Columbus, OH-Experts from the Columbus Naturopathy Center are warning parents of the dangers that may be waiting for their children on Halloween night, dangers like high-fructose corn syrup, refined carbohydrates, trans fat, and triglycerides just to name a few.
"We want parents to understand just what risks their children will be facing," Tab Smiley, head nutritioneer for the center, explained. "All of these common ingredients in Halloween candy are linked to such conditions as childhood obesity, coronary artery disease, diabetes, yeast overgrowth syndrome, and multiple chemical sensitivity."
Smiley recommends that parents go through their childrens' candy prior to consumption in order to prevent any dangerous nutritional imbalances. The Columbus Naturopathy Center is even offering to perform standard naturopathic laboratory testing, including saliva yeast testing, hair heavy metal assays, and live blood analysis, to look for any conditions which might put a child at increased risk. "We are also recommending a nationwide strategy where children exposed to these killer candies can be brought to their local naturopathic practitioner for acute toxin cleansing for the two days after Halloween. Unfortunately we expect that despite our best efforts the number of casualties will likely be in the millions if not more."
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
McCain to Appoint Crazy Larry as Treasury Secretary.....
Johnstown, PA-During an appearance in Johnstown today, Republican presidential candidate John McCain announced that if elected next Tuesday he plans to appoint Crazy Larry, of Crazy Larry's Mattress Emporium in Poughkeepsie, as Treasury Secretary.
"Our nation's economy, despite strong fundamentals, is in the kind of trouble that will only respond to decisive and wacky action," McCain explained. "Crazy Larry, now this is a man, my friends, who is literally insane for low, low prices and he will bring that pathologically overwhelming need to save you money to Washington."
Crazy Larry, in addition to having a lengthy track record of setting prices so low that he should be committed, is a religious conservative that supports the war in Iraq and opposes federal funding of stem cell research.
"Our nation's economy, despite strong fundamentals, is in the kind of trouble that will only respond to decisive and wacky action," McCain explained. "Crazy Larry, now this is a man, my friends, who is literally insane for low, low prices and he will bring that pathologically overwhelming need to save you money to Washington."
Crazy Larry, in addition to having a lengthy track record of setting prices so low that he should be committed, is a religious conservative that supports the war in Iraq and opposes federal funding of stem cell research.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
McCain Dismisses Poll Numbers, Insists Kids Get Off Lawn.....
Phoenix, AZ-Republican presidential candidate John McCain, lagging behind Democrat Barack Obama in the polls and looking to close the gap, argued Sunday that those pesky kids should stay off of his lawn.
"I'm sick and tired of those no good kids and their rock and roll music always walking across my lawn," the 72-year-old McCain explained from his front porch while whittling a duck head into the end of old pine walking cane. "And if I catch 'em here again I'm gonna sick my dog on 'em!"
McCain had declared earlier on Sunday during an interview on NBC's "Meet the Press" that he would not hesitate to keep any balls, gameboys, or walkmans that found their way onto his property.
"I'm sick and tired of those no good kids and their rock and roll music always walking across my lawn," the 72-year-old McCain explained from his front porch while whittling a duck head into the end of old pine walking cane. "And if I catch 'em here again I'm gonna sick my dog on 'em!"
McCain had declared earlier on Sunday during an interview on NBC's "Meet the Press" that he would not hesitate to keep any balls, gameboys, or walkmans that found their way onto his property.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Cosmeceutical Industry Running Out of Ingredients.....
Phoenix, AZ-Cosmeceutical researchers at the prestigious University of Phoenix announced today that if current trends of worsening global warming continue, the world may be depleted of novel ingredients for use in anti-aging creams, facial moisturizers, hair conditioners, nail rejuvinators, holistic bioprotectors and topically applied body cleansors by the year 2010.
"This is something that the entire cosmeceutical industry needs to be very concerned about," lead researcher Dr. Robert Bibble MD, ND, DAOM, RD, who is both a certified herbal psychologist and a certified naturopathic midwife, explained. "As it is we are pretty much down to just yak urine and pigeon droppings. It isn't ideal."
But while Dr. Bibble is calling for industry-wide regulations on the number of new ingredients allowed per product, some experts aren't buying into his doomsday scenario of a world where cosmetic products contain only active ingredients with legitimate evidence for their safety and efficacy. Clinical cosmetician and director of Body Essentials Day Spa in Sedona, AZ isn't concerned at all. "We are pioneering the field of nano-cosmeceuticals, which are are formulated with proprietary, state-of-the-art, nano-technologies such as dynamic intra-dermal nano-vehicles. Our nano-cosmeceuticals implement innovation in nano-formulation of previously exploited botanicals and natural active ingredients. We'll be able to milk this stuff for decades."
"This is something that the entire cosmeceutical industry needs to be very concerned about," lead researcher Dr. Robert Bibble MD, ND, DAOM, RD, who is both a certified herbal psychologist and a certified naturopathic midwife, explained. "As it is we are pretty much down to just yak urine and pigeon droppings. It isn't ideal."
But while Dr. Bibble is calling for industry-wide regulations on the number of new ingredients allowed per product, some experts aren't buying into his doomsday scenario of a world where cosmetic products contain only active ingredients with legitimate evidence for their safety and efficacy. Clinical cosmetician and director of Body Essentials Day Spa in Sedona, AZ isn't concerned at all. "We are pioneering the field of nano-cosmeceuticals, which are are formulated with proprietary, state-of-the-art, nano-technologies such as dynamic intra-dermal nano-vehicles. Our nano-cosmeceuticals implement innovation in nano-formulation of previously exploited botanicals and natural active ingredients. We'll be able to milk this stuff for decades."
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Make-A-Wish Foundation® Recipient Learns Valuable Lesson in Hydrostatics.....
Phoenix, AZ-Classmates of 7-year-old Phoenix native Timmy Waddleton, who suffered from a rare and untreatable allergy to oxygen, learned a valuable lesson in hydrostatics today when the Make-A-Wish Foundation® recipient drowned in a swimming pool filled with chocolate flavored Jell-O instant pudding.
