Summer 2000 Edition
Mutants breed at alarming rate
By Rockefeller Stone, world reports
Confirming the fears of scientists and census-takers, the population of mutated Panoland immigrants has grown exponentially since they began to appear in January. Worse, these freaks have begun to interbreed with the local indigenous population of Crooked Corners. In 20 years or so, it will be difficult to determine just who is a freak and who isn't.
"There's a fine line between mutated and just plain genetically (expletive deleted) up," claimed Professor James J. Gramlich of Crooked Corners University. He then found himself sanctioned by the college board of regents for his foul mouth.
Last year, reckless nuclear testing deep in the jungles of Panoland prompted a mass migration of peoples from the rural regions of that conservative nation to its cities. The urban dwellers, horrified by the yokel foolishness of their countrymen (and subsequently infected with radiation), escaped and moved to this once small town to take advantage of the open space and feed on the plentiful potatoes.
The impact on the local economy has been positive, but some original residents bemoan the loss of their small-town ways. "I used to be able to walk down the street with my head held high in pride," said Ronald Flint, a local entrepreneur and dealer of stereos. "Now I'm embarrassed to call Crooked Corners my home. It's horrible. Just horrible." Last month, Flint's daughter Rita eloped with a Panolandian.
White Trash Mart spokeswoman Ginger Rockwell has noticed a change in her customer base. "Our usual shoppers are ordering stuff off the Internet, and only the freaks spend their money here." She added, "We're making bank, but ain't nobody normal."
According to Gramlich in his supplemental written report, "Crooked Corners was once a distinctive stop-off along a major thoroughfare. It is rapidly changing into a polymorphological society of crude stereotypes and retarded lobster children."
The Internet has contributed to the problem. "As ephemeral electronic bits stored in a netherworld of unknowable technology become accessible only to those who can afford to access them, once charming places such as Crooked Corners become havens for high-haired albinos. The wealthy exist on thin air and Evian water while corporate greed emaciates and poverty rots the corpse of once vital towns such as ours."
"I don't even know what that means," exclaimed a bewildered Flint. "All I know is mutants smell and I don't like 'em."
There is hope. The life span of most mutated Panolandians is relatively short.
Case dropped after pudgy defendant's death
By Henrietta Potstocker, geriatric ho for the man
Gus Johnson's dancing days are over before they ever began.
In a widely publicized lawsuit against Seedies, a local strip joint, the ample-girthed Johnson strove to prove that he had fallen victim to discrimination when the owners refused to hire him as an exotic dancer.
Compelled by the court to demonstrate his burlesque acumen, Johnson began to gyrate wildly and strip off his polyester sport coat when the heart attack occurred.
"It wasn't so much a heart attack as a myocardial infarction," doctors later clarified.
Babs Mayfield, Johnson's attorney, claims that stress, coupled with a breakfast of curly fries, caused her client's untimely demise.
With Johnson dead, Mayfield plans to recoup her lawyer fees through vigilant litigation. "A certain fast food restaurant should expect a subpoena," she said.
Mayor's Ghost Oversees Meadow Estates Opening
By Liza Rowls, beat reporter
Leonard Marx may not be the most living politician or even the most pleasant-smelling, but he still stays busy. Between haunting his old mansion on the hill and playing parcheesi with Mephistopheles, the crotchety assassination victim still finds time for public appearances. His latest: cutting the ribbon at the opening ceremony for Meadow Estates.
"I always like to support exploitation of the land for profit's sake," the deceased miser said in a séance-induced interview. Psychic futurist and spirit guide Fortune Florence channeled Marx recently by turning the lights low and sinking into a deep trance.
"As former mayor, I wholeheartedly applaud commercial development on otherwise worthless property," Marx continued, his voice screechy and weird. Suddenly the wind blew through the window, the candle went out, and Ms. Florence awoke as herself.
The ribbon-cutting took place at midnight under a full moon. No one is known to have attended. A rabbit was seen nearby the next day, but it was promptly shot.
Local child finds unwanted cheese
By Sinclair Growden, special reports
An unnamed minor of the female gender discovered a slice of gelatinous dairy product placed between the bread and meat portion of her sandwich the other day. It made her cry.
The little girl had attended a friend's birthday party and had been reportedly quite energetic and happy until the incident occurred. Upon finding the cheese, however, she became listless and sullen, and soon all the fun was over as tears rolled down her once-smiling cheeks.
"The offending cheese was partially melted, so the poor child could not remove it," said the local head of the constabulary, Mr. Chief. He suspected the friend's mother of secretly adding cheese to the sandwiches she prepared for the party. Although no crime actually took place, a civil case may be filed by the child's parents in court next week to collect on damages for alleged emotional trauma suffered by the little one.
The slice of cheese was reportedly a generic-brand low-fat Monterrey Jack.