bizarreville

Bizi Bank has been on hard times.  Of course, it all started when they made all those bad loans…millions and millions in stupid, numbskull loans approved by the Loan Board that, sadly, had that bout with marijuana addictions… what were they calling it?  Refer-pprovals, no waiting…how much do you need?  Have any nacho chips with you?

But the Board has been through rehab now and been thoroughly cleansed with hypnosis therapy, yoga, and fleet enemas.  They have been analyzed and evaluated by true loan specialists from the mob, who have given them a clean bill of health.  And they have taken a pledge to tighten back their anuses to pre-crisis level.

The fact remains that Bizi was given a $3 gazillion government bailout, footed by taxpayers, some of whom were not too happy about bailing out these dope heads.  They were especially angry when Bizi handed out honkin’ bonus checks to their fellow smoker-tokers, in a moment of “brilliant” political astuteness.  Articles in the newspaper were cruel calling Bizi leadership “Blagojevichian” in its wisdom…ouch.  Bizi fired back with an OpEd saying that the newspaper had one use, you could wipe with it…and even at that, there were a whole hell of a lot of better/softer wiping options.  Touche.

Meanwhile…citizens, already pretty unhappy with Bizi, were even more turned-off by this banter and started pulling their savings out.  Bizi had to move fast, but they knew what they had to do:  Toasters…toasters, and lots of them.  They offered a free toaster to each account who did not pull money out.  Luckily, they had still had some unspent Bailout funds remaining to be able to quickly buy a few truckloads of toasters.  Filled their whole vault with toasters where once there was cash.

It’s early to tell, but Bizi says toasters are moving fast.  Some customers have complained that the toasters are just the 2-slice kind with narrow slots that don’t do bagels…but they grab them anyway.  “We’ll give them as Christmas presents.”

The Geezer Club of Bizarreville was having its morning meeting and constitutional around the cracker barrel at the General Store, when the debate turned to troops in Afghanistan.

“I don’t think we should send any more of our fine young lads there.  Those Talibans are pure whack jobs, almost as crazy as that Floop family who live down at the Mung Pond.  Remember them? Remember when young Johnnie Floop…I think he was about 13 back then…allegedly dropped a deuce right in the City Hall fountain?  That’s when they found out that the fountain was tied into the entire water system…had to shut it all down and disinfect it.  Then some guy with a bag over his head, rumored to be his brother Dirk, streaked at that championship basketball game, tripped and fell on his you-know-what, and they had to bring out the Disinfectant team once again.  Had to postpone the whole game.  Those Floop kids just terrorized the town.” 

“Yeah, I remember those days…pretty gross bunch, them Floops. Lucky we had that Disinfectant squad.”

“Remember?  Bizarreville citizens got really flustered , and demanded action against those unadulterated dirt bags.  But that Floop family was pretty clever at dodging and weaving, denying any wrong-doing, slithering away when things got hot, covering tracks.  The authorities were puzzled until one clever citizen suggested a way to divert their jerk-ball energy into a nonsensical activity…the game of Roach Search & Destroy.  It was a perfect game for the knucklehead set…crawling around in the dirt to root out the little critters, then beating/scrunching them to a pulp.  Their household was a perfect setting for the game with crud and filth in literally every corner, attracting the game pieces by the thousands.  They created an internal competition among family members…not just for highest roach count, but also bonus points for extraordinary acts of squishmanship.  Mounted roach taxidermy on just about every wall.

“It worked.  They spent all their energy on that stupid roach game, and quit terrorizing the citizens.  Eventually had to dismantle the old Disinfectant SWAT squad due to lack of work.  So…anyway… that’s how we ought to deal with the Taliban… surreptitiously get ’em a game going that would divert their attention.  Maybe they could substitute goats or yaks or something for the roaches.”

“Pretty stupid story.  I need to hit the can.”

Bizarreville elders have been following in earnest the goofy media flap regarding Rush Limbaugh trying to buy the St. Louis Rams NFL franchise.  The hot rumor was that the Owners would object to the buy because his cash was simply not green enough.

The Elders are going to try and recruit Rush to buy the Bizarreville Skunksprays football team.  “He would have been a mere minority owner in St. Lous, but would be a big-time solo owner here,” said Frank Spankhard, the current owner.  “He could buy the whole kit and kaboodle for a buck 2.80, and I’d even throw in an autographed picture of Herm Spurple, the Pro Bowl water bucket boy.”

