Pro Donkey Basketball League to Tip Off This Fall

KNOB NOSTER, Missouri.  Pro basketball scouts and agents have been flocking to this small town in central Missouri for months now, making for crowded conditions at the Motel 6 on State Highway 50.  “I’ve had to put two guys into the same room with a rollaway bed,” says owner Gene Ray Hampton.  “They complain they don’t have any privacy.”

Clell “World” Furnell

What the scouts come to see is the man who is expected to make donkey basketball, a variation of the American indoor game played on the backs of Equus asinus, the domestic BLEEP , as popular as the NCAA’s Final Four tournament.

Driving to the hoop.

“Donkey basketball is the next major sport, and Clell ‘World’ Furnell is going to be its George Mikan and Michael Jordan rolled into one,” says David Nurvine, a one-man promotional whirlwind who has bankrolled the National Donkey Basketball League’s Springfield, Missouri franchise, the Missouri Mules.

 

Mikan:  He changed the way the game is played, without using a donkey.

For smaller cities across America who clamor for the glamour and excitement of major league sports but don’t have a local billionaire who can front the money for a baseball, football or NBA franchise, donkey basketball is seen as the next best thing.

Twenty-second manure time-out.

“We’ll have eight teams to start,” says NDBA President Horace Schuster, ”Chicopee, Mass., Troy, New York, Birmingham, Alabama, Paducah, Kentucky, Hot Springs, Arkansas, Scranton, Pennsylvania, Cairo, Illinois” and the Missouri entry.  “We hope to go global by 2012,” he adds.  “There’s a lot of donkeys in Mexico.”

Kevin McHale

What has the scouts salivating is Furnell, who has a low center of gravity combined with an extraordinary reach that is drawing comparisons to Kevin McHale, the Celtics forward of the ’80’s who could tie his shoes without bending at the waist.  “Clell has the perfect body for donkey basketball, and he’s going to revolutionize the game,” says Schuster.

“The Mules are on the clock with the sixth pick.”

With the league’s first draft approaching fast, there are rumors of teams trading a bundle of picks to get at Furnell, who says he is looking to buy his mother her first double-wide house trailer with a signing bonus that is expected to be in the high four figures.

Home Sweet Home–at last.

“We been livin’ in rented trailers as long as I can remember,” says Furnell.  “If I have anything left over, I’m goin’ out to the QuikPik and get a Big Gulp Slurpee.”

Copyright 2007, Con Chapman

At Annual Convention, Philosophers Debate Midget Wrestling, Pole Dancing

ST. LOUIS, Mo.  As The American Philosophical Association’s annual convention winds down in this hot and humid city, professors from around the country took time off from the presentation of academic papers to focus their analytical skills on less weighty matters. 

 

Midget wrestling

“The bus is leaving for the midget wrestling match in five minutes, people!” Anna Beth Turley, a coordinator at the convention shouts at a group of epistemologists, or specialists in how we know we know what we think we know.  “I tell you,” she says as the philosophers mill about, questioning whether the bus is real, “It’s like herding cats, except cats are cute.”

Pole dancing:  “When you say ‘She’s hot’, are you making an objectively verifiable claim, or merely describing your subjective state of mind?”

The APA, the largest membership organization of professional philosophers, has traditionally been able to negotiate steep group discounts that fit its members’ impecunious lifestyles based on the premise that deep thinkers were quiet, introspective types who were less likely than other conventioneers to damage hotel rooms.  That image is fading, however, and now hoteliers say philosophers are no better than proctologists or pipefitters in terms of the wear and tear they inflict on hotel staff, property and other guests.

“How do you know it was me throwing water balloons?  All you have to go on is the unreliable testimony of your senses.”

“I had to warn a couple of phenomenologists last year that they were not allowed to throw water balloons off their deck,” says Hyatt Regency manager Ted Lindemann.  “They said they wouldn’t stop unless I could prove by symbolic logic that it was them that hit the family with the two toddlers.”

“So Wittgenstein walks into a bar with a duck and a rabbit . . .”

