Bye Dandy

ASK IGOR (DON'T BRING UP THE HUMP)

Igor is a friend of mine. He fancies himself a doctor. When I was publishing Angus Magazine out of my hovel here in Mattawa, I employed Igor as a Medical Consultant. People wrote in. Igor answered. Then things became complicated.

HE'S BAAAACCCKKKKKK! YAY! Bangus Foreign Affairs Desk - Major headlines from around the world of Bangus.

HE'S BACK. IT WAS A FALSE ALARM.

Where: Asia 

What: N. Koreans Prepare Killer Joke 

Rising tensions on the Korean Peninsula have led the North Korean government in Pyongyang to develop a killer joke. With secret assistance from comedian and communist sympathizer John Cleese, they have developed a joke so powerful it can kill an American at 500 metres distance. Recent intelligence reports say that U.S. spies “nearly shit themselves” before even hearing the punchline. 

Where: Hollywood 

Mel Gibson develops weight loss routine 

Embattled actor-director Mel Gibson has tried to soften his image by developing a new weight loss routine. Leaked reports say the routine is as follows. “Get up around 6 am, punch the bag around for a while. Then she gets up and peels a grapefruit” 

Where: Atlantic Ocean 

What: Lonely Hearts in Newfoundland 

A lonely young man in Newfoundland has approached the Bangus Foreign Affairs Desk for help in finding a girlfriend. Bangus was only too happy to oblige: “Wanted – scaly greasy, slimy girl with big bulging eyes, nice fins, strong gils and a good swimmer.” 

Where:Venezuela  

What: Chavez severs ties with God

Venezuela has formally severed ties with God. Hugo Chavez president of Venezuela cited God’s refusal to sanctify the socialist nation’s revolution through miracles and wonders. Particularly in dispute was the Supreme Being’s refusal to miraculously shrink the size of Chavez’ prodigious belly. Although God has no embassy in Caracas it has been suggested that Fidel Castro act on Venezuela’s behalf when he visits Heaven permanently in the upcoming months.  

BANGUS JUNK MAIL

Dear Mr Pecore:
I have only recently come to discover BANGUS ONLINE,  and would just like to say that the columns are certainly shabbily written at best, and often quite offensive. You are squandering a great opportunity to reach out to the world and make a positive statement as I no longer think that the internet is a crazy fad like Prince. Now, I realize that humour is quite subjective so I did ask others to read your column as well and we have all essentially come to the same conclusion. It’s infantile, cynical and jaded. And what has happened to proper punctuation? Now, I know you will make fun of this input, but since you espouse freedom of speech, I am simply exercising mine. I will continue to read, not out of interest, but more out of a sense of dismay and profound disappointment. Now, there is some homemade turkey soup for you at home that you can pick up. You need to eat healthier. Your father bought a new second hand snow blower from the neighbour that won’t start. He’s quite upset, understandably so. You really should call more often.
Love Mom

Hey Kevin
Something’s come up. Can I crash at your place for the next few years? Just till things cool down. I can help your son with his slice and I can vacuum and shovel the driveway and whatever y’all need. I know you have a basement because I can see it from the street. I’m the one parked in your driveway. I have six chicks with me, but they’re light eaters and can sleep in the van. I’m down to about nine hundred bucks but it’s yours if you can help me out.
Your friend,
Tiger

Dear Kevin - I recently watched Stanley Kubrick’s Dr Strangelove and remembered a conversation we had a few years ago about this movie. I hadn’t seen it at the time but told you that if Peter Sellers was in it, I probably wouldn’t like it. Then you hit me in the neck three times and suckered me once in the kidney area. And then you stormed out of the wedding. For the life of me I can’t remember who was getting married. We were in Owen Sound I think. Anyway, I’m not sure if your remember this or not, but I Googled you and found you writing for Bay Today. Your columns are inane but in a mind-numbing way, so I have been reading them and printing them out for the people on the base. I felt obligated to contact you to take back what I said about Dr Stangelove - Peter Sellers is a genius in it.
Lt. Col. James ‘Coconut’ Jones 