"This is a wonderful example of the excitment that can come from using real world applications of scientific principles as part of the educational process for young students," Jim Hope, principal of New Frontiers Elementary School, explained. "It's a shame about Timmy though. He was a good kid if not a strong swimmer."
The Make-A-Wish Foundation®, which has been been granting wishes to children with life-threatening medical conditions since 1980, is no stranger to wish related fatalities according to Make-A-Wish National Board and Executive Committee chair Robert J. Bigler. "This one kid wanted a pet lion. It didn't go well but we came away from the experience with a deeper understanding of the predator-prey relationship so, you know, there's always a silver lining."
"This is a wonderful example of the excitment that can come from using real world applications of scientific principles as part of the educational process for young students," Jim Hope, principal of New Frontiers Elementary School, explained. "It's a shame about Timmy though. He was a good kid if not a strong swimmer."
The Make-A-Wish Foundation®, which has been been granting wishes to children with life-threatening medical conditions since 1980, is no stranger to wish related fatalities according to Make-A-Wish National Board and Executive Committee chair Robert J. Bigler. "This one kid wanted a pet lion. It didn't go well but we came away from the experience with a deeper understanding of the predator-prey relationship so, you know, there's always a silver lining."
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Stuff Believers Like #9: Arguments from Ignorance.....
Yet another report on possible proof of the existence of Bigfoot, the cryptozoological equivalent of cold fusion, has emerged out of Japan. This time the proposed evidence comes from a Japanese team of explorers who had spent 42 days on a region of the Himalayas where, according to the Yeti Project Japan leader, one of the mysterious beasts had been seen before by him, from 650 feet away. They were unable on this, their third attempt, to obtain video footage of Bigfoot however they did return with photographs of footprints.
The team feels that despite having failed in their primary mission to record images of the Yeti in action, the footprints are all the proof they need. The footprints in question, of which only one image is provided alongside the article by the AFP, is yet another case of Bigfoot is in the eye of the believer. To me, an admitted amateur print analyzer, it looks only vaguely footprint like and could easily be explained by simple random noise of melting snow being misinterpreted by a group of people biased by their belief system. It hardly serves as extraordinary evidence.
The logical fallacy which seems to be at the root of the team's announcement is an argument from ignorance, or in the form I prefer, an argument by lack of imagination. The team leader explains, in reference to the proposed Yet prints, "Myself and other team members have been coming to the Himalayas for years and we can recognise bear, deer, wolf and snow leopard prints and it was none of those,". He adds that "We remain convinced it is real. The footprints and the stories the local tell make us sure that it is not imaginary,". Because the team cannot imagine that the prints could come from an animal that they know to roam the region where the print was found, they believe that by default it must have been left by a Yeti. That simply doesn't cut it.
The team feels that despite having failed in their primary mission to record images of the Yeti in action, the footprints are all the proof they need. The footprints in question, of which only one image is provided alongside the article by the AFP, is yet another case of Bigfoot is in the eye of the believer. To me, an admitted amateur print analyzer, it looks only vaguely footprint like and could easily be explained by simple random noise of melting snow being misinterpreted by a group of people biased by their belief system. It hardly serves as extraordinary evidence.
The logical fallacy which seems to be at the root of the team's announcement is an argument from ignorance, or in the form I prefer, an argument by lack of imagination. The team leader explains, in reference to the proposed Yet prints, "Myself and other team members have been coming to the Himalayas for years and we can recognise bear, deer, wolf and snow leopard prints and it was none of those,". He adds that "We remain convinced it is real. The footprints and the stories the local tell make us sure that it is not imaginary,". Because the team cannot imagine that the prints could come from an animal that they know to roam the region where the print was found, they believe that by default it must have been left by a Yeti. That simply doesn't cut it.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Halloween MMVIII: The Return of Fluff Journalism.....
Halloween is right around the corner and lazy journalists everywhere are starting to take their cuts at the hanging curveballs amply served up by the realm of the supernatural. The laughable "Supernatural Science" section of Howstuffworks.com provides a perfect example of the kind of pseudojournalism that is becoming increasingly common these days in an article by staff writer and University of Georgia journalism degree holder Cristen Conger on the Top 5 Real-Life Haunted Houses. The article follows the common pattern of fluff science reporting to a tee with its lack of actual investigative journalism and appeal to superstition.
In it, Conger reveals that "Some people might be hesitant to admit that they believe in ghosts. But if you've ever heard a chilling bump in the night when you're home alone, ghosts might not be such a leap of faith." Apparantly Conger subscribes to the notion that there are no unbelievers when things get spooky. A similiar sentiment, assumed to be an unassailable fact of life by a substantial percentage of Americans, that there are no atheists in foxholes, is equally patently false. Far from being the exception to the rule (ever heard of Joe Nickell?), I don't break a sweat when confronted with eerie noises or unexplained visual phenomena.
Conger, while researching the subject of ghosts and hauntings, doesn't seem to have broken a sweat either, likely having simply clicked on the first few links provided by Google. These are almost always void of any skeptical input. But Conger isn't alone in taking such a credulous approach to reporting on ghouls and goblins. Not thinking critically and asking important questions, like are their legitimate contrary opinions on what I'm writing about (or in this case is their near total agreement by the scientific community that what I'm writing about is hokum), is the hallmark of pseudojournalism. Conger actually does list his sources, which consist of just a few unskeptical compendiums of popular haunted dwellings, at the end of the piece.
Conger cites the Association for the Scientific Study of Anomalous Phenomena (ASSAP) in the piece, failing to mention that this organization merely uses "science" as a thin facade while it employs a wide range of unproven investigational methods. They make a concerted effort to seperate themselves from other paranormal investigators by pointing out how flawed their research is and how challenging it is to do a proper scientific investigation of ghosts and other entities which according to true skeptics are lacking in both plausibility and legitimate evidence to support their existence. But their approach is far from unique with its blatant use of pseudoscience.