Competition between major cities for conventions is fierce, a fact that the philosophers have used to force concessions from exhibition hall operators who need a steady stream of business in order to turn a profit.  “We added pole dancing last year at the request of the aesthetic philosophers,” says Reed Morton, manager of Cleveland’s Lake Erie Pavilion.  “They kept the place open ’til two in the morning debating whether the presence of the pole caused the work of ‘Chakita’ to be inferior to that of a regular stripper.”

 

“She has bodacious ta-ta’s–but are they real?”

The only group in a position to curb philosophical excesses, according to Convention and Trade Show Monthly, is one that is nowhere to be found when the seekers after the true, the good and the beautiful are getting their crankcases oiled–their spouses.  “I’ve put up with it for about as long as I can stand,” says Muriel Hill, whose husband is a tenured professor at the University of Chicago.  “Every year he comes back with a monstrous hangover and some cock-and-bull story about how he left his manuscript in the overhead compartment on the plane,” she notes.  “Then he tries to buy me off with a bottle of cheap perfume and paperback edition of Descartes.”

Copyright 2007, Con Chapman

Gerbil News Network’s Privacy Policy

At Gerbil Interactive Media (”we”, “us” or “Gerbil”), we value the privacy of people like you (a “Member”, “you” or “you all” if you are a Member of NASCAR Lovers, one of many groups available on Gerbil). 

NASCAR fans:  “Sumbitch is bump draftin’ agin’.” 

The reason we value your privacy is because it’s valuable–we can sell it for a lot of money anytime we want!  This Privacy Policy (”this Policy”) describes the types of personal information we collect when you use our service (”Service”), whether you like it or not (”Tough Noogies”), as well as some of the steps we take to insure we never run out of quotation marks or parentheses (”Protective Measures”).

 

Our Founder

What This Policy Covers

This Policy covers what we do, not what other people or companies who are not under our control do.  We can barely control ourselves, especially when Lurleen the floater secretary is assigned to us.  If Lurleen were an apartment building in Honolulu, her deck would be referred to as a “lanai”.

Lurleen

Information We Collect About You

When you register with us, we collect information about your mother’s maiden name, how many men she had sex with before she was married, and the names of your pets in case you try to fraudulently redeem Gerbil Points and we have to send you a threatening email at work along the lines of ”If you ever want to see Fluffy alive again, you’d better reverse your bogus contribution of $20 in Gerbil Points to KMVU-FM, the official radio station of Missouri Valley University.”

“Thanks to our listeners for their support.  Our Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs Marathon is in its third day now . . .”

What We Do With It

We are tempted to say that it is none of your damn business what we do with your information but the people in legal tell us we can’t.  Frankly, we don’t give a rat’s patootie what the lawyers think.  All they ever do is stand around the potato salad at the company picnic and worry about salmonella, and they won’t let you take your beer into the outfield when you’re playing softball.

 

“There’s a line drive to left–it hits the Old Milwaukee can and is in there for extra bases!”

Access By Others

Once you register with Gerbil, you are not anonymous to users of our Service, such as our advertisers, who may obtain your credit card information, your social security number, the names of your favorite recording artists (including, without limitation, Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs) and any “flip” comments you made in response to the question “On Gerbil I’m Looking For–”.

Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs–back again.

What We Use the Information For

We use information about you to apply for credit cards and then take fun vacations, but only to locations in the continental U.S.  We agree not to charge you for first-class airfare without your express, prior written approval, which you consent to in advance when you agree to our “Terms of Service”.

Your no-good ex.

Information Sharing

We do not rent, sell or otherwise disseminate information about you to others, but we may share it with trusted partners like your no-good ex-husband who wants to know why he’s paying alimony when you’re flirting with guys in the “Tanning Salon Addicts” group.

 

“Look at the pasty-face nerds over in the ‘Light of Poetry’ group!”

Cookies

If you eat Cookies while using our Service, you may get crumbs in your keyboard, slowing your access to our Service and restricting your ability to squeeze between your desk and Lurleen’s unless you really suck in your gut, which isn’t going to fool her for a minute.

 

“Hey Lurleen–if you’re going on break soon I’ve got an extra Kit-Kat Bar I can give you.”