Hey jerk face - you were the only guy in this country to stick up for me when that CBC radio thing went viral. That whole interview was a setup. Damn that Jian Ghomeshi. I don’t trust anyone that wears fancy scarves. Anyway, much obliged. My agent, Mississippi Gary, found your contact info on the web. I read some of your stuff. Not my kind of thing. Mark Twain was a true Southern gentleman. You just write real bad. I’m sending you a copy of Bad Santa as a token of my appreciation.
Billy Bob Thorton

Dear Mizter Pekore - my husband is in hiding right now as he has been accused of being a terrorist. He said some things to the wrong people after drinking a jug of chokecherry wine before a funeral. He asked me to touch base with you to see if you know of any good civil liberty lawyers. My husband says that he thinks you’re trustworthy, but a little off kilter. Please reply to this email as soon as possible as my husband is in poor spirits.
Rosa Yanz

BANGUS FOREIGN AFFAIRS CORRESPONDENT REPORTED MISSING

MISSING - BANGUS ONLINE'S FOREIGN AFFAIRS CORRESPONDENT. IF YOU SEE HIM, APPROACH WITH CAUTION - OR NOT - IT'S YOUR CALL. IF YOU HAVE HIM IN A CAGE IN THE BASEMENT, PLEASE BE NICE TO HIM AND RETURN AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. WE HAVE A FED-EX ACCOUNT. E-MAIL FOR SHIPPING DETAILS.CHRIS, IF YOU ARE READING THIS, PLEASE DON'T GO SEE INCEPTION. IT'S QUITE LONG. BUT ELLEN PAGE IS VERY GOOD. DICAPRIO IS OKAY, BUT LIKE I SAID, IT IS QUITE LONG AND CONFUSING, BUT GOD FORBID I TELL YOU WHAT TO SPEND YOUR HARD EARNED MONEY ON.

Iggy Pop and Mystic Fire’s Big Book of Mystic Secrets & Wizard Stuff with Unicorns

“What worries me is the professionalism of everything.” Irvine Welsh

Hey. I wrote this remarkable column the other day. It was brilliant - a real work of literature - 1,200 words of literary gold. I swear this thing had everything: flowing sentences, eight metaphors, romance, references to Sammy Davis Jr., and I think there was something about the Canadian Rockies. It was fabulous, and would have surely won me some type of major award and possibly a mention on CBC’s Morning North with host Marcus Schwabe. (I’m not sure if I spelled his name correctly as I no longer Google things.) The column, well, once published, I’m reasonably sure there may have even been a parade for me, like the recent Shriner shindig, except it would be me sitting on the back of a pickup waving a sword around like a menace. But, I deleted it. Gone. Poof. I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it. So I ripped this one out instead, which is neither brilliant nor does it make any reference to the Canadian Rockies. I still may end up waving a sword around, mind you - just to see what happens...

Words and rhythm. Music and writing. Music is tattooed way deep down into my genetic makeup. Jazz. Blues. Appalachian Mountain. Zydeco. Funk and soul. It’s all way down there in that sub-cellular level where things tend to get pretty weird. The music gene or “Django Gene XX14” makes my crazy DNA ladder rumble around. I need music every day, like caffeine, Judge Judy, and Nexium. I have cds stacked all over my downstairs office. Towers of them. I lose them. I give them away. I write music. Play music. Lend, borrow and steal music. I tend to over-think things and get too hung up in the mundane if I find myself in total silence. Music propels me, like a shove from a bully.

Words and rhythm. Music and writing. Right now it’s Sunday morning somewhere. Through headphones, Iggy Pop is slagging through Lust for Life, which works just fine for me. The song featured prominently in the success of Train Spotting; an adaptation of Irvine Welshs’ ragged and hazardous first novel of the same name. I’ll be going off on Irvine in a future column.

Okay, so Iggy’s still howling about Johnny Yen. Iggy’s a dangerous cat, provoking me to WRITE IN UPPERCASE, TO RUN OUT INTO THE STREET AND PUSH OVER A TRASH CAN OR COMANDEER A LITTLE RASCAL SCOOTER AND DRIVE IT INTO A TREE.
So, here’s the deal for this week’s column- guaranteed to interest a precious few - I’m going to cue up random songs from my computer then just write whatever comes to mind. No edits. No worries. No inner voices. And in the immortal words of Methuselah: If you know the words feel free to sing along!