On their website, they point out that the many instruments used in the ghost hunting trade are not always reliable yet they still rely on them to snooker folks who may not know that the all the digital readings of room temperature and electromagnetic fields, and electronic voice phenomena, are examples of the misuse of scientific equipment and paredolia. Members of ASSAP fall into the same trap of circular logic that every ghost hunter eventually does. They use instruments to aid in differentiating true hauntings from frauds, hallucinations and misperceptions, while citing true hauntings as the means of establishing what meaningful anomalous instrument readings are. The entire endeavor is a house of cards built on a shaky foundation of anecdotes and buttressed by meaningless bells and whistles.
Conger addresses readers who may be concerned that their own home has been invaded by spirits and spectres and reveals a list of things to pay attention to provided by the science-based ASSAP. Accordig to these experts, you are at risk of being haunted if you "see apparitions, hear weird sounds, smell odd odors, feel "cold spots" within a room, notice objects that have been moved or observe your pet acting agitated." Having a toddler and a newborn in my house, I can personally attest to having experienced several of these warning signs recently but Conger and ASSAP can keep their digital video cameras and infrared thermometers to themselves. I'll stick to reality and base any concerns on properly performed studies. It's a heck of a lot more interesting, and considerably less likely to waste my time and energy.
In it, Conger reveals that "Some people might be hesitant to admit that they believe in ghosts. But if you've ever heard a chilling bump in the night when you're home alone, ghosts might not be such a leap of faith." Apparantly Conger subscribes to the notion that there are no unbelievers when things get spooky. A similiar sentiment, assumed to be an unassailable fact of life by a substantial percentage of Americans, that there are no atheists in foxholes, is equally patently false. Far from being the exception to the rule (ever heard of Joe Nickell?), I don't break a sweat when confronted with eerie noises or unexplained visual phenomena.
Conger, while researching the subject of ghosts and hauntings, doesn't seem to have broken a sweat either, likely having simply clicked on the first few links provided by Google. These are almost always void of any skeptical input. But Conger isn't alone in taking such a credulous approach to reporting on ghouls and goblins. Not thinking critically and asking important questions, like are their legitimate contrary opinions on what I'm writing about (or in this case is their near total agreement by the scientific community that what I'm writing about is hokum), is the hallmark of pseudojournalism. Conger actually does list his sources, which consist of just a few unskeptical compendiums of popular haunted dwellings, at the end of the piece.
Conger cites the Association for the Scientific Study of Anomalous Phenomena (ASSAP) in the piece, failing to mention that this organization merely uses "science" as a thin facade while it employs a wide range of unproven investigational methods. They make a concerted effort to seperate themselves from other paranormal investigators by pointing out how flawed their research is and how challenging it is to do a proper scientific investigation of ghosts and other entities which according to true skeptics are lacking in both plausibility and legitimate evidence to support their existence. But their approach is far from unique with its blatant use of pseudoscience.
On their website, they point out that the many instruments used in the ghost hunting trade are not always reliable yet they still rely on them to snooker folks who may not know that the all the digital readings of room temperature and electromagnetic fields, and electronic voice phenomena, are examples of the misuse of scientific equipment and paredolia. Members of ASSAP fall into the same trap of circular logic that every ghost hunter eventually does. They use instruments to aid in differentiating true hauntings from frauds, hallucinations and misperceptions, while citing true hauntings as the means of establishing what meaningful anomalous instrument readings are. The entire endeavor is a house of cards built on a shaky foundation of anecdotes and buttressed by meaningless bells and whistles.
Conger addresses readers who may be concerned that their own home has been invaded by spirits and spectres and reveals a list of things to pay attention to provided by the science-based ASSAP. Accordig to these experts, you are at risk of being haunted if you "see apparitions, hear weird sounds, smell odd odors, feel "cold spots" within a room, notice objects that have been moved or observe your pet acting agitated." Having a toddler and a newborn in my house, I can personally attest to having experienced several of these warning signs recently but Conger and ASSAP can keep their digital video cameras and infrared thermometers to themselves. I'll stick to reality and base any concerns on properly performed studies. It's a heck of a lot more interesting, and considerably less likely to waste my time and energy.
New Study Links Kids These Days to Economic Crisis.....
West Palm Beach, FL-During a press conference held today in the Rumba Room at the Century Village retirement community entertainment pavillion, researchers from Palm Beach Community College's Center for Geriatric Studies concluded that the current economic downturn is a result of kids these days.
"Damn kids these days with their walk mans and their video cassettes," 82-year-old crotchety physician and lead researcher Mort Fishman explained. "Maybe if they spent a little less time lollygagging and a little more time putting in a hard day's work we wouldn't be in this mess. And a haircut wouldn't hurt neither!"
The study, which will be published in the peer-reviewed Annals of Applied Cantankery this Tuesday, is already stirring up controversy amongst senior scientists like Everglades University Department of General Surliness chair Maynard Gribble. "I think this study, which is flawed in a number of ways, fails to take into consideration the reams of data pointing towards the popularity of all music made after 1944 as the source of today's financial difficulties."
"Damn kids these days with their walk mans and their video cassettes," 82-year-old crotchety physician and lead researcher Mort Fishman explained. "Maybe if they spent a little less time lollygagging and a little more time putting in a hard day's work we wouldn't be in this mess. And a haircut wouldn't hurt neither!"
The study, which will be published in the peer-reviewed Annals of Applied Cantankery this Tuesday, is already stirring up controversy amongst senior scientists like Everglades University Department of General Surliness chair Maynard Gribble. "I think this study, which is flawed in a number of ways, fails to take into consideration the reams of data pointing towards the popularity of all music made after 1944 as the source of today's financial difficulties."
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
From the Heartland: Life Lessons from a Small Town Mayor.....
