I'm Pretty Sure I'm Not The Fishing-Tackle Serial Killer

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Vol 36 Issue 33

Slow-Motion Woman Emerges Glistening From Pool

LOS ANGELES–An unidentified woman in her early 20s emerged from a large, backlit swimming pool at approximately one-third normal speed Monday. According to witnesses, the woman, accompanied by sultry saxophone music, began emerging from the pool at sunset with incandescent pool lights highlighting the droplets of water running down her lithe frame. Upon exiting, the woman reportedly closed her eyes and slowly leaned her head back in preparation for toweling-off procedures.

Everything You Worked So Hard For Lying in Splinters At Your Feet

DURHAM, NC–According to a Duke University report released Monday, all of your hopes and dreams are no more than splinters at your feet, swept away by the uncaring wind. "All that you labored to make a reality, all that you saved and sacrificed for, these are but ashes and dust," said Duke sociologist Dr. Edgar Pratt following the collapse. "Not even history will remember these toils and endeavors, for the world never knew nor cared to know of the struggle behind them."

New Hyundai Owner Sort Of Brags About it To Co-Workers

LODI, OH–Days after buying a brand-new 2001 Hyundai Excel, accountant Dale Grich kind of half-lorded the acquisition over his moderately impressed coworkers Monday. "If we're going to Chi-Chi's, I can fit three of us," said Grich during discussion of a lunch outing. "Got the new Hyundai and all." Upon laying eyes upon the reliable, sensibly priced vehicle, co-worker Al Arnot emitted a low, descending whistle to indicate his being semi-wowed.

William Safire Orders Two Whoppers Junior

NEW YORK–Stopping for lunch at a Manhattan Burger King, New York Times 'On Language' columnist William Safire ordered two "Whoppers Junior" Monday. "A majority of Burger King patrons operate under the fallacious assumption that the plural is 'Whopper Juniors,'" Safire told a woman standing in line behind him. "This, of course, is a grievous grammatical blunder, akin to saying 'passerbys' or, worse yet, the dreaded 'attorney generals.'" Last week, Safire patronized a midtown Taco Bell, ordering "two Big Beef Burritos Supreme."

Media Suffering Through Record Normal Temperatures

KNOXVILLE, TN–Across the U.S., the news media are coping with another week of cripplingly typical temperatures. "It's awful," said Jim Moore, editor of The Knoxville News-Sentinel. "We'd love to run a good lead like 'Dozens Dead In Brutal Heat Wave,' but the temperatures have left us with nothing." Tom Pierre, news director of Fox affiliate KABB-TV in San Antonio, was equally distraught. "Yesterday, it was a pleasant 73 degrees," Pierre said. "How is a 92-year-old widow supposed to tragically perish in an unventilated tenement apartment with weather like that?"

Bobby Knight Through The Years

Fired Sept. 10, Bobby Knight has been involved in his share of incidents during his 30 years as Indiana University basketball coach. Among the highlights:

Washington vs. Hollywood

In recent weeks, both George W. Bush and Al Gore have stepped up their attacks against the entertainment industry for marketing violent and sexual content to young people. What do you think?

My Moroccan Neighbors Won't Stop Their Damn Ululating

Well, there goes the neighborhood. Last week, the moving van pulls up to the Petersens' old house and--yup, you guessed it--a bunch of Moroccans move in. I haven't even met the Aatabous yet, but already I can't stand them: All night long, they won't stop with their damn ululating!
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Just Like Everything Else!: Fox 8 p.m. EDT/7 p.m. ABC Pete's wife is still on him about building that darn shed, these kids are going to be the death of Sheila and Dave, and the hot next-door neighbor is up in EVERYBODY'S business! Sunday nights on ABC couldn't be any more familiar!

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Family

Report: Dad Wants To Show You Where Fuse Box Is

YOUR LOCATION—Noting that it’s important to be prepared in case of emergencies but it’s also a good thing to know in general, your dad announced today that he wants to show you where the fuse box is.