Spontaneous Writing Experiment #1 -Iggy Pop and the Stooges- Raw Power

Last night there was a bit of a cold snap. Today it’s high noon and my beloved city has fully descended into a bleak state of absolute chaos, having nothing to do with last night’s cold snap. Today is all about blind madness in epidemic proportions. A plague of instant insanity. Out from the opened window I look down on street level. Mr. Knoph is in a blue bathrobe running down the middle of the street, screaming and shaking one bony fist at the darkening sky, while trying to keep his robe closed with his other hand. Across from my 2nd floor apartment, 930 McIntyre is on fire. I listen to glass breaking. Pops and cracks. It’s the largest house on the 200 block. A bloated McMansion owned by an Air Canada pilot with a biting pill habit. His wife, Marlene, is trying to extinguish the inferno with a kinked garden hose. I light a cigarette with the dented Zippo Mrs. Henderson gave to me after her son Henry was imprisoned for arson. She told me Henry’s Zippo would only bring back bad memories. Fire is the great equalizer. And Armageddon. And ponzi schemes. A police cruiser speeds past, almost running down Mr. Knoph, who although is still shaking his fist at the heavens, has since stopped screaming. He has also evidently given up trying to keep his robe closed. A sonic boom rattles my walls. The cruiser rams a 50 Cab broadside. Objects are now dropping from the sky. I crank my neck and look up. I squint. The sky is now full of colour and crazy shapes. Random things raining down: a green desk lamp and bent lightning rods, a white sectional sofa and a few English saddles, a roasted chicken bounces off the Camry parked by the curb - the one with the canoe strapped to the roof with frayed bungee cords, some plastic dolls, a gazebo, globe and four gazelles, and various types of both brass and woodwind instruments. Old Testaments, New Testaments and basketballs. Canadian Tire flyers. I see Mr. Knoph. I sniff. This morning I woke up with a fever. I was out last night at 100 Georges drinking with a stranger who told me about his habit of twisting the truth when it came down to the crunch. I’m thinking that I should probably yell down a warning to Mr. Knoph when he’s crushed by a plummeting John Deere riding lawnmower. I sneeze and sniff and go back to bed. Maybe I’ll feel better after some more sleep.

Baffled Buffoon Beaten Beautifully By Brilliant Banana Balloon Boy

“Albert Einstein was a ladies' man.While he was working on his universal plan, he was making out like Charlie Sheen. He was a genius.” Warren Zevon

I spend the majority of my time inside my brain. It’s my working office. Thinking. Plotting. Scheming. In my brain I keep my shoes on all the time and leave the toilet seat up when I hit the can. There’s room for my green recliner with the ass groove, a small fridge, my Fender Telecaster with Cyber Twin amplifier, my three-legged bookcase that once belonged to Pierre Trudeau’s neighbour, “Marvellous Wayne” Tubsoch, my Boomtown Rats records, and even the tiny herd of those freakishly small miniature ponies. Inside my brain nothing grows, hopefully, so nothing ever needs trimming. Most of the time my brain travels with me wherever I go; there is no need for any kind of wireless technology. My internet is not on a stick. My internet is a complicated mess of neurons and strands of grey matter that’s fairly dependable considering the haphazard wiring. No monthly fees.

There’s a heavy steel door designed to withstand a million megaton nuclear blast. Or just a good old fashioned carpet bombing. Perfectly balanced, the door pivots smoothly with a delicate touch of a single digit. Most of the time it’s kept slightly ajar, just for airflow. Sometimes I’ll close it when people try to sell me heavily discounted natural gas, or some type of quasi-religion literature.