The Old Woman's Tale
by Spooner Jenkins
I decided to take the opportunity of the few days off made necessary by the need to clear the Mayor's office of badger carcasses to do some hard thinking about the current state of affairs. This country is a mess. Just yesterday Agnes and I sat on the front porch for our lunch. It was 55 degrees here in Belvidere, 2006 Top American City and home to 98 of the nicest folk in all of Southern Nebraska, as we watched some local kids rolling doobies and discussed global warming. Now I typically don't approve of drug use because it doesn't support the American farmer but they said they grew it themselves. It sure was cool out. Chilly even. Take that NASA and The Weather Channel!
These days kids don't have any purpose. Not in Belvidere though. There's nothing like the fear of being torn to ribbons by a roving band of mutant opposable thumbed turkeys to set a boy straight. Other than widespread indoctrination against people different from them perhaps. But then again that also just boils down to fear. Fear is good. Fear is the chum that provides sustenance for our insatiable desire to control our environment, whether it is what people should be allowed to believe, or not to believe; what we do behind closed doors, and who we do it with; or who is allowed to reap the bountiful harvest that democracy and George W. Bush have provided us.
We ended our evening talk, and finished up our roast beef and spiced rum turnips. I took one long pause to take the beauty of this fair city in. There were no homicidal turkeys or irregular sheep in sight, and the incessant din of the last of the Autumn weevils as they devoured the few remaining shreds of plant life was a cacophony of delight. A small latino boy ate ice cream next to a rusty old jungle gym, and an old man licked mustard from the corner of his mouth before heading back towards the bus station located just down the street from our house.
There is just one bus that services the town of Belvidere and it's never late. Some of the folks around town say it is haunted but rarely do they agree on just who or what the ghostly spectre is that walks up and down the path between the seats, always stopping at the thick white line placed just prior to the driver's seat. I've always had a thing for ghost stories and I suddenly decided that it was time to see for myself if this one was true.
The bus pulled up at a quarter past one and unloaded a motley assortment of passengers. A thin boy of about 7 or 8 jumped off the bus from the top step, biting his lower lip as he landed. He screamed in a mix of suprise and pain. I couldn't help but laugh at him and I immediately felt ashamed for doing so. A woman older than me by many years, maybe in her 90's, was helped off by two young men in baseball uniforms. One had a limp and a streak of blood trailing down his pants which originated at a large tear in the fabric just above his right knee.
"Did you at least win the game son?", I asked.
"What game?", the boy muttered as he ran off, the elderly woman now safely sitting on a nearby bench.
A few more folks, one of which was obviously drunk, exited the bus and headed their own seperate ways. Perhaps to their home or a local pub. I can't say for sure. Finally a beautiful young woman in a Dairy Queen uniform stepped down onto the curb from the lower step. I thought of Agnes immediately. Not because Agnes was a very a beautiful woman mind you, or young, but because the eyes were the same and the fact that Agnes had always dreamed of opening a Dairy Queen. A young man, equally attractive but missing an ear, ran up as if to embrace her. She pushed his arms down and looked nervously around. I couldn't make out the exact words as they walked towards Grimp's Hotel, but I know the look of an angry woman when I see one.
As the crowd dispersed I noticed the old woman again, still sitting quietly on her bench. After placing the remains of my lunch in a large metal bin I joined her.
"How's turnips?", I asked. "How's Turnips" being a common greeting in Southern Nebraska. Historians and etymologists have argued over the origin of the phrase with estimates ranging from the early 18th century to June of 2007.
"Turnips up, turnips down.", she replied as is the custom.
"More up than down I hope.", I said with a hearty laugh. She smiled, taking out a cigarette from her plain brown leather purse.
"Oh I don't smoke 'em so put your eyes back in your head holes!", the woman spat before placing a single unfiltered Pall Mall in her mouth. She began to chew vigorously.
"So what do you know about that bus? She really haunted?" I inquired.
"Yes. That bus is haunted. I'll tell you about it if you got the time. You got the time young fella?"
I nodded my consent.
"Cigarette young man?", the old woman asked through her tobacco spittle moistened lips.
The thought of making a meal out of her offering of a bent Pall Mall made my stomach turn but I was intrigued at her offer to relate the tale of the town's haunted mass transit vehicle and I didn't want to offend her simple country sensibilities. I fought back a vigorous gag as I placed the cigarette in my mouth and began to chew. My entire body recoiled from the experience and I gave in to the overwhelming urge to vomit.
"Don't worry, happens to everyone their first time son. It'll pass.", she explained as she placed a wrinkled and swollen jointed hand on my shoulder.
"Why.....would you.......do......that!", I exclaimed, each burst of speech quickly interrupted by waves of nausea and belly cramps.
"Why does the snake shed its skin? Why do bees make honey? Why do my canned beats grow fur if I let 'em set too long with the top off the jar?", she cackled, revealing her one shiny brown tooth.
She must have noticed the shift of my gaze from the ground to her isolated incisor because her smile widened with pride as she exclaimed, "That's my eatin tooth!" I couldn't help but chuckle at her lust for the experiences life provides. I wondered if I would find such joy in the years to come. My newfound vigor began to subside as I pondered my old age.
I believe that she sensed the drop in my spirits. Perhaps to cheer me up she began to spin the tale of Fairbury's haunted bus. Time stopped for us as she told her story, breaking every once in a while to place a fresh Pall Mall into her mouth. Once she paused for several seconds, seeming not to breath. I thought that perhaps this was in order so that she might remember her place in the telling but I worried that she might have died. She smiled and reassured me that she had only needed a moment to let some demons out the back door.
The old woman was 11 when the Fairbury bus first began to make its run in 1927. It was much shinier back then, and had a good deal more vim as it carried passengers around town. The townfolk appreciated it for its cleanliness and for its convenience, and it was packed from sun up to sun down. That was until the first death.
By the time that the Fairbury bus had completed its first six months, nine people had died in or under it. Their deaths were sensless and unexplainable tragedies:
1. Tank Ragland Sr. was crushed to death by the hood while investigating a strange noise seemingly coming from the engine. A thorough investigation by the town mechanic found no reason for the prop to have given way. Tank was an experienced mechanic himself and would have certainly engaged it.
