Ghost-Buster

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Vol 36 Issue 36

Area Man's Mother Sizes Up New Girlfriend's Pelvic Span

STILLWATER, OK–During an evening social call Monday, Emily Dahlgren carefully sized up the pelvic span of her son Matt's new girlfriend, evaluating her potential as a vessel for future Dahlgrens. "Kimberly [Hearns] is a lovely girl with a healthy, stocky build and wonderfully sturdy hips," Dahlgren raved after meeting Hearns. "I'll bet she can make some real nice babies." Dahlgren said she also liked the fact that Hearns comes from a good family with no history of heart disease or diabetes.

Network Executive Cancels Show After Ruining It In Development

LOS ANGELES–Fox vice-president of programming Jonathan Sohn pulled the plug Tuesday on the new sitcom Table For Twelve after rendering the show unwatchable with his persistent meddling during the development phase. "I was really sorry to have to cancel Table–I went to the wall for that show," Sohn said. "I heavily reworked the pilot, de-emphasizing the father's relationship with his sons and adding a talking dog. I hired away two writers from Just Shoot Me, which consistently leads its slot. I even personally came up with the show's catchphrase, 'Well, it ain't no Christmas ham, Pepe!' In the end, though, it wasn't enough, and I had no choice but to shitcan the thing." Sohn said he will now focus his energies on "fine-tuning" King Of The Hill.

Green Party Official Caught Embezzling Campaign Funds For Dime Bag

BURLINGTON, VT–Scandal rocked the Green Party Monday when it was revealed that a high-ranking Nader 2000 official embezzled $10 in campaign funds for a dime bag of marijuana. According to police, prior to a Sept. 29 rally in Burlington, finance director Jim "Patches" Lowell, 49, removed $10 from the Green Party cashbox and redirected the funds toward the purchase of approximately two joints' worth of marijuana from Pete Cudahy, a local hacky-sack vendor and part-time drug dealer. Green Party presidential candidate Ralph Nader has promised a full internal investigation of the misallocation of funds, saying that he has made it clear to party officials in the past that "the cashbox money is not for weed."

St. Christopher Statue Embedded In Motorist's Forehead

STERLING CITY, TX–A plastic statue of St. Christopher, the Catholic Church's patron saint of motorists, was found embedded in the forehead of local resident Duane Richardson Monday following a fatal collision with an oncoming van. "Although Mr. Richardson was wearing his seat belt and his airbag deployed properly, the dashboard crumpled in such a fashion that the plastic simulacrum of the third-century martyr was driven into his skull, piercing his brain," Sterling County coroner Leonard Reiver said. Reiver noted that St. Christopher is also the patron saint of sudden death.

Upheaval In Yugoslavia

After refusing to concede defeat in the Sept. 24 election, Yugoslavian president Slobodan Milosevic finally stepped down amid mass protests Friday, ceding power to opposition leader Vojislav Kostunica. What do you think of the Yugoslavian uprising?
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Ghost-Buster

I'm sick and tired of ghosts visiting my bed-chamber. At first, I admit, it was terrifying. Then, it became endearing. But now, it is down-right tire-some.

First, the ghost of my father, Herman Ulysses Zweibel, manifested himself above my four-poster death-bed, cackling wildly and rattling his chains. My horror knew no bounds. Mortified, I begged for his mercy, but he only cackled some more.

He kept cackling. And cackling still. It was so infectious, I could not keep a straight face. So I began to cackle, or at least offer up the closest thing to a cackle my near-ossified vocal cords could muster. We both kept cackling on through the night. It was a charming moment that only a long-dead father and his near-death son could share.

As I cackled, I began to realize that there wasn't a lot that Pater's ghost could actually do except float around, rattle his chains, and cackle. My fear gave way to not a small amount of disappointment. I stopped cackling and drifted off to sleep. When I awoke, Pater's ghost was still there, hovering above the bed and staring at me blankly.

"Can't you at least knock over the armoire or make a window slam shut, or some such haunting-action?" I demanded.

"No," he replied. "The chains limit my mobility."

As the weeks drifted by, Pater continued to hover about my bed-chamber, occasionally moaning or shaking a chain or two. Then, one day, I heard an unearthly moan quite unlike the whimpers emitted by Pater. Suddenly, before my eyes appeared the ghost of my one-time bosom friend and business associate, the ruth-less steel magnate J. Titian McBrodie.

"A WARNING FROM BEYOND, FRIEND ZWEIBEL!" McBrodie's ghost bellowed. "REPENT YOUR EVIL WAYS OR SUFFER AN ETERNITY IN HELL-FIRE!"

My blood ran cold, and my mortal fright returned in full force. "J. Titian!" I cried. "Your ghostly warning has served as a bracing wake-up call to me! In my remaining days, you have my solemn word, I will try my best to make up for my century of sin and wrong-doing!"

"JUST KIDDING!" McBrodie's ghost replied. "THERE'S ACTUALLY NO HELL AT ALL! HEAVEN EITHER! I WAS JUST FUNNING YOU! HOW THE DEVIL ARE YOU, ZWEIBEL OLD CHUM?"

I was so filled with disgust that I could scarcely speak. Instead, I let the two monotonous apparitions hover about and compare boring notes with one another as I received my daily enema.

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