Changes to this Policy

We may update and change this Policy anytime and from time to time–time after time, I tell myself that I’m, so lucky to be loved by–sorry, we got carried away.  We will notify you promptly after making any such change, unless we deem it to be minor, insignificant, immaterial or we find out that you gave us a “1″ rating on any picture we post of Fritzi, our Schnauzer.

Copyright 2007, Con Chapman

Giant Squid Tied to BALCO Discharge

SAN FRANCISCO.  Marine biologists have determined that giant squid caught off the coast of California in recent months have fed on discharge from Bay Area Laboratory Co-operative, a sports nutrition center tied to steroid abuse among professional athletes.

“Look at the back acne on this one!”

“We performed autopsies on some of them, which is a good reason not to become a marine biologist,” said Paul Wolman, of the California Oceanic Institute.  “They were wearing a lot of bling and a few had eaten on-camera and print reporters who tried to interview them.”

“Ohmigod–it’s got Jon Miller in its mouth and is shaking him like a chew toy!”

Lifeguards report that humans have little to fear from the giant sea creatures, which can grow to a length of 13 feet in the case of females, and 10 feet in the case of males.  “You should stay clear of them, and try not to fall behind in the count,” said Dave Leftwich, who patrols the beach at Laguna del Vista Mar Rey, California.  “Don’t give them anything good to hit on the inside part of the plate.”

Blue Cheer and Iron Butterfly:  You had to be stoned to appreciate them.

The Bay Area Laboratory Co-operative, or “BALCO”, is located 17 miles south of San Francisco, and its proximity to that drug-tolerant city is cited as the link between the giant squid and illegal steroid use.  “These ten-foot creatures would slither into my store and ask if I had any Blue Cheer or Iron Butterfly albums,” says Seth White, owner of the Hot Wax Used Record Store in San Francisco.  “I would tell them to just drop their money on the counter–I didn’t want to touch the serrated sucker rings on their tentacles when I gave them their change.”

“A giant squid ate your kayak?  That like totally sucks!”

More than a few of the squid are expected to be in attendance when Barry Bonds breaks Hank Aaron’s home run in the days or weeks ahead.  “We know Barry from way back,” said one.  “By comparison to us, he’s really not that slimy.”

Copyright 2007, Con Chapman

Friday Night Cruisin’ on the Space Shuttle

News item: NASA allowed astronauts to fly drunk.  Associated Press

GROUND CONTROL:  Shuttle Commander, this is Houston, do you read me?

Van Morrison

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  You, my-y, Brown Eyed Girl.  Do you remember when . . .

GROUND CONTROL:  Shuttle Commander–

CO-PILOT:  The voices–why won’t the voices stop? 

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  Oh, Christ–it’s Cape Canaveral.  Hey guy–what’s going on?

GROUND CONTROL:  You’re supposed to use official terms like “Roger” or “Copy”.

CO-PILOT:  Who’s Roger?

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  The guy who’s always eating out of the Tang jar.

CO-PILOT:  Gross.

GROUND CONTROL:  We were recording some erratic flight movements so I thought I’d give you a call.

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  That’s awfully god-damned nice of you.

GROUND CONTROL:  You guys–uh–quit drinking last night when I told you to–right?

CO-PILOT:  Actually, we still had about half a bottle of gin left, and I figured we’d be gone for a long time and it might go bad.

GROUND CONTROL:  Gin doesn’t go bad.

CO-PILOT:  Oh, right.  It was the tonic.  There was about half a one-liter bottle left–we didn’t want it to go flat.

GROUND CONTROL:  All right.  What are you guys doing?

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  Now?

GROUND CONTROL:  Yes, now–when did you think I meant?

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:   Uh, we’re playing zero-gravity beer pong.

GROUND CONTROL:  What?

CO-PILOT:  Hair of the dog that bit you, man.

GROUND CONTROL:  You guys are nuts!

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  I know–it’s really hard when you’re weightless.

GROUND CONTROL:  Guys–I thought we had an understanding.

CO-PILOT:  Right.  We’re not allowed to drink in outer space unless we go up in the Space Shuttle first–for safety’s sake.