The Skunksprays team value continues to diminish with its mounting loss record, now 0-7 for the year, and projections of another winless season.  Spankhard has considered just dismantling the team and walking away, but the League Board would not permit it.  In fact, just because he had the temerity to even suggest such a concept, they took away from him one 2nd round and one 5th round pick for the 2010 draft as a sanction penalty.  They also warned any further lip would cost him a 1st rounder.  Team management shrugged, smirked, and uttered a collective “Whatever”.

The Bizarreville Elders feel that Limbaugh could come in and revitalize the disgusting Skunkspray franchise.  He may be willing to pay (dare we say) market prices to get some non-pathetic un-bums.  Might even try to hire a coaching staff from somewhere other than Lame Brain Refrigerator College.  “Sure would be different having someone who actually knows how to attract an audience,” commented an arbitrary person off the street.

Opponents have responded: “Sure, maybe at first he might shell out dough.  But he’ll quickly realize that he’s paid a king’s ransom, and the team still sucks.”  When asked to serve up an alternative, a better idea, or any suggestion, the opponents just belched.

The elders have been calling the Limbaugh program all week, but haven’t gotten through.

Bizarreville leaders have continued to look for new/better ways to prevent the rascally public from reading and learning about upcoming legislation.  It’s been a challenge.  In spite of their sophisticated efforts to keep it all under wraps, information somehow has kept leaking out of cracks and crevices, as sneaky as a dutch oven at midnight.

A while back, Leaders had a brainstorm…they would write the bills in a foreign language.  Brilliant?  Not so… unfortunately, stupidly, they managed to pick simple-to-translate languages like Bosnian, Czech, or Mandarin, and in nano-seconds the translations were readily available on the web.  They tried a variety of security schemes, including using paper that would start smoldering the minute it was exposed to fresh air…even faster if the air was stale.  Still, the Underground found out that a natural, organic yellowish fluid would quickly extinguish the fire, and were able to foil that attempt.

But now they truly believe they’ve got it.  One nerdly staffer, recently uncloseted, discovered a unique ancient strand of Egyptian hieroglyphics, and wrote the current “Cap and Hoopskirt” bill in this obscure signology.  So far, no one has been able to crack it.  It’s premature, but there are some pre-celebrations happening in the hallowed halls.

Leaders are happy and relieved that their hard work of concocting convoluted, self-grandizing, earmark-loaded slimy bills will not be subject to a lot of cry-baby, hand-wringing, mamby-pamby scrutiny.  They feel that the whole “light of day” mumbo-jumbo is, and always has been, overrated…plus it undermines the critically important process of back-scratching, butt-kissing quid pro quo which defines how things work in this town.

Special security has been arranged for the Nerdball who discovered the ancient hieroglyphics.  He has been disguised by dressing him in a polo shirt, khakis, and dock shoes, taking away his well-worn leather briefcase and giving him a Blackberry…no one will ever suspect.

Michael Moorebird, the genius expert on World Economic systems and part-time screwball movie producer, gave a stirring speech at the Bizarreville Moose Lodge last Thursday evening.  He was also pitching his new book: Communist Manifesto, the Sequel.  “I think there’s a movie in that one.  Karl would be so proud,” he whimpered, holding back tears as he pre-pitched yet another brilliant, creative idea.

Moorebird had just returned from a short trip to his Promise Land, Cuba, where he had filed an investigative report on the superb conditions of their high-tech hospitals.  “I was so impressed that I think I’ll go down there for my upcoming colonoscopy next month.  May go ahead and have an Upper GI while I’m there.  Why not…let’s live it up!”

Cuban authorities admitted that they had loaded him up with mucho Mango Mojitos laced with triple shots of 151 Rum.  “Senor Moorebird lapped up those Mojitos, and kept asking for more, more, more.  We just about ran out of mint leaves.”  Onlookers report that Moorebird was stumbling and weaving through the hospital hallways, eventually flopping onto an open gurney…whereupon he promptly lost his lunch into a partly-full bed pan.

Moorebird has a busy speaking itinerary promoting his Anti-capitalism mantra and Adam Smith hate speech.  He realizes that any revolution starts small, so proposes to start by nationalizing the Port-a-John industry.  “Have you ever sat in one of those stinky freaking things??  No other nation in the world would put up with this pathetic level of quality.  Let’s start by nationalizing port-a-johns…we’ll call it AmCrack.”