Entertainment

I'm Pretty Sure I'm Not The Fishing-Tackle Serial Killer

Well, I see by the TV that the Fishing-Tackle Serial Killer has struck again. Apparently, this time, he used a spin-casting technique to lay a treble-hook muskie lure right across the path of Brent Parks, a waterskiing tourist from down Illinois way. Ripped the poor feller's throat right open, they say, before the 50-pound test line drug him under. Funny thing is, they found Parks less than a half mile from my shack on Fence Lake, just like all the others. I say it's almost certainly a coincidence, though: I'm almost positive I'm not the Fishing-Tackle Serial Killer.

Like everyone else up here in the Waupamequon area, I'm shocked. No, I don't much like some of them people who come up here, fancy city folks most especially. And, of course, because I love the Chain Of Lakes region, I've certainly had my share of dreams--had one just the other night--about roll-casting a big old five-ounce Rapala six-hook spoon lure deep into the eye sockets of that noisy jackass jet-skier Graham Howser, playing him like a carp, boating him before he could drown in a mix of lake water and his own blood, then hanging him up in the old abandoned boathouse to bleed out nice and slow. But I'm tellin' ya, I was as stunned as anyone when that actually happened to Graham Howser. My thoughts and feelings are with the poor guy's family, who are still staying at the Timberland Pines Resort until the investigation is wrapped up, over in cabin four, the one with the picture window facing the lake.

Anyways, I was fast asleep at the time Graham Howser got himself killed. Sure, I knew that the killer had him all gutted out like a big ol' Northern Pike, even before the papers or police announced it. And, sure, I knew there'd be a couple of big trash bags of taxidermist's sawdust laying around the body when it was found. But, heck, that don't mean nothin'. Anyone up here would've known the same thing. Just known it natural. Why, when you hook a big one, you slit it from asshole to Adam's apple, gut it, keep the liver to feed your minnows, and hang it to dry before you stuff it for the wall. That's just what you do. My grandpa taught me that, just the same as he taught me to sharpen a hook, spincast a line, and keep quiet and not wiggle when he bent me over and put me face down in the chum bucket.

Grandpa taught me the rules of fishing every day. That is, until he mysteriously went face-first into the spinning prop of his big Mercury outboard motor back in '78. He continues to teach me every night in my sleep, croaking out the right way to tie a blood-knot or attach a bobber through torn and chewed-up lips, making sure I know I'm a bad little boy. After Grandpa died, though, Grandma helped out a great deal with my education: She taught me how to be a good little boy and always wash myself until I bled into the rag; she taught me not to complain about wearing hand-me-down clothes she'd outgrown; and she taught me that pontoon boats, with all their bells and whistles and little lights on their fantails, look a whole lot like filthy, filthy whoring ladies.

See, that's how I just know that nice Thomason couple from down Rockville way had it coming. The papers said they were on a whore pontoon boat with all the filthy lights and that it wasn't as fast as Grandpa's bass boat with the big old Mercury outboard. Probably, I mean. And I bet Mr. Nick Thomason couldn't fight off a muskie guide holding a Buck scaling knife, neither, and that his wife Susan didn't know what a fish-billy was for 'til it was too late. Too bad about them. I hope the authorities find their bodies soon, or they're gonna start to stink where they're maybe tied up under old Del Anderson's pier.

But, no, I don't think I'm the Fishing-Tackle Serial Killer. Most likely, I just have a good deal in common with the feller, who the authorities say is a single, white, balding male between the ages of 35 and 55 who probably grew up in this area and likely has a troubled family history. Sure, that sounds like me. But that description doesn't mention the killer having a habit of making his own leather waders and boots out of exotic materials, so I figure I can't possibly be the guy. Whoever it is, though, I hope they catch me soon. Like Grandpa says, the Chain Of Lakes is not a playground.

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