GROUND CONTROL:  That’s not how I remember it.  Anyway, you’re shut off.

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  Aw, c’mon!  I just cracked open a Miller High Life, the Champagne of Bottle Beers!

GROUND CONTROL:  How do you keep it from flying all around?

CO-PILOT:  Sippy-cups.  Hey–why don’t we do bar bets.  Each one we win, we get to have another round.

GROUND CONTROL:  Let me check my Shuttle Employee Manual.

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  It’s under the “Bottle-to-Throttle” rule at tab 7.

GROUND CONTROL:  You’re right–here it is.  Let’s see, astronauts are not allowed to drink within 12 hours of liftoff–

CO-PILOT:  We already broke that one.

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  See–we’re okay.  It doesn’t say anything about in-flight drinking.

GROUND CONTROL:  All right.  I guess there’s nothing I can do to stop you.  Fire away.

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  Who made the first three-point shot in NBA history?

Chris Ford

GROUND CONTROL:  Please–don’t insult my intelligence.  Chris Ford.

CO-PILOT:  My turn.  Have two National League teams ever played against each other in the same World Series?

GROUND CONTROL:  That’s impossible.  You’d have to have one from the American League–

CO-PILOT:  So your answer is?

GROUND CONTROL:  No.

Cardinals Bruce Sutter and Darrell Porter celebrate the last out of the ‘82 World Series against the Brewers.

CO-PILOT:  BAAAP!  You’re wrong.  1982–Cardinals versus Brewers.

GROUND CONTROL:  The Brewers were in the American League then–

CO-PILOT:  Another beer for both of us.

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  You got him that time. 

CO-PILOT:  I’m going to go get some chips.  You want anything?

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  I need to go to the bathroom but you can’t do that for me.

GROUND CONTROL:  Somebody’s got to stay on the flight deck at all times, okay?

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  Okay–one last question then I gotta take a leak.  Name the Jewish ballplayer with the highest season batting average in baseball history.

Hank Greenberg

GROUND CONTROL:  Uh–let’s see.  Hank Greenberg?

Rod Carew:  Mazel tov! 

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  Nope–Rod Carew.  .388 in 1977.

GROUND CONTROL:  Rod Carew isn’t Jewish, he’s, like Panamanian or something.

Sammy Davis, Jr.

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  He converted–like Sammy Davis, Jr.

GROUND CONTROL:  That’s a trick question.

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  No use crying over spilt beer.

CO-PILOT:  Hey, we’re out of chips.

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  Ground control, permission to change course requested.

GROUND CONTROL:  Why–where are you going?

SHUTTLE COMMANDER:  Phobos, one of Mars’ moons.  There’s a 7-11 there–we’ll bring you back a Slurpee.

Copyright 2007, Con Chapman

Top Vet: Couch-Humping Poodles Put Nation’s Furniture At Risk

WASHINGTON, D.C.  The U.S. Veterinarian General, the nation’s highest-ranking physician for animals, expressed concern today that sexually-frustrated poodles are putting the nation’s couches and reclining chairs at risk with aggressive humping that he said “destroys the very fabric of our nation, or at least the fabric on the legs of furniture.”

Edward Kessler, U.S. Veterinarian General:  “Frankly, they’re frustrated.”

“We are seeing a dramatic uptick in couch-humping by poodles in upper-middle class homes where the female of the household will not allow males to mate,” said Edward Kessler, a career public health official who testified before the Subcommittee on Domestic Animals and Household Furniture, which is under the aegis of the Senate Committee on Subjects That None of the Big-Deal Committees Want.

“I’m tired of doing tricks–I need a woman.”

French poodles were enormously popular during the 50’s and 60’s, inspiring the “poodle-skirt” craze.  Today the dogs satisfy unfulfilled feminine desires to dress up dolls or small children who have grown, and the resulting “feminization” of male poodles has been found to produce canine frustration as the dogs are kept indoors or chastened by cries of “bad dog” when they seek sexual satisfaction.

Poodle-skirt:  Cool!

