!  After studying the effects of gypsum-eating in South Georgia for 10 years the South Claxton Gypsum and Pyrite Consortium  has found that ingesting gypsum decreases the red, liquid blood flow to the brain thereby slowing the thought processes to a virtual standstill and infusing the "eater" with a sense of clearheaded awareness heretofore unexperienced in the western world, not, of course, excluding South Georgia. This, in the face of new research on human intelligence which indicates  that at the turn of the millenium everyone is still an idiot, present company excluded.  Of course, it also explains the current nation-wide shortage of sheetrock. In the words of Beau Rivage, famed expolorer, poet and hide-cutter of the Lewis & Clark Expedition:  “I wouldn’t pay that much for quarter inch sheetrock unless it was thicker.”
 

• “You need a haircut.”
• “These are carrots.”
• “I don’t think so.”
• “Them tomayters is like a old truck.”
• “That was the last train to Claxton.”
• “What?’
• “What’s the capitol of Missouri?”
• "If you're so smart, what's in a fruitcake?"

• “You don’t need a haircut.”
• “Let’em soak awhile.”
• “Don’t worry, I won’t vote for you.”
• “No, Dan Quayle’s a pretty good golfer.”
• “Put down the gun.”
• “Over this way. No, not over there.”

“When’s the next train to Claxton?

Item: Newt Gingrich, ignominiously forced into retirement by a lot of pompous annoying porkstuffed minions-of the-devil, namely a bunch of damn Republicans – who were ignominiously forced into retirement by a bunch of annoying porkstuffed pompous satanically-brown-nosing damn Democrats (and screw the lotta them), sits on the toilet with his silk Mickey Mouse jockeys bunched around his ankles, mulling his future. Should he devote himself to a new cause? Perhaps a new Contract With America – but without the specifics that ruined everything – more like an Agreement with an America. Actually, more like a Limited Agreement With America – yes, he could identify with that.  Stay tuned for more details when newt decamps the can.

Item: McDonald’s announced its intention to enter a new market. Wigs. Dangerous perturbations rippled through the corporate rugs of the McDonald’s corporate hierarchy with the discovery of both Kim’s Wig Center and Barbara’s Wig Boutique, on opposite corners of downtown (proper) Asheville, NC., mere blocks from a Golden Arches. The first entrée in the new product line: The McShag, available in various piles (if you know what I mean). Evan Hamster, from the McMedia relations department, characterized the new hairpiece as a "Retroglamsocampyitdoesntevenhavetobetongueinchic kind of thing”. A McShag will be free to all-at-one-time consumers of a McBakers Dozen Big Macs (that’s only 4 pounds of vatted calf!). 

Item: World Headquarters has just been approved by the U.S.D.A. as the first portal for conversion to Base Four. Anyone who has a favorite number is advised to send it in for certification and conversion. Poems submitted after July 31 will be fed and/or squished into World Headquarters Base Four Poetron Aesthetic Converter. While convention has determined that poetry in Base Ten may seem rather pleasant, it has been further established (by us) (just now) that conversion to Base Four not only makes the poem a lot shorter but also frees it quite elegantly from its original intent. 

Item:Messiah upset over San Antonio victory in N.B.A. Finals, may complain “to Dad.” Jesus Christ, the late son of God, messiah, founder of a big deal religion who died a gruesome, thorny, death, reportedly became an ardent New York Knicks fan as the truncated, strike-tortured season wore on. “The Spurs bugged me ‘cause they were all so nice and they kept thanking the Lord for every rebound. I almost blew chunks. The Knicks, though, you’re talking good, old-fashioned torment. A band of misfits, madmen and sinners, just like the disciples. Guys like that, that’s my kind of guys. That’s the kind of guys that make a great religion. I’m going to talk to Father and see if we can intervene next June.’

Item:According to Yonkle, Yonkle,Yokel & Yo' Mama, an area polling service, all the rich people in the tri-crested metro region agree with the statement, "Ya' gotta spend money to make money." Of the remaining 98 per cent who are not rich, 98 per cent of them claim to have mastered the spending part, and are thrilled to "have the battle half won." Y,Y,Y&Y further reports that another 12 per cent say, "Ya gotta make money to spend money." Y,Y,Y& Y asserts that is a "bunch of crap" and is standing by "to see what happens." 

Item: Sheriff Sergeant "Tick" Marshall, Gulf War veteran, and chief law enforcement official of Truth nor Consequences, New Mexico, took the law into his own hands last weekend--literally-- that is: the Sheriff wed high society dilettante, Melody Laws, on this Memorial Day. Melody Laws, Director of Truth nor Consequences Mensa Society and daughter of Harmony and "High C" Laws, looked magnificent in a beautiful, diaphanous dress made from imported silk and last years Memorial Day bunting. Melody also made news in January (as you may recall) when she won the Miss Teenage Truth nor Consequences contest. Her victory was sealed when she 1) performed a rousing rendition of "Take A Train" on the sousaphone and 2)simultaneously used "only her mind" and correctly calculated the distance between Truth nor Consequences, New Mexico and Io, a small moon circling either Jupiter or Saturn. The Very Reverend Chastity "Hank" Pope performed the ceremony. Hank, as he has said over and over , has paid his debt to society and just wants to get on with the rest of his life. It is rumored, however, that nobody attended the wedding due a vague, uneasy feeling that "Tick and Melody are up to no good". Many also did not attend because they were not invited. 

Item: Psychologist Fritz Gelding, from the Institute of Pain and Psychosis, has diagnosed yet another 20th century malady, more widespread than fear of flying, bulimia, the fear of bulima and the fear of fear itself: ‘messagophobiosis’, and its acute malignant form – ‘emailonomaphobiosis’ affect over 100 per cent of Floridians. Snorted Dr. Gelding (furtively fondling his pager), “I came up with the names all by my selfiobiosis!” Symptoms include just about everything.

Item: Chernobyl faces end of time millennium bug. Chernobyl, a heaping slag pile of radioactive rubble, finds itself facing another " Mir-Like troubled space station” problem. Y2K! First, the nuclear plant melts down, destroying the plant and all surrounding life forms including a well established family of marmots, and now it has to worry about Y2K. "Is not fair", said former plant employee, Novotna Sharnansky. "First I get radioactive, now I get some bug. No justice, no pay. Just a large sore on my buttinsky. I have veddy mixed up feelings, I tell you. Veddy mixed up."

Item: Modestly successful dry cleaning franchisee accidentally tosses linen and cashmere “dry clean only” pleated skirt into the wet clean. Skirt doesn’t shrink. Comes clean. Franchisee then slips on a dry banana, meets god and instantly realizes that everything he’d done up until the skirt toss ranged from not-quite-right to quite wrong. Contemplates correcting his errant ways but passes on the idea because “it would gum up the works.”

April 14, 1999

Item: World HQ has wrested its first award from the ethereal grip of Erato - (in her cyber-incarnation). Peep the prestigious "Poet's Award" below - a prize so metaphorical you can take it literally. Literally. Holding firm to the credo that "if it ain't about us, it's about you and we don't give a rat's ass about you", we dedicate our first news item, however momentary, fleeting, spasmodic, and ultimately impermanent it may be - to ourselves. Thank you. click here to visit Ernest Slyman, Bestower of Poets Award.