Bangus Book of the Day

Precious memories from a man-child and his deer:

When I was just a young man-child with little concept of the world around me I had a beautiful deer that I raised from a fawn. His name was Tommy Shanks and he loved me and I loved him. We grew up together in a colossal sweatshop on the far side of Trout Lake. We were orphans, see, and we were sold into a forced-labor camp to make leather slippers and maple syrup, but it wasn’t bad as The Fifth Estate would have you believe. At least not for me because I had my best friend, Tommy Shanks, as company. Me and Tommy spent twenty-one years on that labour farm churning out thousands of quality beaded slippers and later, designer handbags. To be honest, I’d be the one doing most of the intricate needle work because Tommy was a deer and struggled sewing with his clumsy hoofs. It was a cool morning in October the last time I saw Tommy Shanks, my friend and confidant. He told me he was tired of the exploitation and was going to make a break for it. He said he was going to try his hand (hoof) at acting. We embraced then he jumped the fence to greet his new life. I sure hope things worked out well for him. I loved that deer.”

Let's talk about Clockwork Orange for a minute - just between friends

I like oranges. I like orange juice, too. Bananas? No. They’re too urban for me. They have this attitude that I don’t care much for. I like oranges. There’s no oranges in this book which is fine with me. Just because someone likes oranges doesn’t mean the topic of oranges would make for an interesting book and it would sell poorly unless it was written by Stephen King or that guy who’s always writing about submarines and espionage.

I remember first reading A Clockwork Orange, first published in 1962 by Anthony Burgess, when I was a kid growing up on the tough streets of the crime-infested industrial town of Kenmore By The Danmore just east of Prince Williams Valley Gorge, BC. Now, I’ve long since lost the book so this whole thing is going down by memory. The protagonist, Alex is a wise-ass psychopathic teenage hooligan (are there any other kind?) He leads a mindless pack of no-goods going from one crime spree to the next, skipping school and everything! There’s some serious debauchery and violence. Alex and his lads beat on bums and commit some pretty
atrocious acts. The language of the book and the Kubric directed movie is Nadstat. Burgess invented it to make the characters seem more psychotic.

According to Burgess, Nadstat is constructed from “old Cockney school boy talk, English, Russian, and bits of Communist subliminal penetration.” Naturally, things get out of hand. Little Alex is sent away for murder. In prison, he is transformed into a model citizen through this controversial Ludivico treatment. He is forcibly restrained and then conditioned to become sick whenever entertaining thoughts or witnessing acts of violence. They make him watch a ‘viddy’ compilation of some ‘nastiness’. But can this state-sponsored psychological rehabilitation program actually work? Can morality and a sense of what is right and wrong be forced down your gullet or guttiwut? Is the ability to choose between good and evil, in fact a human right? Or is it a mere privilege? Oh, and what's up with Mel Gibson? He sound's like a dick.

Here’s how it begins: (this is from memory so I may be off and if I am and you take the effort to notice my mistakes and e-mail them in to Bngus Online,we’ll that’s spooky)

“What’s it going to be then, eh?”
There was me, that is Alex, and my three droogs, that is Pete, Georgie, and Dim, Dim being really Dim, and we sat in the Korova Milkbar making up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening, a flip dark chill winter bastard though dry...

As I have no idea what the hell I did with my copy,I can’t find out word for word how it ends, but suffice it to say, it’s not good. I think it has something to do with recidivism.

Augustana in Julyana

The Dancing Man from Buffalo, For the Love of the Korn God, and the Lost Keys to the Hippie Bus