Couch-humping is considered acceptable behavior in Europe, where both men and women expose more skin to view than is customary in the U.S.  “It is reely only in the puritancial US that un chien may not freely display his affection pour un divan,” notes Jacques Trintignant, French Minister of Anti-Americanism.  “In France, to love is to live.”

European swim suit:  How low can you go?

The U.S. Surgeon General, the public official responsible for human health, rarely ventures into questions of sexuality, although Dr. Joycelyn Elders, who held office during the first Clinton administration, created an uproar when she said that masturbation should be taught to young people in school in order to reduce venereal disease.  “I am shocked that she would say such a thing,” said James Corrigan, head of the Family First Foundation at the time.  “Kids should learn that kind of thing at home, the way they traditionally have.”

“No, Francois–that is what the Barcalounger is for!”

Couch-humping by poodles is uncommon among the lower classes, who view the dogs as effete, and also rare among wealthy families, who favor less neurotic breeds such as labrador and golden retrievers.  “There’s an old joke among dog breeders and wedding planners,” says kennel owner Marcia Lansdowne.  “How do you spot the bride at a WASP wedding?  She’s the one kissing the golden retriever.”

Copyright 2007, Con Chapman

Help–My Friends Are Making Me Fat!

A study released yesterday by the New England Journal of Medicine confirms that overeating, lack of exercise, genes, hormones and gamma rays from the THX 1138 spiral galaxy do not cause your weight problems.  Your friends do!

“Would you please cut it out?”

The study was described as “one of the most exciting I have seen in decades” by Richard Suzman, director of the National Institute on Aging’s Behavioral and Social Research Program and Hey As Long As You’re Up Could You Get Me A Dr. Pepper?  Which proves one thing: Richard Suzman does not have a very exciting life.

“Valerie made me eat the last donut.”

Still, the evidence is clear, and who are you to argue with a prestigious academic publication, you fat slob?  I mean, you sit there on the couch all day watching soap operas and stuffing your face with Cheezy Puff Balls, while famous scientists run experiments on white lab rats who sit on little couches eating brown pellets while watching the hamsters exercise. 

Servings per family-size container of Cheezy Puff Balls: 1.

Obesity is a growing problem, and the study points to the only effective way to fight it: Get your friends under control.  The Help–My Friends Are Making Me Fat! Hot Line is here to assist you.

Dear Help–My Friends Are Making Me Fat! Hotline:

Last night I went over to my friend’s house to play pinochle.  “Darlene” is overweight, to put it mildly.  When she walks down the street her big butt in them capri pants she wears looks like two hogs fighting under a sheet.  Hot Line–I do not want to end up like her, although I notice my jeans are getting a little snug in the hips lately.

Anyway, Darlene brings out a tray of her favorite snacks–Open-faced peanut butter and Marshmallow Fluff sandwiches sprinkled with M&M’s and potato chips.  I can send you the recipe if you want.

Accept no substitutes.

I had three of them little suckers and wanted to “hold the line” right there, but Darlene kept pushing me to take another, so I had six more.  Hot Line–is there a graceful way to decline a snack that your hostess pretty much forces you to eat even if you don’t really want to?

Wanda Jean Embree, Green Ridge MO

“Oh, Darlene–I couldn’t possibly eat more than a dozen or so!”

Dear Wanda Jean:

You must walk a fine line between sounding shirty and being downright obnoxious.  I would stay away from rejoinders that reflect poorly on your friend’s physique, like “Darlene, I do not want to end up looking like you!”, and try for something more subtle.  Instead, try something discreet like ”What with global warming and all I am trying not to keep from turning into a total sweat hog like some people I could mention.”

Potato skins

Dear HMFAMMF! Hot Line:

Settle a bet for me.  I know that potatos are fattening and all the vitamins are in the skin, so I try to curb my hunger by just gnawing on the outside and throwing the rest on our compost heap.  My friend “Ellen” says who wants to eat a bunch of potato skins unless they are drenched in melted cheese and topped with bacon and you have some sour cream on the side?  I believe that would defeat the purpose, but I am no nutritionist.  We have agreed to abide by your decision.

Joyce Ruzanski, Williamsville, New York

“Hmm-yucky yogurt?  Or chocolate cake?”