2. Steve Delacroix was decapitated by the bus while waiting to cross a city street. The right side panel stop sign activated as the bus drove by, catching Steve's head at 50 miles per hour. It rolled down to McTaggart's Ice Cream Parlor and settled in some nearby bushes. According to bus driver Dell Watts there is absolutely no explanation for how the sign extended as it required several turns of a crank which only the driver has access to.
3. Fergie Nixon was crushed to death by the bus as she attempted to retrieve a quarter that had rolled beneath it. The engine has been turned off and driver Dell Watts was on break taking a nap in one of the seats. He claims that the bus lurched forward and then backward several times before settling. The parking break was engaged.
4. Meacus Banner, town mechanic, died of carbon monoxide poisoning while taking a nap inside the bus which was parked inside his closed garage. An experienced mechanic such as Meacus would not have slept inside an idling vehicle parked in a closed garage.
5. Dirk Harris, City Comptroller, was killed while crossing a city street. Driver Dell Watts was unable to stop the bus. A thorough investigation found no defect in the break line or other reason for why the bus not only couldn't be stopped but also continued to accelerate into Comptroller Harris.
6, 7, 8, 9. Siblings Susan, Rod, Siggy, and Lewis Latimer, known around town as the Latimer Bunch, died while taking the bus to a rehearsal for an upcoming church play. Driver Dell Watts became worried when he no longer heard their voices and found their lifeless bodies when he stopped the bus to check on the children. Medical professionals were unable to discover a cause of death.
After the death of the Latimer Bunch, the town bus was decomissioned but once again called into service during World War Two when the replacement bus was confiscated by the army and made into artillery shells. By this time many had forgotten, or refused to remember, the grissly deaths involving the old bus and to this day no further unexplained tragedies have occured.
Many townspeople claim to feel a ghostly presence while riding on the bus. There are many reports of unexplained screams, temperature changes, and even the occasional sighting of shadowy figures either within or near the bus at night. But the many years that have passed since those tragic events in 1927 have led most folks to deny that they ever really existed. Now the bus has become a tourist attraction and a source of only mild interest to the citizens of Fairbury.
The old woman finished her story, and her last Pall Mall, just as the sun was beginning to disappear behind the horizon.
"Well that's my last cigarette, and that is my story young man. I only ask that you take to heart the events that befell this town. I'm the only one left who was there and who experienced the terror. And I'm not long for this world. Sometimes I feel as if the world has left me behind already. Not everything in life has a reason or an explanation. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. And nobody wants to be forgotten."
With that I left the old woman on her bench and headed back towards my car. A few minutes later I realized that I had forgotten to ask her name. I returned to the bench, the bus about which we had spent the better part of seven hours discussing having returned, only to find her perch empty. The driver, whose last name was Watts according to the cursive stitching on the left breast pocket of his uniform, was leaning against the side of the vehicle. The glow of his cigarette stood out in the failing light of the evening.
I inquired about the old woman but was met only with a blank stare.
"I saw you sittin on that bench as I pulled up and you weren't talkin to no old woman. I think you been out in the sun to long today pops.", he shared.
I wished him a good evening and headed back towards my car. It was late and I was starving. I lamented the fact that Agnes would be again be staying overnight in Strang to attend a pupil's piano recital. It is remarkable how many young boys and girls are interested in piano lessons in Strang, and how many recitals they have in that strange town. Before my thoughts could begin to wander, I heard a man's voice calling after me.
"Sir! Wait up!", the young bus driver shouted.
He approached, out of breath and sweating profusely.
"It was Susan....Susan Latimer. I found this on the bench and I just couldn't help myself so I read it. I must have just missed her or something I guess. I don't recognize the name anyhow and I pretty much know everybody 'round this shitsplat town. Here, take it."
He handed me a small folded piece of paper and ran back to his idling bus. I lifted up one half of the note and quickly read the brief message.
"Nobody wants to be forgotten.
Sincerely,
Susan Latimer"
That night, as I struggled to find sleep, I thought of something the old woman told me. Not everything in life has a reason or an explanation. I thought long and hard about that and promised to myself that I wouldn't forget.
by Spooner Jenkins
I decided to take the opportunity of the few days off made necessary by the need to clear the Mayor's office of badger carcasses to do some hard thinking about the current state of affairs. This country is a mess. Just yesterday Agnes and I sat on the front porch for our lunch. It was 55 degrees here in Belvidere, 2006 Top American City and home to 98 of the nicest folk in all of Southern Nebraska, as we watched some local kids rolling doobies and discussed global warming. Now I typically don't approve of drug use because it doesn't support the American farmer but they said they grew it themselves. It sure was cool out. Chilly even. Take that NASA and The Weather Channel!
These days kids don't have any purpose. Not in Belvidere though. There's nothing like the fear of being torn to ribbons by a roving band of mutant opposable thumbed turkeys to set a boy straight. Other than widespread indoctrination against people different from them perhaps. But then again that also just boils down to fear. Fear is good. Fear is the chum that provides sustenance for our insatiable desire to control our environment, whether it is what people should be allowed to believe, or not to believe; what we do behind closed doors, and who we do it with; or who is allowed to reap the bountiful harvest that democracy and George W. Bush have provided us.
We ended our evening talk, and finished up our roast beef and spiced rum turnips. I took one long pause to take the beauty of this fair city in. There were no homicidal turkeys or irregular sheep in sight, and the incessant din of the last of the Autumn weevils as they devoured the few remaining shreds of plant life was a cacophony of delight. A small latino boy ate ice cream next to a rusty old jungle gym, and an old man licked mustard from the corner of his mouth before heading back towards the bus station located just down the street from our house.