I recently met a guy from Buffalo. I didn't go out of my way to meet him nor was it a mysterious case of Providence. I just met him. Briefly - while at a Counting Crows concert - one of only two Canadian dates for their Traveling Circus and Medicine show. When you willingly join a temporary community of a few thousand people in a designated space you are bound by the laws of sociability to interact with someone in some form, yet interaction in general is not something I excel at - especially with strangers. I'm just hardwired that way and am now too set in my ways to try and modify this quirk. Small talk for me is excruciating. I can never come up with anything interesting to say. I just babble. I truly become seriously bent when it comes to talking to strangers - especially when it's strictly enforced. But, there it is, and here we are and there go you and I. So, I met this guy from Buffalo. Recently. So did my wife. He was sitting directly in front of us. He turned, introduced himself and just began talking. I think anyone who has ever gone to see a concert has met this same guy. He wears a concert shirt of the band he's seeing. He's hopelessly drunk and has an attractive girlfriend who looks like she's just trying to placate him by feigning her enthusiasm for his favourite band. Once the band hits the stage, he immediately stands and starts to dance. He 'whoops and hollers' in the section where people are perfectly happy to remain seated, unless prompted by the band to do otherwise. He tries to make small talk with everyone around him, who can't hear anything he's going on about, nor particularly care, but he keeps talking anyway. He phones someone on his cell and holds up the phone to subject the person on the other end to a heavily distorted mess of sonic drivel. I've seen this same guy at the following shows in no particular chronological order: Bob Dylan (times fifteen), Tom Petty, Grateful Dead, Joni Mitchell, Crosby Stills Nash, Neil Young (times three), Steve Earle (times three) , Pink Floyd (times three) , Rolling Stones (times three) , KISS (times four) , Iron Maiden (times two), David Bowie, Alice Cooper, Motorhead, Stompin' Tom, Robert Plant, Mark Knopfler, KoKo Taylor, Eric Clapton, Ronnie Wood, Bo Diddley, David Lee Roth, Spearhead, Blue Rodeo, Stevie Ray Vaughn, and even the Hot Club of Cow Town. It's the same guy being a dick and a total distraction. But, like Dr. Thompson once wrote - when you buy the ticket, you must take the ride.

Bangus Book of the Day

The World Out There - Bangus Foreign Affairs by noted Scorpio Thief Chris Rees

Where: USA

What : HIDEOUS MONSTER TERRORIZES HOLLYWOOD

A hideous monster has been sighted terrorizing the resident of Hollywood, California. The movie-making town has suffered repeated nightly attacks by a deranged monster known to hang innocent lingerie from chandeliers and smash champagne bottles several at a time. The creature is described as blond, spotty and not very talented. Lindsay Lohan’s publicist was unavailable for comment.

Where: CANADA

What: NEWFOUNDLAND ECONOMY GRINDS TO A HALT

Another victim of the “great recession” seems to be the economy of Newfoundland. Residents there are so hopeless of a recovery that many have even stopped collecting their unemployment premiums. “Why should I?” said St. John’s resident Percy Rogers. “The government should pay me to collect it.”

Where: ENGLAND

What: MASTER BURGLAR FINALLY CAUGHT

A master burglar who has been robbing residents nightly in London, England has finally been caught. The police say they had been trying in vain to catch the perp until they realized his secret: he was a midget! The 3’5” thief had not left footprints because his arse was so low it touched the ground. Police finally caught him by dusting for finger prints along the baseboards.

Where: AFRICA

What: ZIMBABWE LEADER PROMISES SOFTER APPROACH

Zimbabwe strongman Robert Mugabe has promised a “kinder, gentler” approach to government in future, he said. He told Bangus Online that starting in September 2010, suspected traitors and rebels will no longer be shot or tortured. There was no mention of an alternative punishment although it has been noted that DVD’s of all three seasons of “Veronica's Closet” had recently been flown to the capital city, Harare.

Where: KOREA

What: CIRCUS DOGS ON STRIKE

Dogs in the circus in Pyongyang, North Korea have ended their 2-day old strike. The dogs had been striking for higher pay and better working conditions. Circus leaders there had refused to budge. The dogs finally gave in after being told that if the strike continued they would be given alternative assignments in the restaurant business.

Woman scores fake lake and jet ski at post-G20 flea market

MYSTERIOUS WEATHER PATTERN HOVERS OVER TORONTO’S DOWNTOWN CORE PUZZLING SOME BUT NOT MANY - Meteorologists admit to being stumped and indifferent!

BANGUS / TORONTO, ON—What local meteorologist are terming the “weirdest looking supercell” ever witnessed, has parked itself over downtown Toronto and refuses to budge.

“It’s become a bit of a tourist thing now, which is a Godsend,” says famous Toronto resident, Prince. The cloud formed shortly after June 15th and has remained hunkered down as if attached to the CN Tower and Sky Dome like a colossal advertisement. People are confused. People are frightened.

“It’s a sign of the approaching apocalypse,” is one notion shared by a squeegee kid, while other’s see the large cloud cover as a divine sign. What people do agree on is the eerie resemblance to Canadian Folkette legend, Joni Mitchell. When contacted by Bangus, representatives declined to comment outright but did state that any resemblance between this supercell cloud formation blanketing Toronto and their client is purely coincidental.

