I Gotta Write A Holiday Column

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Vol 30 Issue 19

Area Bastards Pick Wrong Guy To Mess With This Time

TALLAHASSEE, FL—According to Tallahassee resident Bud Courson, local bastards Dewey Bostock and Dewayne Buckner picked the wrong guy to mess with this time. "They picked the wrong guy to mess with when they started messing with me," Courson said of the messing, which local officials believe to be the biggest mistake of the bastards' lives. Courson's future plans for the bastards include doing a serious number on their asses and whaling on them.

Mental Hospital Fire Leaves Hundreds Of Demons Homeless

QUEENS, NY—Hundreds of demons were left hovering bodiless over New York's Creedmore Mental Hospital Sunday, as a fire consumed the facility, killing all 355 of its patients and much of its staff. Firefighters and emergency medical technicians struggled to reunite the demons with the bodies they had possessed, but no survivors could be found. Though area shelters say they may not have room for all the demons, most of the displaced remain optimistic. "I'm not too worried," said one demon as it huddled near a firetruck, wrapped in a blanket and sipping a cup of hot cocoa provided by Red Cross volunteers. "I'm sure pretty soon I'll find a suitable host human who will succumb to my temptations and give his body up to me."

Vatican Condemns Wack MCs

VATICAN CITY—In conjunction with the release of his latest album, MixMaster FunkBlaster Pope-a-Fied To The T.O.P., His Holiness Pope John Paul II issued an official church condemnation of all Wack MCs Tuesday. The Pope singled out Snoop Doggy Dogg, Notorious B.I.G. and Too $hort, saying, "These rappers do not have the best rhymes. They are wack. They are not from the old school." The decree condemned MCs who "lack the concentration to create the rhymifications that stimulate the mind and make the funk rise in your soul." The Pope recommended passages from Ezekiel as having the most "righteous" rhymes. The decree was ratified by the Vatican Council Tuesday as an official Catholic Decree. It also reached number four on the R&B charts.

Clinton Appoints Very Special Cabinet Member

WASHINGTON, DC—In the first-ever appointment of its kind, President Clinton named Michael Barnett, a 15-year-old Bethesda, MD, boy who has Down Syndrome, the U.S. Very Special Secretary of Defense Monday. "Michael is very special. He is fun, loves to laugh and is always smiling," Clinton said. When informed of his appointment, Barnett waved a pen and said, "I'm a special boy!" then mistakenly signed an order for the Marines to seize all private property in the U.S. Clinton quickly nullified the order, saying, "Michael is very special, and I know he will be trying very hard. And that's what's important."

The Onion's 1996 Man Of The Year

Ever since Onion publisher T. Herman Zweibel was first awarded the honor in 1921, The Onion's Man Of The Year has ranked among the most prestigious and time-honored traditions in journalism. Though there are many who make and shape our world, only one can be chosen The Onion's Man Of The Year.

There Shall Be No Christmas This Year!

The other day, my manservant Standish and my nurse were wheeling in the multitudes of penny postcards and other handwritten wishes of good tidings that flood into my estate at this time of year. I insist on being read each and every one, so that I may duly reward each well-wisher with a sackful of sugar beets from the Zweibel ancestral home in Prussia.

Confederate Flag Controversy

South Carolina came under fire recently for flying the Confederate flag over its state capitol, and Georgia has been under pressure for several years to remove the image from its state flag. What do you think of the continued use of this Civil War symbol?
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I Gotta Write A Holiday Column

Hola amigos. What's goin' on? I know it's been a long time since I last rapped at ya, but I've had some problems. First and foremost, I had to get a new car after the pistons fused in my old one. Piece of crap! Fortunately, though, I was able to get around $150 in parts for it. Add to that the $175 I had saved up for my dream Mustang, and I was able to spend a whole $325 on a new car.

Now, if I'd had a working set of wheels, I would have been able to grab that Mustang I had my eye on for a while now. That 'Stang would have needed another $500-$1,000 in work done on it, so I wouldn't have been able to take her around, and I must have a functional chariot in which to cruise. Fortunately, my brother let his old Charger go for a sweet deal ('cause he's my brother and all), and it hardly needed any fixing, except for new windshield wipers, inside door handles and all-new belts.

