bizarreville

Please click on the Simpli-tax tab to the right to follow the continuing drama of our CPA friends.  Part 2 has been posted.

Old Fred has continued to whine and chime about getting his own little piece of the Stimulus Bill.  Everybody knows that Fred’s Discount Hardware and Adult Bookstore has been through some hard times lately.  His customer volume took a cannonball dive when the WalMart opened across town, and the citizens realized old Fred was practicing acute hosery on them.  The Good-ole-boy Fred prices for fittings, tools, and goops were, in fact, the Anti-Discount, prompting clergy to perform retail exorcism in the store.  Bizarreville faithful soon gave Freds the 1-finger sayonara, and logged him off.

But Fred, ever the entrepreneur, kept moving forward by expanding into other weird niche offshoots and kooky inventage.  He stocked the first doorbell which employed smell instead of sound.  He insourced fertilizer development and packaging.  He taught Plunger classes in the back office to anyone needing a refresher.  He promoted “Overalls Thursdays”, no T-shirt required.  There was no end to his cleverness.

But in spite of all these seemingly brilliant, innovative product extensions, Fred’s sales tanked, and he started losing moolah.  Of course, he claimed the whole economic slowdown constipated his ability to pay bills, which ultimately caused suppliers to put liens on his bins of nuts and crates of other fastening units.

When he went to Screwbird Bank & Trust to try and get some relief, he found out that the bank had just gotten a $100K government bailout to stay afloat…but would not lend Fred one red cent.  They told Fred that his business model stunk, and that the odor was not just the wafts from his compost pile out back.  Said his sales strategy looked like it was written by a 3rd grader, which ironically is exactly how far Fred made it in school.  Fred got so frustrated that he flatulated in a fuss and stormed out in a cloud of noxiousness.

We all hope that Fred gets his bailout.  If he doesn’t they say they will tear his building down.  And there’s a lot of folks who hope that won’t happen for various undisclosed reasons.

Flunkmann showed up at the Bizarreville Chevy/Olds dealer over the weekend, sputtering along in his legendary AMC Pacer, and looking for a quick trade-in on the Cash-for-Clunkers program.  None of the regular sales shmoes came to meet him, so Mr. Skimjob, the manager approached.

“Isn’t that the car that won the recent award by a big insurance company as the worst car ever produced?  (sniff, sniff)  Yes…yes…I thought I smelled a herd of elephants passing by.  I’m sorry, Flunkmann, but your Pacer won’t qualify for the new program.  Unfortunately for you, your dreamboat was dubbed a “clunker” when it was first introduced over 30 years ago.  Was one of few cars to achieve Clunker status while still on the showroom.  But now, it is officially classified as a “sub-clunker”, along with its friends the Chrysler LeBaron, the Ford Pinto, and the Yugo.  I mean, it’s the original little douche coupe, brother.  Sorry.”

But Flunkmann replied: “You must be kidding.  My Pacer is at just as good as that…that…what is that car over there, the one caked in grime…the filthmobile over there?  Is that a “new” Oldsmobile on your lot?”

“Yes, a 2004 model…really quite a good buy.  Been on the lot for 5 years, ever since they stopped making Olds.  Actually, funny enough, that Olds qualifies as a Clunker since the whole company went defunct recently.  I had to strip the old nameplate and replace it with that “Mo Liq” plate when they changed their name to Motors Liquidation Company last month.  Pretty stylish logo, huh?  Listen, we could clean that WASH ME graffiti off the back window, scrape off the 5-layer lasagne of layered muck, goo, and scuz, see if it still starts, and sell it to you…then you could turn it right back in as a Clunker.  They’ll haul it off to the meltdown yard by close of business.”

“You want to sell me a disgusting hunk of pig iron, just so I can turn it back in?”

“I suppose you could just buy it and drive it…only problem is there aren’t any Mo Liq dealers to service it, when it breaks down.  You’d be essentially on your own, up Shozbot Creek without the proverbial paddle.  Either way…up to you.  Whaddya say…can I put you in that baby this afternoon?”

Flunkmann just walked away.  He would have driven away, but the Pacer overheated while he was waiting.  Strangely, the motor wasn’t even running when it overheated.

No good story of town life would be complete without a good old-fashoned drama series.  And Bizarreville is no different.  Well…maybe a little different.  Our first story series starts when a couple of our town’s notable bean-counters attended a CPA confab in Vegas recently.  The keynote was about tax simplification.  Remember, of course, in Bizarreville the word “simplification” would be considered either a slur or a curse word, depending on your faith.  Let’s see how our guys begin to deal with this obnoxious impending threat.  Please click on the Simpli-Tax page on the Right Sidebar ——>

The good citizens of Bizarreville dragged their weary cans into the much anticipated Town Hall meeting to discuss Odrama-care last night.  Congressman Rankeester adroitly fielded questions like an old putz juggling medicine balls with one hand tied behind his back.

Elmer Scroof asked:  “What about them so-called Death panels?” 

Rankeester replied: “I’m for them.  Let’s face it, when it’s time to go, it’s time to go.”

Scroof said: “What about you?  You had a freakin’ quad-bypass a year ago.  What if some glorified restroom attendent decided you weren’t worth 2 squirts of dog pee, and let you just have a thumper-clutcher, and pfffft….gone.  What about that, Jack?”

Rankeester replied:  “You obviously have not taken the time to be thorough before making such an uninformed comment as this.  Admit it…you farted-off reading the bill, didn’t you?  You and all your crazy nutbag lunatic friends are here just to create ficticious perversions of this fine bill, this crafted work of art.  If you had taken one lousy weekend to read the bill, you surely would have known that it does not apply to congresspeople.  Tsk, tsk.”

Then old Mrs. Shmelker blurted out: “You people are trying to ruin the health of all our grandchildren with this new program…what do you call it…McPathetic Care, of one-size fits all?  They won’t ever get any real care cuz of the long waiting lines.”

But Rankeester just laughed and snorted back: “These kids are already hard-wired to stand in endless long lines.  Just look at the lines at the Bizarro-Land theme park.  They’ll stand in line for hours just for 1 ride on the Skrote Floater roller coaster, or the Desnotter Simulator.  C’mon now.  We’ll just give old Doc Quackenheimer’s office a cool, thrill name like the Navel Jerker, and line ’em up in the cattle gates…Mooo…Mooo.   Next?

The Town Hall meeting seemed to run out of steam at that point, and all went home for their evening soaks.

Welcome to Bizarreville, a place where wrong may be right and right may be wrong, and you may just never know which is which.  We will brighten your day with fresh satire, biting sarcasm, and irreverent humor. Enjoy your trip.