NORTH BAY HIRES 80’S METAL SINGER TO TACKLE NUISANCE BEARS

BANGUS ONLINE / NORTH BAY–In a seemingly desperate lastditch effort to deal with the high number of nuisance bears that has held the Nipissing area captive for the past three summers, Bangus Online has learned that North Bay Council has approved the hiring of Tom Keifer—lead singer of 80’s glam Metal Band “Cinderella”. Keifer, originally from Philadelphia PA, who has penned such notable metal anthems as ‘Push, Push, Push’ and ‘Nobody’s Fool’ is known for his loose morals, pasty complexion, love of flowing satin shirts and brash vocal stylings but the city is banking on the notion that through his masterful metal baladeering, Keifer, now living in a shelter in North Hollywood, will be able to lure all bears to an open field where they will be sedated, ridiculed for a short time, poked with large sticks then eventually crated up and relocated to Kirkland Lake or possibly Swisha, Quebec.

A sweaty looking spokesman for the city, who wishes to remain anonymous, claims to have been the one to have come up with the idea after viewing the children’s video ‘Pied Piper’ and then footage from the Moscow Music Peace Festival held August 12th 1989 where Cinderella performed a tight bluesy set sandwiched between Skid Row and Bon Jovi. “I was sitting in my mom’s basement watching some old videos and drinking quite heavily. I mean, I was really liquored-up. Then, after Pied Piper I found the Moscow Music Peace Festival tape under a stack of Whose The Boss? episodes. The mother, uh Mona, was hot. I never knew why Tony didn’t chase her instead of that prude. Mona was the wild one. Oh yeah, okay, so I remember taping the Peace Festival from MTV. Right away I noticed the awesome power Tom Keifer had over the audience and there was at least eight million people there and I figured, hey, maybe he can do something with our bear problem, you know? He had everyone eating from the palm of his hand. It was really something to see. The only other performer, I think, to have the same kind of power was Gino Vanelli or maybe Cory Hart. But this Keifer guy? Unbelievable.”

Keifer originally asked for 2.6 hundred dollars for a three month contract, plus travel and living expenses.
After eleventh-hour negotiations, his agent, Smelly Theo accepted on Mr. Keifer’s behalf but for the reduced negotiated fee of 1.3 hundred dollars plus a voucher for a spaghetti dinner at a local place of worship upon completion of contact.

During a phone call, Bangus asked Smelly Theo, whether Mr Keifer has had any experience with black
bears. He responded by humming a few bars of ‘Gypsy Road’. After further prodding, Mr. Theo did admit that his client has “little to no” experience dealing with bears and can barely bathe himself, but he is confident that this scheme is so crazy it “just might work.” Looking for confirmation, Bangus contacted fellow councilman Donald Kruthers, who wished to remain anonymous to confirm the rock & roll black bear deal.

“Yeah. It was either this Keifer fella or Leonard Cohen,” stated Kruthers. “It is my understanding that Mr.
Cohen wanted three hundred cartons of cigarettes and nine quartz of red wine. So, I guess North Bay is
lucky to have gotten Mr. Keifer at such a savings which of course we can pass on the the taxpayers in some
intangible and ambiguous way that could not hold up under any scrutiny."

Asked if he is familiar with the vocal stylings of Mr. Keifer, Kruthers stated: “I’m more of an BTO guy. TCB? C’mon, man. Now, that’s real rock! And don’t get me going on Davey Jones.”

Smelly Theo assured North Bay that they have made a sound decision in the hiring of his client. He admits to not knowing where North Bay is but states that he knew a treeplanter from Kelowna, BC and figured that it was probably not far from there. Keifer will be packaged up in the large cardboard box that he has been living in since 1997 and will be layered in bubble wrap that Smelly Theo collected from the alley in
Hollywood. He will be sent via Express Post.

“I’ll have him there by nine a.m. Wednesday, August 21st Guaranteed! Then he’ll sing his ass off and take care of them bears for good.”