There is just one bus that services the town of Belvidere and it's never late. Some of the folks around town say it is haunted but rarely do they agree on just who or what the ghostly spectre is that walks up and down the path between the seats, always stopping at the thick white line placed just prior to the driver's seat. I've always had a thing for ghost stories and I suddenly decided that it was time to see for myself if this one was true.
The bus pulled up at a quarter past one and unloaded a motley assortment of passengers. A thin boy of about 7 or 8 jumped off the bus from the top step, biting his lower lip as he landed. He screamed in a mix of suprise and pain. I couldn't help but laugh at him and I immediately felt ashamed for doing so. A woman older than me by many years, maybe in her 90's, was helped off by two young men in baseball uniforms. One had a limp and a streak of blood trailing down his pants which originated at a large tear in the fabric just above his right knee.
"Did you at least win the game son?", I asked.
"What game?", the boy muttered as he ran off, the elderly woman now safely sitting on a nearby bench.
A few more folks, one of which was obviously drunk, exited the bus and headed their own seperate ways. Perhaps to their home or a local pub. I can't say for sure. Finally a beautiful young woman in a Dairy Queen uniform stepped down onto the curb from the lower step. I thought of Agnes immediately. Not because Agnes was a very a beautiful woman mind you, or young, but because the eyes were the same and the fact that Agnes had always dreamed of opening a Dairy Queen. A young man, equally attractive but missing an ear, ran up as if to embrace her. She pushed his arms down and looked nervously around. I couldn't make out the exact words as they walked towards Grimp's Hotel, but I know the look of an angry woman when I see one.
As the crowd dispersed I noticed the old woman again, still sitting quietly on her bench. After placing the remains of my lunch in a large metal bin I joined her.
"How's turnips?", I asked. "How's Turnips" being a common greeting in Southern Nebraska. Historians and etymologists have argued over the origin of the phrase with estimates ranging from the early 18th century to June of 2007.
"Turnips up, turnips down.", she replied as is the custom.
"More up than down I hope.", I said with a hearty laugh. She smiled, taking out a cigarette from her plain brown leather purse.
"Oh I don't smoke 'em so put your eyes back in your head holes!", the woman spat before placing a single unfiltered Pall Mall in her mouth. She began to chew vigorously.
"So what do you know about that bus? She really haunted?" I inquired.
"Yes. That bus is haunted. I'll tell you about it if you got the time. You got the time young fella?"
I nodded my consent.
"Cigarette young man?", the old woman asked through her tobacco spittle moistened lips.
The thought of making a meal out of her offering of a bent Pall Mall made my stomach turn but I was intrigued at her offer to relate the tale of the town's haunted mass transit vehicle and I didn't want to offend her simple country sensibilities. I fought back a vigorous gag as I placed the cigarette in my mouth and began to chew. My entire body recoiled from the experience and I gave in to the overwhelming urge to vomit.
"Don't worry, happens to everyone their first time son. It'll pass.", she explained as she placed a wrinkled and swollen jointed hand on my shoulder.
"Why.....would you.......do......that!", I exclaimed, each burst of speech quickly interrupted by waves of nausea and belly cramps.
"Why does the snake shed its skin? Why do bees make honey? Why do my canned beats grow fur if I let 'em set too long with the top off the jar?", she cackled, revealing her one shiny brown tooth.
She must have noticed the shift of my gaze from the ground to her isolated incisor because her smile widened with pride as she exclaimed, "That's my eatin tooth!" I couldn't help but chuckle at her lust for the experiences life provides. I wondered if I would find such joy in the years to come. My newfound vigor began to subside as I pondered my old age.
I believe that she sensed the drop in my spirits. Perhaps to cheer me up she began to spin the tale of Fairbury's haunted bus. Time stopped for us as she told her story, breaking every once in a while to place a fresh Pall Mall into her mouth. Once she paused for several seconds, seeming not to breath. I thought that perhaps this was in order so that she might remember her place in the telling but I worried that she might have died. She smiled and reassured me that she had only needed a moment to let some demons out the back door.
The old woman was 11 when the Fairbury bus first began to make its run in 1927. It was much shinier back then, and had a good deal more vim as it carried passengers around town. The townfolk appreciated it for its cleanliness and for its convenience, and it was packed from sun up to sun down. That was until the first death.
By the time that the Fairbury bus had completed its first six months, nine people had died in or under it. Their deaths were sensless and unexplainable tragedies:
1. Tank Ragland Sr. was crushed to death by the hood while investigating a strange noise seemingly coming from the engine. A thorough investigation by the town mechanic found no reason for the prop to have given way. Tank was an experienced mechanic himself and would have certainly engaged it.
2. Steve Delacroix was decapitated by the bus while waiting to cross a city street. The right side panel stop sign activated as the bus drove by, catching Steve's head at 50 miles per hour. It rolled down to McTaggart's Ice Cream Parlor and settled in some nearby bushes. According to bus driver Dell Watts there is absolutely no explanation for how the sign extended as it required several turns of a crank which only the driver has access to.
3. Fergie Nixon was crushed to death by the bus as she attempted to retrieve a quarter that had rolled beneath it. The engine has been turned off and driver Dell Watts was on break taking a nap in one of the seats. He claims that the bus lurched forward and then backward several times before settling. The parking break was engaged.
4. Meacus Banner, town mechanic, died of carbon monoxide poisoning while taking a nap inside the bus which was parked inside his closed garage. An experienced mechanic such as Meacus would not have slept inside an idling vehicle parked in a closed garage.
5. Dirk Harris, City Comptroller, was killed while crossing a city street. Driver Dell Watts was unable to stop the bus. A thorough investigation found no defect in the break line or other reason for why the bus not only couldn't be stopped but also continued to accelerate into Comptroller Harris.
6, 7, 8, 9. Siblings Susan, Rod, Siggy, and Lewis Latimer, known around town as the Latimer Bunch, died while taking the bus to a rehearsal for an upcoming church play. Driver Dell Watts became worried when he no longer heard their voices and found their lifeless bodies when he stopped the bus to check on the children. Medical professionals were unable to discover a cause of death.