Moorebird argued that you’d never see a nasty port-a-john in Cuba.  Opponents responded: “Yeah, but the alleys don’t smell so great.”

His next target might well be the Florist Industry where he has oft criticized how those coniving capitalists quadruple the price of fresh roses on Valentines Day.  “That kind of collusion and gouging has got to stop.  They don’t even smell that great any more.”  Later he did admit that his sense of smell might be a bit out of calibration from frequent trips to Cuban alleys.

The Mayor was ecstatic when the News came out.  The distinguished Scandinavian-sounding gentleman on the other end of the line said he had just won the Nobel Peace Prize!  The Mayor was shocked and was tempted to say “Huh…errr, uhhh…for what?”  But he just thanked the person, hung up, and started dancing the Electric Slide around the room.

But deep inside, the Mayor knew he hadn’t done crap to deserve such an award.  Frankly, he was more known for stirring-up doo-doo, rather than building peace.  Promoting death panels for old grammaws, spending money like a drunken nuclear submarine crewmember on leave, handouts for any nitwit who whined on his shoulder, and spending all that money on that stupid low-cost 2016 Olympics proposition…just all created a lot of unrest in Bizarreville, not peace, certainly not peace.  The only thing he’d really done for peace was to buy one round of beers for 2 guys fighting in McFunk’s Bar…was that enough to merit such a prestigious award?  He did, after all, pop for imports  rather than cheap bland domestic beer brands….?

But then the truth came out.  The mayor had not won the Nobel Peace Prize.  He had won the Gobel Cheese Prize, an award recognizing a member of government who best provides fodder for comedians, humor/satire authors, and political cartoonists.  Named after 60’s deadpan comedian George Gobel, it gave special bonus points for nominees with a flair for pathetically understated fashion.  The mayor, normally seen wearing pants hiked up to his man-boobs, certainly scored high in that bonus category.

Turns out, the Mayor was nominated for the Nobel Prize, based on that bar incident.  But some English chap who had mediated a 6-person fight and bought the entire pub a round of pints got the nod for the prize.  “Yeah, that’s a legendary accomplishment in anybody’s book,” said the Mayor barely hiding his disappointment.  “Maybe I’ll get another chance to bust up a bar fight, and get rewarded for my Body of Work in the field…”

The Nobel committee had no comment.

The Libs of Bizarreville decided to throw their own Tea Party at the Bizarreville Onion Farms yesterday.  They wanted to pretend to show that they, too, did not want to raise taxes.  Several actors and big-shot movie directors came, mostly in a coaching role.  There would be good media coverage so that a couple meaty populist-type sound bites could be edited to show the world that they were clued.

They put Larry the Tokin’ Dead-Head in charge of the sound system, who had unfortunately forgotten that there was no electric power in the middle of this farm field.   But, not to worry, he started up a generator to supply the power…but it was so obnoxiously noisy that no one could hear each other argue.  Yells of “Taxed Enough Already” sounded like “Tax McDuff and Freddie”.  As expected, McDuff who has already done some hard time for assault and rude behavior, got honked-off, and clobbered old Mrs. Rumpmax over the head with a protest sign.  Meanwhile, Freddie Friggett cussed out the Tea Party organizers, and was promptly handcuffed and thrown into the paddy wagon.  As the wagon pulled away, Freddie flashed the Victory sign, which some may have misinterpreted when the bars and shadows blocked the sight line of one of his fingers. 

The caterer, who was supposed to bring the tea, brought decaf coffee instead.  The main organizer, who has been on a Worldwide Anti-caffeine campaign for 2 years, spit it out…before being calmed by staffers that it was 98% caffeine-free.  One citizen suggested throwing crates of tea overboard to create a memorable act of protest.  But he was reminded that they were in the middle of farmland…so they just dumped two pots of decaf down the center-pocket of a nearby outhouse, and called it even.

Some uncoached Lib hecklers showed up and chanted:

Others dearly, dearly wanted to join in the chants, but were quickly corraled and told:  “Focus…focus”.

