2017-10-12 / Features

Silly Social Scenes

A Wand'ring Minstrel (Nye)

JAM GENIE MAKES FURTHER PROGRESS – The many fans of the Jam Genie will be delighted to hear that the Genius of Jellies has now left her cast behind, and that she is able to return to her part-time job at the Wilkommen Hardly-Davisperson Motorized Bicycles boutique. Under the firm but fanatical direction of her Personal Physical Therapist, Miss Hellacia Thrombosis, and the Visiting Professor of Clinical Bodywork, Frau Doktor Brunnhilde Krinkheimer, Missus Chief Nylon is now able to knit (albeit one-handedly), one of her favorite recreational activities. She has made several toques, three mittens, and a 9X-large turtleneck sweater for Chief Nylon. Her only failure was the darling little pullover she knit for Bob the World’s Smartest Cat, which upon completion was discovered to have six legs and no hole for his head (although it DID have a sweet little puce pom-pom to cover his stub of a tail). As not even the Chief himself could persuade Bob to try on the charming tog (and he has the scratches and bites to prove it), Missus Chief donated the garment to the local animal shelter.

    However, the biggest news is that the Jam Genie scored a 9.7 of a possible 10 on the Fliegelman-Panzerjaeger Mobility Scale, which measures one’s ability to raise an arm whilst holding a heavy object. As life always imitates art, Frau Doktor Krinkheimer conducted the test with the proverbial frozen leg of lamb, and Missus Chief was able to heave the haunch straight out from her side, to the left, to the right, and straight up above her head, all without pain. This test completed satisfactorily (satisfactory to everyone except the Chief, who blanched at the sight of the lethal leg going aloft and promptly staggered out of the room), the experts pronounced Missus Chief good to go, collected their payment from the ashen-faced Chief, and sped off to their next appointment (one of the Selectdodos, who sprained his brain trying to have a thought).

    SELECTBOZOS ADOPT NEW SIDEWALK POLICY – With the news (unwelcome) that a Large Semi-Local Financial Institution had declined to pave a sidewalk all the way to the Falls of No’field, the Bored of Selectidiots decreed that henceforth each resident or business will be responsible for the maintenance of the sidewalk in front of the residence or business in question, except for those of the Selectators themselves, which will be paid for by funds taken from the Free Money Tree that was allocated for the park for real or putative children. Announcement of the new policy was delayed until after Bored members were safely at home behind locked doors.

    CORRECTION OF ANNOUNCEMENT OF CANCELLATION: Apparently the Printer’s Devil was working overtime last week (or he/she/they has/have a perverse sense of humor), for on the very day the item appeared, This Columnist Ad-Hoc (who merely appends to this Fine Column of Social & Political News whatever the Devil leaves under the flap of Our tent high atop the Mayonnaise Building) received an irate telegram from the Grande Poohbette (female of Poobah) of the Doughty Daughters of Depraved Dilettantes, Chapter 47-3/4, demanding a retraction, redaction, reduction and recompense.

    Stating ever so forcefully that said item was rife with errors, the GP averred that her Worthy Members and she had been intentionally insulted, gratuitously grieved and moronically mortified, she hastened (after three paragraphs of similar abuse) to point out said errors: First, the sponsoring organization was NOT the so-called GGGVUW (a bunch of parvenus, she sniffed), but rather the DDofDD. Second, the Artiste in question was NOT Senor Roncoco Jalapeno, but rather Signor Pier-Luigi-Girolamo Sprezzatura. Third, the Artiste hails NOT from Mexico, but from one of the lesser suburbs of Hoboken, NJ. Fourth, the Artiste was NOT going to dance with flamingos but was to gallop through a gavotte whilst juggling persimmons, knives, flaming torches, and the complete works of Will and Ariel Durant.

    At this point the telegram broke off, the doughty Grande Poohbette apparently having run out of money. Anyone wishing to hear the end is invited to call the GP at 666-6666.

    DULL GOMBC MEETING WITHOUT XPCKN – The most recent meeting of the Grumpy Old Men’s Breakfast Club was, to put it in the politest way possible without straining the credulity of the Reader, dull; dull, dull, dull. SO dull was it, in fact, that several members nodded off at the table, and a couple were heard to snore.

    The cause of the dullness was the absence of the Ex-Pet Casket King of No’field, who, rumor had it, was in southern New England attending the bar mitzvah of his grandson. Such conversation as there was consisted mainly of speculation as to how long the Ex could endure the ceremony without leaping from his chair and taking over; bets were placed, predictions were written down, and with highly unusual anticipation, the members counted the hours until the next sennightly breaking of their fast.

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