After the death of the Latimer Bunch, the town bus was decomissioned but once again called into service during World War Two when the replacement bus was confiscated by the army and made into artillery shells. By this time many had forgotten, or refused to remember, the grissly deaths involving the old bus and to this day no further unexplained tragedies have occured.
Many townspeople claim to feel a ghostly presence while riding on the bus. There are many reports of unexplained screams, temperature changes, and even the occasional sighting of shadowy figures either within or near the bus at night. But the many years that have passed since those tragic events in 1927 have led most folks to deny that they ever really existed. Now the bus has become a tourist attraction and a source of only mild interest to the citizens of Fairbury.
The old woman finished her story, and her last Pall Mall, just as the sun was beginning to disappear behind the horizon.
"Well that's my last cigarette, and that is my story young man. I only ask that you take to heart the events that befell this town. I'm the only one left who was there and who experienced the terror. And I'm not long for this world. Sometimes I feel as if the world has left me behind already. Not everything in life has a reason or an explanation. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. And nobody wants to be forgotten."
With that I left the old woman on her bench and headed back towards my car. A few minutes later I realized that I had forgotten to ask her name. I returned to the bench, the bus about which we had spent the better part of seven hours discussing having returned, only to find her perch empty. The driver, whose last name was Watts according to the cursive stitching on the left breast pocket of his uniform, was leaning against the side of the vehicle. The glow of his cigarette stood out in the failing light of the evening.
I inquired about the old woman but was met only with a blank stare.
"I saw you sittin on that bench as I pulled up and you weren't talkin to no old woman. I think you been out in the sun to long today pops.", he shared.
I wished him a good evening and headed back towards my car. It was late and I was starving. I lamented the fact that Agnes would be again be staying overnight in Strang to attend a pupil's piano recital. It is remarkable how many young boys and girls are interested in piano lessons in Strang, and how many recitals they have in that strange town. Before my thoughts could begin to wander, I heard a man's voice calling after me.
"Sir! Wait up!", the young bus driver shouted.
He approached, out of breath and sweating profusely.
"It was Susan....Susan Latimer. I found this on the bench and I just couldn't help myself so I read it. I must have just missed her or something I guess. I don't recognize the name anyhow and I pretty much know everybody 'round this shitsplat town. Here, take it."
He handed me a small folded piece of paper and ran back to his idling bus. I lifted up one half of the note and quickly read the brief message.
"Nobody wants to be forgotten.
Sincerely,
Susan Latimer"
That night, as I struggled to find sleep, I thought of something the old woman told me. Not everything in life has a reason or an explanation. I thought long and hard about that and promised to myself that I wouldn't forget.
Monday, October 13, 2008
National Chain Offers Delicious New Recipe For Banking Success.....
Seattle, WA- As the current economic crisis continues to claim large investment banks as victims, consumer relief is on the way in the form of the revamped chain of familiar mall-based eateries Cinnabon, which will combine deposit and loan oriented commercial banking with delicious baked goods.
"We are excited about the road this company is taking," Focus Brands Inc. CEO Steve Romaniello explained. "The average American is sick and tired of both the complexities of the current banking environment and the its lack of oversized cinnamon flavored pastries."
With hundreds of locations in malls, airports, theme parks, and military bases across the country, Romaniello believes that Cinnabanks will make an immediate impact on financial markets. "Our Cinnabon Classic cinnamon roll, combined with the convenient locations of our existing infrastructure and minimal banking fees, is just the kind of comfort food that our failing economy needs to bolster investment confidence and restore stability on Wall Street. Plus every new checking account comes with a free 9-pack of Minibons and a MochaLatta Chill."
"We are excited about the road this company is taking," Focus Brands Inc. CEO Steve Romaniello explained. "The average American is sick and tired of both the complexities of the current banking environment and the its lack of oversized cinnamon flavored pastries."
With hundreds of locations in malls, airports, theme parks, and military bases across the country, Romaniello believes that Cinnabanks will make an immediate impact on financial markets. "Our Cinnabon Classic cinnamon roll, combined with the convenient locations of our existing infrastructure and minimal banking fees, is just the kind of comfort food that our failing economy needs to bolster investment confidence and restore stability on Wall Street. Plus every new checking account comes with a free 9-pack of Minibons and a MochaLatta Chill."
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Remeber When: The Presidential Debates.....
by Maynard Dudley
Remember when presidential debates used to mean something? I do. I remember watching Warren Harding walk right over to Ohio Governor James M. Cox in 1920 and punch him in the groin. Those were the good old days I guess, before rebuttal time limits and strict no-nudity policies. When Herbert Hoover proudly waved his genitals in the face of Democratic candidate Alfred E. Smith and his call for the repeal of the Volstead Act, we knew that America truly was the home of the free. At least it was that day back in 1928, the last year during which any decent music was made.
These days people already have their minds made up. They just listen to what their candidate says and they ignore what the other might say against it. They don't remember the way it used to be, when the audience at presidential debates were allowed to join in, be it to ask an insightful question, point out a candidate's hypocrisy, or just to shoot at their feet to make them dance in fear. Now we just sit back and wait to be told what to think by the mainstream media and their talking heads.
Now I'm not saying that the long tradition of presidential canditates coming together to discuss important topics, like the economy or whether or not homosexuals should be allowed to visit other homosexuals in hospitals, is completely useless. I just don't think that the current methods allow for the American people to gain a full grasp of each candidate's platform so that they might make a truly informed decision come November 4th. And just a few simple adjustments, like loosening restrictions on taser usage during closing statements, would help reverse the trend of these debates toward obsolescence.
Remember when presidential debates used to mean something? I do. I remember watching Warren Harding walk right over to Ohio Governor James M. Cox in 1920 and punch him in the groin. Those were the good old days I guess, before rebuttal time limits and strict no-nudity policies. When Herbert Hoover proudly waved his genitals in the face of Democratic candidate Alfred E. Smith and his call for the repeal of the Volstead Act, we knew that America truly was the home of the free. At least it was that day back in 1928, the last year during which any decent music was made.