THE PAINFUL TRUTH ABOUT CLINICAL BOVINE DEPRESSION

BY TONY WELSH  -  BANGUS ONLINE

Colloquially termed by psycho-social veterinarians as ‘SAD’ cow disease, Clinical Bovine Depression is slowly emerging from the dark shadows of the back pastures and rock piles of farms across Canada and the US. Recent studies indicate that Clinical Bovine Depression (CBD) accounts for the skyrocketing number of cows leaving the security of the farm for a life on the cold and unforgiving streets of major urban centers. On a freezing night in Edmonton, Sheila St. Claire bundles up and pulls her toque down tight. From a makeshift table erected in front of a long-since-closed adult cinema, St. Claire, a certified bovine outreach worker dishes out generous portions of steaming, pre-chewed cud-gruel to a distressed looking heifer. Sheila waves at a cow she hasn’t seen in days. “They’re leaving behind a life of despair, confusion and sadness. They’re running from themselves. But they carry their burdens with them and now what’s happening is that the major downtown centers are being overrun with cows afflicted with CBD. This is why it’s so hard to for anyone to get into the shelters on any given night—they’re full of SAD cows. Plus you can’t get many of them in a single shelter. Another complicating factor is that aside from Mary and Joseph of Nazareth, there aren’t many people who want to share their space with any kind of animal, let alone maladjusted, clinically depressed cattle. They’re just too unpredictable and make for poor conversationalists.”

The World Out There from the Tangled Mind of Bangus' Chief Foreign Affairs Correspondent

WHERE: GRANDE RONDE OREGONGrande Ronde Oregon

WHAT: DEATH AND $2.99 PRIME RIB

A 67 year old man died of a heart attack while playing slots at the Spirit Mountain casino. While his body lay right there on the floor of the casino the other customers continued to play the slot machines. 65 year old gambler Tina May said: “I couldn’t come to help him as I was feeling lucky that night.” Spirit Mountain Casino is open 24/7 and offers free sandwiches as well as coffee to visitors. Come join the fun at Oregon’s best Casino!

WHERE: GLENDALE CALIFORNIA

WHAT: MICHAEL JACKSON COMEBACK

Undertakers at Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Glendale, California say they believe Michael Jackson will be making a comeback this year. Judging by the late superstars’ burial about one year ago, experts believe the singer has about three feet to go.

WHERE: BEIJING, CHINA

WHAT: BULL IN CHINA SHOP SPARKS UPROAR

A bull in Fong’s china shop located in Beijing, China sparked an uproar when he suggested that Mao Zedong was a stupid arse. Customers at the shop were shocked and a spirited argument ensued resulting in a tranquilizer dart from police to bring the argumentative bull down. This is the second time Fong’s shop has seen an altercation. Yesterday over 50,000 in damages were racked up by a Greek wedding party.

WHERE: AFGHANISTAN

WHAT: TO GET NEW SEWER SYSTEM

War-torn Afghanistan is expected to get a new sewer system sometime in the next 12 months. The existing system, stretching from downtown Kabul to downtown Kabul is in bad need of repair and local residents had been complaining about the stench.

WHO:WAYNE ROONEY

WHAT: VOTED UGLIEST FOOTBALLER

England soccer star Wayne Rooney was voted the ugliest soccer player of the South Africa world cup. The trophy will go alongside his 2006 trophy for worst drunk and his 2007 award for smelliest armpits. Rooney has yet to clinch the award for wife-beating but says he will get in better shape for the 2010-2011 season.

OPEN YOUR MOUTH! WIDER! STOP RESISTING!

“Do you have crack cocaine in your mouth, sir?”

“Uh, no.”

“Please open your mouth.”

“Okay.”

“Wider.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I can't really open up any wider.”

“Stick your tongue out.”

“Ahhh.”

“Wider.”

“What?”

“I said stop resisting!”

“Huh?”

“Open up your mouth!”

“I am!”

“Wider!! Quit resisting.”

“I'm not.”

“I will ask you one more time: Do you have crack cocaine in your mouth?”

“No.”

“Open your mouth?”

“Okay.”

“Open wider!”

“I can't unless you want me to dislocate my jaw.”

“Stop resisting. Open your mouth.”

“Ahhhhh.”

“Okay, that's fine. Have a nice day sir and please replace that license plate bulb as soon as you can.”