Dear Joyce:

Thankfully, you are both right!  People are less likely to stick to a diet that is unappetizing, and the fattening condiments that Ellen suggests do make potato skins more appealing.  So why not compromise by skipping the potato part and diving right into the cheese and sour cream?  You’ll be glad you did.

“More beer–and nachos!”

Dear Hot Line Reporter:

Have you ever heard of something called a “Happy Food Hour?”  It is like happy hour at a bar where you get two-for-the-price-of-one drinks except it’s for food.  I guess they outlawed the liquor kind.

Anyway, my friend who I will call “Tom” asked me to go to one and when I ordered a Nacho Supreme Plate for myself–like I always do to keep from getting drunk when I have 24 beers–they brought out two!  I do not like to make a glutton of myself, but on the other hand I was always taught that it is a sin to waste food when little kids in Africa or wherever have never even seen a nacho before. 

“I do not deserve this.”

I feel that “Tom” got me into this, and he should have to exercise to work off the weight I gained.  Any help you can give me would be appreciated.

Jim Van Buskirk, Waukegan, Wisconsin

 

Cosmic bowling.

Dear Jim:

I’m afraid that life is very unfair.  While our friends make us fat, we must do the sit-ups, push-ups or whatever it takes to get back into shape.  Why don’t you and “Tom” settle on a different routine for your social lives.  Instead of sitting on a bar stool watching sports while you stuff yourselves, try a night of “Cosmic Bowling”, where the healthful exercise and the distraction of flashing lights will help you keep your beer consumption under a case per person.

Copyright 2007, Con Chapman

With New Research, Pig Latin Teachers Are Focus of Classical Revival

HOLLYWOOD, Florida.  Ewell Norton has been a Latin teacher at Hollywood North High School here for over twenty years, but he’s never had to turn students away from his classes–until now.

 

“Parents are finding out that just one or two years of Latin can boost a kid’s college board scores by twenty to fifty points,” he notes.  “In the long run, that can mean the difference between a mindless minimum wage job and a life spent picking food out of dumpsters.”

“I found some shrimp tempura!”

The academic studies Norton is referring to indicate that the rigor of learning Latin, which provides the roots for many common English words, pays off in greater verbal competency.  Still, many school districts are taking a wait-and-see attitude before incurring the expense of new faculty and textbooks to bring back a dead language.  “We need to get new home football uniforms this fall, and new “away” jerseys next year, so we’re not going to hire another Latin teacher for awhile,” says Principal Morris Byrum, Norton’s boss.

 

First things first.

In the meantime, Hollywood North and schools like it around the country are getting by with a stopgap measure; classes in “pig” Latin, which they hope will serve as a less costly introduction to the language of Virgil, Cicero and the package for Pall Mall cigarettes, whose motto “In hoc signo vinces” was for years the only Latin that most high school students were exposed to.

 

“In hoc signo vinces.”  Translation:  “The Surgeon General is a big weenie.”

“Pig Latin is a valuable stepping stone to classical culture that can be implemented without boring textbooks or expensive, highly-trained instructors,” says Jonathan Paltrow of the National Association of Assistant Principals.  “All you really need are some spiral notebooks and Three Stooges DVD’s.”

 

Before 1957, knowledge of Pig Latin was virtually universal, and casual conversations in high school hallways were often spiced with phrases such as “Ets-lay ow-bla is-thay op-pay and-stay”, or “Let’s blow this pop stand.”  Then came Sputnik, the Russian satellite that caused American educators to shift their focus to more required science courses such as Physics, Chemistry, and Refrigerator Repair Shop in an effort to close the “knowledge gap”.

 

“Today we’re going to make an ice-cube tray out of a bar of Ivory Soap.”

Classical faculty were shunted from the front lines of secondary education to its backwaters, often reduced to running underground Toga Parties in order to attract students.

  

“Veni, vidi, parti!”