These days people already have their minds made up. They just listen to what their candidate says and they ignore what the other might say against it. They don't remember the way it used to be, when the audience at presidential debates were allowed to join in, be it to ask an insightful question, point out a candidate's hypocrisy, or just to shoot at their feet to make them dance in fear. Now we just sit back and wait to be told what to think by the mainstream media and their talking heads.
Now I'm not saying that the long tradition of presidential canditates coming together to discuss important topics, like the economy or whether or not homosexuals should be allowed to visit other homosexuals in hospitals, is completely useless. I just don't think that the current methods allow for the American people to gain a full grasp of each candidate's platform so that they might make a truly informed decision come November 4th. And just a few simple adjustments, like loosening restrictions on taser usage during closing statements, would help reverse the trend of these debates toward obsolescence.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Point/Counterpoint: Economic Armageddon.....
Point
It's Time to Pull Out Your Money Folks
By Willingsby Chesterfield III
Chief Financial Officer of Unlock Your Car, Inc
Laguna, CA
Despite what the many naive and confused optimists in the media, and on Capital Hill, want you to believe, the stock market is going down in flames and threatening to bring the entire American economy down with it. Yes sir, it is time to call it quits in my humble opinion.
Now you know I like to call 'em like I see 'em, and if you ask old Willingsby for his two cents, well you just might hear about the only straight talk going around these days. Old Willingsby says it is high time to abandon this sinking ship, you know the one with too many holes in the hull and nowhere near enough buckets to bail it out of complete and total economic destruction. It's bad out there folks, it's real bad. Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome bad.
So what does this all mean for John. Q. Public? Well listen up if you want to avoid being reduced to huddling around a pig feces powered generator for warmth at night and battling for food and reproduction rights in gladiatorial to-the-death combat during the day. Head over to the nearest branch of your banking institution right this minute and get your hands on as much cash as you can. The time for worrying about 401Ks and 403Bs is past, and the time to hoard anything of monetary value is upon us. Find some land in the middle of nowhere, bury it all, and pray that you somehow survive the coming apocalypse.
Counterpoint
Looks Who's Laughing Now
By Chet Jenkins
Laughing Meadow Alpaca Farm
Stephenville, TX
For years people have scorned alpaca farming. They have called it a scam, a pipe dream for gullible folks looking to make easy money. Many so-called experts have likened alpaca farming to a multi-level marketing scheme or have blamed the alpaca for many of society's problems, ranging from the obesity epidemic to teen pregnancy. Well America, who is laughing now? Me, and the gentle alpaca.
As the economy continues crumbling before our eyes, people are going to realize that the loving and docile alpaca, a cousin of the llama prized for its luxurious fleece by a small cottage industry of artisans in some countries, is a sound investment for the future. For as little as $40,000, you can hitch a ride on the alpaca express, which is pulled by alpacas in a figurative sense secondary to a bone structure which does not allow them to serve any useful purpose in that regard, but you get what I mean. It's all about the alpacas, God bless 'em!
But with alpacas, it isn't just about huge profits. And by profits, I am taking into account the subjectively assigned monetary value of the love you will feel for these majestic creatures. More alpacas equals more love, and that is the kind of security that will keep you feeling secure despite what might or might not be imploding on Wall Street. So call me today at Laughing Meadow Alpaca Farm in Stephenville. If you act now, you can buy all of my alpacas.
It's Time to Pull Out Your Money Folks
By Willingsby Chesterfield III
Chief Financial Officer of Unlock Your Car, Inc
Laguna, CA
Despite what the many naive and confused optimists in the media, and on Capital Hill, want you to believe, the stock market is going down in flames and threatening to bring the entire American economy down with it. Yes sir, it is time to call it quits in my humble opinion.Now you know I like to call 'em like I see 'em, and if you ask old Willingsby for his two cents, well you just might hear about the only straight talk going around these days. Old Willingsby says it is high time to abandon this sinking ship, you know the one with too many holes in the hull and nowhere near enough buckets to bail it out of complete and total economic destruction. It's bad out there folks, it's real bad. Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome bad.
So what does this all mean for John. Q. Public? Well listen up if you want to avoid being reduced to huddling around a pig feces powered generator for warmth at night and battling for food and reproduction rights in gladiatorial to-the-death combat during the day. Head over to the nearest branch of your banking institution right this minute and get your hands on as much cash as you can. The time for worrying about 401Ks and 403Bs is past, and the time to hoard anything of monetary value is upon us. Find some land in the middle of nowhere, bury it all, and pray that you somehow survive the coming apocalypse.
Counterpoint
Looks Who's Laughing Now
By Chet Jenkins
Laughing Meadow Alpaca Farm
Stephenville, TX
For years people have scorned alpaca farming. They have called it a scam, a pipe dream for gullible folks looking to make easy money. Many so-called experts have likened alpaca farming to a multi-level marketing scheme or have blamed the alpaca for many of society's problems, ranging from the obesity epidemic to teen pregnancy. Well America, who is laughing now? Me, and the gentle alpaca.As the economy continues crumbling before our eyes, people are going to realize that the loving and docile alpaca, a cousin of the llama prized for its luxurious fleece by a small cottage industry of artisans in some countries, is a sound investment for the future. For as little as $40,000, you can hitch a ride on the alpaca express, which is pulled by alpacas in a figurative sense secondary to a bone structure which does not allow them to serve any useful purpose in that regard, but you get what I mean. It's all about the alpacas, God bless 'em!
But with alpacas, it isn't just about huge profits. And by profits, I am taking into account the subjectively assigned monetary value of the love you will feel for these majestic creatures. More alpacas equals more love, and that is the kind of security that will keep you feeling secure despite what might or might not be imploding on Wall Street. So call me today at Laughing Meadow Alpaca Farm in Stephenville. If you act now, you can buy all of my alpacas.
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