If that hassle weren't enough, hombres, pile onto that this new job I got. As of last week, I'm assembling satellite dishes full-time. I know what you're thinking: "Free cable!" But it just ain't that way. The life of Jim Anchower isn't always as glamorous as it seems. Instead of getting free cable, I mostly just stand around for eight hours a day using this heavy-duty epoxy to glue these satellite pieces together. I mean, they got a fan and all, but those fumes just make you crazy!

I swear, I was mindin' my own business one day, and I saw David Crosby step out of the satellite dish and sing me a song, only it was in Portuguese or some other fucked-up language. I said "Speak English, ya fat-assed has-been!" and he disappeared. I don't know how much more of this I can take. It's no secret that I enjoy the weed and a cocktail or two on occasion, but I just ain't into this freaked-out shit.

Anyway, the main reason I'm writing is because I stopped by the ol' newspaper office to see if they were going to pay me for my last column, since it was so late and all. I was getting ready to go to the mat for my 10 bucks, really scuffle for it, but it turns out that I didn't have to. My editor walks out the door, and he's in a real good mood for some strange reason. I get all leery, because when I see that look in a boss' eyes, it usually means that they're about to can my ass.

He calls me over, and I sort of move toward him, all the while thinking of some good last words for when I walk out of there after getting fired. He says to me, "Jim, my lad, it's the holiday season." I just sort of nod, thinking he's gonna say that he doesn't want to toss me out on my ass right before Christmas, but he just has no choice and all that. But he doesn't. Instead, he reaches out and kisses me on the cheek. I don't know if this is like some kinda Godfather thing, but I'm getting real creeped out. Then he points up, and I see we're standing under this thing of mistletoe.

Then he says, "Anchower, I just love the holidays!" I just sort of go along with it, wishing he'd get to the point, 'cause he's really creeping me out. Finally, he tells me how he likes it when his writers do holiday-themed columns around this time of year. I tell him I could do that, no problem. He says, "Good, because if you don't, you're fired!" No arguing with that. Just as I'm walking out the door, he pokes his head out and says,"Make sure to make a joke about fruitcake! People love fruitcake jokes!" I'll fruitcake him, that old bat.

Anyway, I don't really know what to write about that fits into this Christmas theme, since talking about all that holiday shit seems kind of weak. I mean, this column is about cruising, not about peace-on-earth-goodwill-to-men crap! Don't get me wrong, I like all that Christmas stuff, and I even like getting toked up and watching that movie about the guy who's in trouble and all his friends help him after an angel comes down and kills him, or something like that. But mushy holiday wishes just ain't what Jim Anchower is about.

So, I guess since just about anything else would be even more lame, I'll let you know what I want for Christmas:

First of all, I want to get that Mustang, but I know that ain't gonna happen. I mean, who would give it to me? Ron? He still hasn't paid me back that 10 bucks I lent him! I also want a pound of prime weed for perfect tokin'. And one of those new Nintendo 64s, so I have something to occupy my time whenever I get that peaceful, easy feeling, if you catch my drift. I'd also like a year's supply of ice-cold Miller Genuine Draft in my fridge. I'd like the Led Zeppelin box set. Actually, make that both Zep box sets. I'd like cable. And, just to keep it reasonable, I'd also like some socks and drawers, since I'm running low and all.

I know that's a lot of stuff, but I gotta say, if I don't get any of it, I ain't gonna be broken-hearted. You see, Jim Anchower is a man of modest means, and he doesn't need much to be happy. (Although that 10 bucks would be nice, Ron.) But a man has to have a dream. If a man don't have a dream, well, then he doesn't have anything.

Anyway, if you're a crazy millionaire or something, and you want to make Jim Anchower happy, feel free to send some or all of those gifts to this paper to my attention. But if you don't want to, don't worry about it.

God bless us, everyone. Except Ron, 'cause he's a selfish son of a bitch.

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