The 11 o’clock News last night missed all that hijinx and focused coverage on protests from a couple farmers who had just dropped by for a few minutes after fertilizing their fields.  “If you raise our taxes any more, us farmers won’t be able to afford this here fertilizer,” pointing to his boots encrusted with some sort of greenish-brown goop.  That comment drew a boisterous cheer from the crowd.  The farmers flashed jumbo smiles on their chubby faces, but started morphing into angry frowns when it finally hit home what the crowd was cheering about.

The News Anchor man was laughing so hard, the station had to cut to commercial.

Bizarreville’s own auto industry, Shanker Motors, has been feeling the pinch lately.  Shanker has had a proud history, an automotive innovation leader in past years, coming up with such ideas as the self-cleaning ash tray, the power parking brake, the lighted hood ornament, and the optional dog seat in the trunk.  These ideas were years/decades ahead of their time.

But Shanker more recently has been beset with quality problems.  Bumpers would fall off when the velcro started getting old.  The “Smudge Master” windshield wipers never quite performed up to expectation.  Fuel gauges were often about a quarter of a tank out of calibration, causing some drivers to run out of gas at 2 in the morning.  This, combined with the fact that the cars were downright butt-ugly, drove the sales trend down in the past 5 years or so.  Market share was cut literally in half.

A year ago, the Shanker management team recognized the problem and did a reorganization, literally switching job titles of every exec.  It cost several million dollars in new office nameplates, furniture moves, business cards, memo pads, and new drapes.  To cut cost, they eschewed the 12-way adjustable lumbar support massaging swivel chairs for the more basic 8-ways.  They totally cut out the restroom attendants in the executive restrooms.  The management team conducted several off-site meetings, days and days of meetings, using 14 full pads of flipchart paper and 117 packets of Post-It notes. They developed mission statements, vision statements, strategy statements, charters, bubble charts, quadrant charts, and SWOT analyses.  They were serious.

But in spite of all these seemingly bold, brilliant moves, results failed to improve at Shanker.  Next, they brought in an HR consultant, who promptly surveyed the Shanker workers to probe into productivity/morale problems.  Survey results, combined with intense focus group interviews, clearly showed that if the workers were given a 7 percent raise, morale would improve.  In further analyzing results, the HR consultants estimated that the improved morale would produce a linear improvement in productivity, 7 percent to be exact. 

Management agreed, made the change.  But they quickly found that the consultant’s projections were off…by about 7 percent, give or take.  The consultants pointed out that there were “other factors” at work, but agreed to trim their normal fee by 5 percent as a matter of good faith.

It seems that Shanker prospects look bleak and they may be headed for Chapter 11.  In the mean time, the Purchasing Department has told their suppliers to either drop prices 10 percent or they would be given a kite to fly.  To be fair…it is a fairly nice kite with the company logo and a pretty red paisley background…but it does have a hand gesture illustration that might be considered a bit inappropriate when flying down on the beach.

Bizarreville Leaders are debating if there is some help that could be given.  But there is not much enthusiasm, since many of the Leaders have owned Shankers and, yes, have done that 2:00 am walk home. 

It still may be possible that a deal could be worked out to have them develop a line of taxi cabs…sort of the final link at the very end of the auto food chain.  Stay tuned.

The new warden at Arsinbarz Prison brought in a new policy of enhanced interrogation techniques for inmates who have been conspiring to bust-out of the joint.  While some of these techniques have been very controversial with the Mamby Pamby Association (MPA), the warden has stayed the course.

One of the most controversial procedures seems to be a technique they call Water/Bored.  First, they restrict the inmate to drinking only tap water…no root beer, no iced tea, no coffee, no fruit punch or energy drinks…just ice-less tap water, not even any bottled water…only water out of the tap, room temperature.  If that wasn’t enough, they then force the inmate to watch continuous reruns of Leave It To Beaver…no Lucy, no Andy, no My Momma The Car…just the Beave, 24/7.  The Beaver and water…water/bored.  Very cruel and quite unusual, frankly.

The MPA has strongly objected to this, citing that there is no one else in the civilized world that employs such a technique.  They asked the warden if he would force his own kids to drink tap water.  Naturally, the warden said he would not…but reminded the MPA that his kids were not hardened criminals.  As far as the Beaver is concerned, the warden responded:  “Come on, now, you can’t beat the hijinx of that Eddie Haskell.”

The warden says the technique clearly works, and they have been able to garner a ton of conspiratorial information that has helped foil dozens and dozens of escape plots.