With the competition for admission to college expected to peak with the high school class of 2008, the children of the “baby boom echo”, Pig Latin instructors now find themselves as sought-after as volleyball coaches or driver’s ed instructors.  Charles Sender, an aging “juvenile delinquent” from the ’50’s who is fluent in Pig Latin, suddenly finds himself in demand.  “Ookie-kay, ookie-kay, end-lay ee-may our-yay omb-cay,” he recites before a packed classroom of fifty students, then calls on a student in the back row.

 

Ed “Kookie” Burnes

“Uh,” the young boy begins cautiously.  “Kookie, Kookie, lend me your comb?” the boy says with hesitation.

“Excellent,” says Sender, before digressing to teach the class a little history.  “Now tell me who this phrase refers to, and the television show in which he starred.” A girl in the front row shoots her hand up.  “Yes, Melinda?”

“It’s about Ed ‘Kookie’ Burns and the show was ‘77 Sunset Strip’,” she says confidently.

“That is correct,” says Sender, before turning to this reporter with a proud smile.  “Whenever somebody tells me teenagers today don’t know anything, I tell them ‘Come spend a day with my kids–you’re in for the shock of your life.’”

Copyright 2007, Con Chapman

Homeland Security: Exclamation Points Could Crash Internet

WASHINGTON, D.C.  The Department of Homeland Security today issued an advisory to internet users to avoid excessive use of exclamation points in email messages or risk a meltdown of the world-wide network that connects people by computers.

Chertoff:  “You don’t see me getting all exclamation-pointy in my emails.”

“We want to avoid extreme measures, but if we have to resort to exclamation point rationing in order to preserve our nation’s ability to communicate critical security information and dumb blonde jokes, we will,” said Michael Chertoff, Secretary of Homeland Security.

Yogurt-based tuna noodle casserole:  Yum!

Internet use has spiked upwards in recent years with reductions in the cost of connecting to the world wide web and the cancellation of Fox’s “So You Want to Be a Funeral Director?”, a late-night program that gripped the nation’s night-owls for the duration of its three-episode run.  Increased traffic has generated an upsurge in exclamation points in short-hand messages such as “Thanks everybody for the tuna noodle casserole recipes!!!  Duane my husband will appreciate them I’m sure LOL!!!!!”

J. Edgar Hoover:  “Get your hand off that computer mouse thingy and nobody gets hurt.”

Department of Defense officials say many users of the “LOL!!!” formulation do not actually laugh out loud, and thus the use of a punctuation mark for emphasis is unnecessary.  “Excessive exclamation point use clogs fiber-optic cables and slows transmission speeds for highly sensitive communications between federal agencies such as ‘I need your Final Four Sheets in my office before the tip-off of the play-in game between Murpheesboro State and University of Washington-Yakima begins at noon!’,” according to Chertoff, who was voted “Most Likely to Become a Government Official Who Will Scare the Bejesus Out of You” by his senior classmates at The Pingry School.

Not actually laughing out loud.

Technology experts have speculated in the past that the biggest threat to web-based communications would be an anti-satellite weapon that knocked out the infrastructure of the internet, but the exponential increase in the use of exclamation points in mundane messages is now seen as a more immediate concern.

Anti-satellite missile:  “I want to enter the On-Line Pepsi Challenge but my screen is frozen!”

“Our first reaction was that if we could get to the nation’s housewives through a program of public education we could control the problem,” said Chertoff, “but sports blogs and chat rooms have become just as much of a threat.  I counted fifty exclamation points in a single Barry Bonds post yesterday, and that was just about his earring.”

“Hey, Jack–you don’t like my earring you can shove it!”

The internet grew out of a packet-switching system developed by the Department of Defense known as the “ARPANET”, an acronym that stands for “Are you planning on attending karaoke party tonight?”  The first computer network to allow general communication between users of various computers, the ARPANET is sometimes blamed for the US’s slow start in the space race and the loss of North Dakota to Canada in a 1964 skirmish.  “Until Canada withdraws from occupied territory along our border,” said Chertoff, “we need to make internet use safe, legal and rare.”

Copyright 2007, Con Chapman

“Streetwalker for a Night” Events Forge Urban, Suburban Ties

CLEVELAND, Ohio.  Marci Obergson, a thirty-seven year-old mother of two young children, rarely ventures into Cleveland from her suburban home in Shaker Heights, Ohio, but she’s making an exception tonight.

