Goin' Buggy!

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Vol 36 Issue 28

Man Burning In Hell Wishes He Hadn't Snickered At Religious Leaflet

LAKE OF FIRE, HELL–Eternally tormented soul Brent Woodson, who is currently being pressed between white-hot slabs of iron, expressed "profound regret" Monday that he had laughed at the Jack Chick anti-homosexuality tract Doom Town, handed to him by a street evangelist moments before he was fatally struck by a bus. "I guess I shouldn't have cracked up at the cartoon drawing of gay guys as burly, hairy bikers with lipstick and pompadours," said Woodson, his charred entrails spilling out onto the rocky floor of the Netherworld while barb-toothed demons gnawed at his extremities. "I'm not laughing now, that's for sure. That Jack Chick guy is no kook."

U.S. To Host Foster Country

WASHINGTON, DC–At a press conference Monday, President Clinton confirmed that the U.S. is clearing out a portion of Montana to make room for foster country Ecuador. "Ecuador has been through some pretty rough times these last few years, bounced around from one foster homeland to another," Clinton said of the troubled South American nation, which lost its government in a March 1996 earthquake. "But it's a tough little nation, and with a lot of love and a little political stability, it's going to be just fine." Ecuador's previous host, Denmark, returned the country after just three weeks, complaining that it consumed too much of its food and petroleum.

Ask A Restaurant Critic

Ethan Pillers is a syndicated columnist whose weekly advice column, Ask A Restaurant Critic, appears in more than 250 newspapers nationwide.

Albert's Choice

The Democratic National Convention is underway, and much of the focus is on Al Gore's running mate, Joseph Lieberman, an Orthodox Jew. What do you think of the prospect of a Jewish vice-president?

No One Seems To Care That Area Man's Bike Was Stolen

IOWA CITY, IA–Despite the fact that it cost $350 when purchased two years ago and was still in excellent condition, no one seems to care that area resident Dan Bleidner's Trek 820 mountain bike was stolen from his Lansing Street apartment building Sunday.

Haikuscopes

the heavenly spheresinfluence your pale wan soulto eat fatty snacks
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Goin' Buggy!

Well, week two of being an enormous cock-roach, and I must admit that it's not so bad. If this sentiment sounds curious to you, bear in mind that prior to this metamorphosis, I was a 132-year-old human being who was constantly bed-ridden. My mobility has greatly improved, and I can skitter about quite ably from room to room on my six hairy legs. I have a commanding set of mandibles, and my shell is of an attractive mahogany hue. It's not glamorous, but I must say that if I had to metamorphose into an insect, I could have done far worse, such as a meal-worm or one of those creepy luna moths. Ewww! My exoskeleton crawls just to think of it!

Also, it's not as if there were a dainty lady around here who would scream and faint dead away at my shocking condition. The only woman is Nurse Pin-head, and she's about as squeamish as a pillar of flint. When she saw me scaling the wall of my study, she merely shrugged and walked away. It took Doc McGillicuddy a few minutes to notice what had happened to me during my weekly check-up.

Responding to my queries about my condition (I can still talk despite my commanding set of mandibles), Doc McGillicuddy produced a small pamphlet. It was a narrative about a Jewish sales-man from Prague who experienced a similar physical transformation. Curious, I bade Nurse Pin-head to read it to me. At first, I found the description of the petit-bourgeois preoccupations of Mr. Samsa and his family rather twee, discursive, and far too conversational for a medical-tract. And I kept wishing that the author would get to the part about the cure. Then Nurse Pin-head read aloud the char-woman's discovery.

"Holy shit!" I shrieked. "You're going to kill me!" My antennae quivered uncontrollably, and I shot under-neath the sofa in my study as fast as my legs could carry me. I didn't care if it was socially unacceptable to turn into a giant bug; no-one was going to hurl apples at me! In spite of my servants' entreaties, I refused to emerge. "If there's no cure for my condition, so be it!" I cried! "Just call me Blattella germanica from now on. And while you're at it, bring me a plate of rotten meat!"

I don't want any-one feeling sorry for me. Come to think of it, no-one felt sorry for me when I was an infirm old man, so the hell with you all! I still spend most of my time under-neath the sofa, but for the last couple nights I've been going down to the kitchen and lingering around the sink-pipes. I like the dampness, away from the char-woman.

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