At a diner in Baton Rogue, during their breakfast rush (one of the busiest times of the day) a piece of bacon stood up on a customer’s plate, picked up a toothpick off the counter and proceeded to do softshoe while whistling a tune. When the bacon was done it spun once and dropped limply on to another nearby plate. Staff and regulars alike were shocked at the impromptu performance, and have since shellacked the bacon, made it a little suit and placed it in a diorama which now rests next to the cash register. SueAnn Williams, waitress at the diner in question, said, “It was the craziest thing you ever saw, and he had such beautiful whistle. I don’t think we’ve sold a lick a’ pork since our little miracle.”
A small community in the south of Wales recently had a rash of strange precipitation to contend with in addition to an unusually dry summer. It seems that sheep had taken to falling from the sky with a certain amount of regularity and much to the dismay of the town’s residents. Clear or overcast the sheep would begin falling shortly after daybreak and would come sometimes four or five an hour until just after sunset. A very religious (not to mention superstitious) community, the townsfolk were convinced that the combination of drought conditions and falling ungulates were a message from God and that they had been cursed. Ever the fastidious civil servant the mayor sent for an exorcist and the folken hiked up to the plateau that overlooked the town one evening shortly after the sheeping had ceased. When they arrived at the top they found an underground pasture housing some five hundred sheep as well as a large catapult mounted just at the edge of the precipice. The catapult was subsequently destroyed and the reign of livestock has ceased, no one has yet come forward to claim responsibility for this egregious assault.
An Oklahoma couple, who wishes to remain unnamed, is suing the makers of Shop-Vac brand vacuum cleaner after a marital mishap led to the sterilization of the husband. It seems as though they were having difficulty having a child due to the husbands erectile dysfunction, and poor as they were they felt they just couldn’t spare any money on the Viagra. One of the couple’s friends had told them about using a penis pump to overcome their difficulties, and the couple, so ecstatic at the new prospect, and not wanting to wait another month until the wife was ovulating decided that the do-it-yourself method was as good as any. Unfortunately they had failed to put any attachments on the tube and almost as soon as the vacuum was on the man’s penis and testicles were sucked into the dusty nether regions of the bag. The man’s scrotum now hangs approximately three inches below his kneecaps. When asked for comment, while checking out of the hospital, the man mused, “I may not be able to have babies now but goddam if that wasn’t the best blow I ever had.”
KUNT, a TV channel based outside of Richmond has recently had a stroke of good luck, or genius, or…something. It seems that the low-rated News channel, famous for their small town style of reporting was doing a live story outside of a grocery store in a somewhat seedy part of town. Unbeknownst to the reporter doing the story the grocery store was being robbed and shortly after the broadcast had begun the assailant fled the grocery store, leading with his knife and ran it directly into the correspondents left butt cheek. In a sudden surge of adrenaline the reporter turned and proceeded to beat the man to death on live television. The happy end of this story is that the plucky underdog news station saw a record jump in ratings and has decided to rework their reporting style. Now, every night at six the lead anchor, armed only with a hatchet and a Kevlar jacket, must battle half of a dozen schizophrenics, brought in one at a time for fairness, while delivering the local news. The turning of the tide has been unprecedented for the newly renamed Action KUNT News, and they have held the number two ratings rank for their timeslot, trailing only syndicated Friends reruns, since the first incident.
Dave Willis, a Salt Lake City man, recently made a strange discovery after seeing an ad for the Army posing the question, “What are you made of?” Taking matter into his own hands rather than waiting for the assistance of the military he went to his kitchen and upon finding his largest Chef’s knife plunged it deep into his belly, Hari Kiri style. But instead of spilling his guts onto the floor, as any sane person would expect, he found himself leaking a lumpy white paste. After tests by numerous groups, and even more baseless speculation, it was found that Willis was actually a robot placed in his community to monitor the dealings of the, sometimes dubious, Latter-Day Saints. It seems that the FBI has been trying to infiltrate the Mormon Church for years, but every agent they sent was either converted or disappeared. So they built Willis out of positronic micro-circuitry, a lab grown skin, and, as independent lab tests later revealed, oatmeal to give him the proper squishy consistency of a church goer. The FBI retrieved Willis and in an official statement said that Willis was an experimental model and in light of his malfunction would remain a singularity, and that they have not had, at any point in time, similar agents placed in Red China, Greenpeace, the United Arab Emirates, the Disney Corporation, the 700 Club, Hustler Magazine, or Whole Foods Groceries,Inc.
And on a happy note, a 68 year old retiree gets to relive his childhood after a small carpentry accident left him with some minor brain damage. It seems that Mort Fleischmann, Bud to his friends, was helping his son build a shed behind his home. Bent down to finish driving the nails into the floorboards, he heard a clatter outside and his son yell in pain. Ever spry, even in his advanced age, Fleischmann leapt up without thinking of the exposed nails in the pitched roof, and managed to drive one of those nails directly through his brain. Upon finally reaching his son, who had dropped a few pieces of lumber on his foot, he was bleeding from the back of his head and seemed dazed. After returning home from the visit to the emergency room, through which Fleischmann didn’t speak much, he suddenly announced how excited he was about going and asked his daughter-in law when she was going to take him dress shopping. It seems that Fleischmann’s brain damage had not only turned back his psychological clock to his teen years but had also somehow switched his gender in the process. Neurosurgeons look forward with great zest to the day Bud, who now prefers to be called Star, drops dead, sensing a wealth of treasure awaiting them inside his damaged, though still perfectly delicious, brains.