 

“You got to advertise it, baby–you know what I’m sayin’?”

“I only come into the city for charity events,” she says with a smile as she applies a thicker layer of makeup than is her practice.  “I feel very strongly that those of us who’ve been fortunate have an obligation to give back to our communities.”

“I got so tired of the same old black tie affairs.”

But tonight’s event isn’t a charity ball or gala; instead, Marci will team up with a woman who identifies herself solely as “Chontelle” as part of a “Streetwalker for a Night” event that gives the city’s prostitutes a day off while raising funds for their support.

“I had a great time–buh bye!”

“If we’re not giving direct aid to society’s most vulnerable members, we’re not really doing our job,” says Ellen Levenson of the Women’s League of Downer’s Grove, Illinois, who is coordinating the nationwide event on what participants hope will be a clear summer night across the country.  “People don’t realize that most jobs in the sex industry come without dental benefits, and hot pants and platform heels aren’t cheap.”

“This is going to be such a hoot!”

For the women who get the night off, the program has been a godsend.  “Unlike people like you, we don’t get paid vacations,” Heidi Peters, a farm girl from Wisconsin who plies her trade on the streets of Chicago, tells this reporter.  “And the internet and life-size inflatable dolls are a growing threat to our bottom line.”

The program’s success is due in part to organizers’ determination to cut out the middleman.  “No proceeds will be paid to any pimp,” says Judy Walton, who will travel into Atlanta from her Ellenwood, Georgia home.  “They just go out and blow the money on vulgar fur coats that I wouldn’t buy on sale.”

As night falls, Cindi Ross of Needham, Massachusetts, gets a few last-minute tips from a woman whose nomme de street is “Cheyenne”.  “Yoo hoo!” Cindi calls to a passing motorist on the edge of Boston’s “Combat Zone” at the same polite volume she would use to greet a friend across the room at a garden club meeting.  “Naw, sweetie, you got to put your back into it,” Cheyenne explains, and as the next car approaches, she yells out “HEY BABY–YOU WANTA DATE?”  The driver, a middle-aged white male, pulls over and Cindi rushes up as he rolls down the window.

“Caitlin’s got an orthodontist appointment tomorrow, so she’s going to miss her U12 soccer game.”

“How much?” the man asks.  “It depends,” Cindi says as she checks her list of suggested prices.  “If you want to go all the way, you have to buy me dinner first at a nice restaurant, so it could be several hundred dollars.”  After some dickering, the “john”–prostitute slang for a customer–settles for a “Junior League Hand Job”, at $50 the lowest-priced item on the menu.  Cindi accepts the cash, then extends her arm into the car where she grasps the man’s hand firmly and begins to shake it.  “We’ve had a lovely time tonight–let’s not spoil it now.”

The customer is caught off guard and looks a bit disappointed, but he brightens up when Cindi hands him a receipt explaining that he is entitled to a charitable deduction for $45, since the actual value of the “service” was only $5.  “This will come in handy at tax time,” he says with a smile as he drives past a police car that uncharacteristically does not take off after him.  “We understand this is a special occasion,” Patrolman Liam Flaherty explains.  “The more money they raise for the girls, the bigger the payoff when we shake them down tomorrow night.”

The ur-suburban vehicle

As night falls, action picks up and Cindi notices a Toyota Highlander pull up to the curb down the block, where her friend Diane Perkins begins to negotiate with the driver over a “Mongolian Cartwheel”, a complicated series of sexual maneuvers that involves a yak and a movie theatre-size package of Hershey’s Strawberry Twizzlers.

Both are required.

Her eye is drawn to a familiar-looking bumper sticker, a rebus with a heart and a ball that translates as “I Love Needham Soccer”, and she realizes that the driver is her husband Kurt, a financial advisor for a local wealth management firm.

“Kurt?” she exclaims with a hurt tone in her voice as she approaches the car.  “Am I–do I not satisfy you?”

“Oh, come on, Cindi,” her husband says affably.  “It’s for a good cause.”

Copyright 2007, Con Chapman