Hello, folks! Bet many of you are deep in anticipation of that yearly sojourn, the Thanksgiving pilgrimage to someplace-you-wouldn't-go-otherwise. As a matter of fact, eight of our villagers have been traveling this week to just such places. Call it an early Turkey Day or just a turkey, but here's the news on our friends from the Grand Old Park-side of town.
CAIN'S IN EDEN
Local citizen, Cain--you know, the guy who always brings pizza to the church socials--has been out to the "Holy Land Experience" theme park doing what we call some cross-marketing. He was seen wearing his big, black Jesus ears, chanting the old club song--"JES-USC-HRIST"--and discussing the possibility of putting pizza joints in what he referred to as "The Gas Stations of the Cross". No word on any agreement from park officials. And while it was sad that he had to cut his earlier New Hampshire trip short, Mr. Cain did say that it turned out okay since after visiting the theme park he now knows where Israel is. He just hopes they don't ever get a nuclear weapon.
LOBSTER BALLS
Take a cast-off, thrown out, useless thing and re-invent it and what do you have? Newt, the town historian, heard that the University of Maine has come up with a way to make golf balls out of excess lobster shells. (Not excess for the lobster, just the industry.) The balls will be great assets to cruise lines and people who just cannot resist hitting one into the drink as they completely biodegrade in two weeks! And for those of you who know Newt, you know what a great thing rapid disintegration can be.
BAD BOW(e)LS
There is a chain restaurant that you will find roadside as you travel which serves what we'll refer to as a cautionary tale in gastronomy. This concoction is nearly monochromatic--and you know your mother told you to eat rainbows, people!--and consists of the following, all piled one atop the other: Mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, fried chicken, cheese, and bacon. We aren't suggesting that you partake of this dish, but it does remind us of our other six traveling friends from Grand Old Park. After all, who's more bland and creamy than Mr. Huntsman? As for the gravy, well, if you've ever Googled our friend Mr. Santorum... Then there's our Iowa girl-turned Cockeyed, Mrs. Bachmann. A perfect stand-in for the corn. We know you've already guessed the fried chicken: Our little birdman with his little pocket town charter always at the ready, Mr. Paul. And Mr. Perry, who's always running for something, but isn't as smooth as Potato Huntsman albeit just as corny as Kernel Bachmann, gets the honor of being the big cheese. That only leaves our "It's a Wonderful Life" version of Mr. Potter--Mr. Romney--as the bacon, because we all know how much of that stuff he rakes in. Oh, and the rumor that he's going to buy that Crystal Cathedral out in California--not true. That's going to the Catholic Church, not Bacon Romney. But the Cockeyed World isn't so far that you couldn't go visit the glass palace. It's only a stone's throw away. That would be a great place for reflection. Out of the glare of daily life. Clearly, pains would vanish. Just the image of it...
But alas, it is not our turn to venture. Stay safe in your travels and know that while you are gone we, the staff of the Cockeyed Gazette, will be here on the job, keeping you informed and inflamed.
No comments:
Post a Comment