Spreadin' A Little Sunshine

In This Section

Vol 39 Issue 07

New Bailiff Tired Of Hearing How Old Bailiff Did Things

FLAGSTAFF, AZ—Deputy Benjamin H. Weaver, court bailiff of the Flagstaff Municipal Courthouse, has grown weary of the constant comparisons to recently retired bailiff Leo Cessna. "I don't care if Deputy Leo always let you use the bathroom during opening arguments—I'm not Leo," the 34-year-old Weaver told jurors Tuesday. "I'm not Leo, I've never been Leo, and I can never be Leo, okay?" After the session, court stenographer Judy Rayburn tried to comfort Weaver, telling the shaken bailiff that it took years for the judges to accept her way of using semicolons.

NBC Cancels CSI

BURBANK, CA—Seeking to bolster its Thursday-night Nielsen numbers, NBC announced Monday that it is cancelling the highly rated CBS drama CSI: Crime Scene Investigation. "CSI was a quality show that, unfortunately, always quite lived up to expectations," said Jeff Zucker, NBC president of entertainment. "We tried to give it plenty of time to lose an audience, but in the end, it just was working." Other shows NBC may cancel include Fox's American Idol, ABC's Alias, and CBS's Everybody Loves Raymond.

Corey Flintoff Unleashes Sonorous, Pleasantly Modulated String Of Obscenities

WASHINGTON, DC—Upon injuring a toe Sunday, Corey Flintoff, newscaster for NPR's All Things Considered, unleashed a string of rich, pleasantly modulated obscenities. "God fucking dammit," Flintoff warmly intoned after dropping a heavy-duty router on his foot while working in his garage. "Stupid fucking cocksucking son of a bitch." Added Flintoff in a lush baritone: "Goddamn motherfucking shit-for-brains. This is NPR." Next-door neighbor Cheryl Thomas, who overheard the tirade, said Flintoff's delivery was so melodic, she was unaware that he was swearing.

It Takes A Village to Stitch 20,000 Dallas Cowboys Sweatshirts

In this life, we need the help of others to get by. No one person—nor two, nor four, nor even forty—is enough to undertake the task of producing thousands of pieces of officially licensed NFL merchandise. You cannot do it alone. It takes a total team effort. Indeed, here in Guatemala, we have a saying: It takes a village to stitch 20,000 Dallas Cowboys sweatshirts.

The Anti-SUV Movement

Decried as gas-guzzling road hazards, SUVs are also under fire for supporting terrorism by increasing U.S. dependence on Mideast oil. What do you think?

God Quietly Phasing Holy Ghost Out Of Trinity

HEAVEN—Calling the Holy Trinity "overstaffed and over budget," God announced plans Monday to downsize the group by slowly phasing out the Holy Ghost. "Given the poor economic climate and the unclear nature of the Holy Ghost's duties, I felt this was a sensible and necessary decision," God said. "The Holy Ghost will be given fewer and fewer responsibilities until His formal resignation from Trinity duty following Easter services on April 20. Thereafter, the Father and the Son shall be referred to as the Holy Duo."
End Of Section
  • More News
TV Listings
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!

Special Coverage

Healthy Living

  • The Onion’s Guide To Gym Etiquette

    Every new year brings a surge in gym membership from new members nicknamed “resolutionists,” many of whom may be unaware that there are unspoken rules everyone must observe when working out.

Fantasy Sports

Little League Pitcher Just Getting Fucking Shelled

RED BANK, NJ—After watching the 11-year-old give up the fourth straight double that inning, sources confirmed Sunday afternoon that local Little League pitcher Dustin Bauer is getting absolutely fucking shelled out there.

Spreadin' A Little Sunshine

You know, your old pal Jean likes to think she can take a joke. After all, life is short, and it's important to have a sense of humor about things. But those pranksters who stole the "Think Spring!" display from the balcony of my apartment really and truly crossed the line.

Yes, Jeanketeers, you read right. Sometime last night, some world-class Grinch (or Grinches) managed to climb onto my second-floor balcony and take everything I had so painstakingly set up. They stole every plastic flower, every blade of artificial turf, the stuffed bunnies, a darling painted wooden birdhouse, a deck chair, a lawn sprinkler, and not one, not two, but three rainbow-striped wind socks! Gone, too, is the hanging sun I cleverly made by blowing up a balloon, draping it with wet papier-mâché strips, letting it dry, and then popping it. I poured my soul into that sun! Now that and everything else is gone.

I'm not really upset about the monetary loss, even though I paid full price for the birdhouse and little birdbath with the resin frog family sitting in it. It's the sheer mean-spiritedness of it that gets me. I spent hours in the freezing cold strapping everything down, wiring the flowers to the turf so the wind wouldn't blow it all away. I even covered it with a tarp each night so the snow wouldn't fall on it. This had to be a premeditated crime. (Sorry to use such harsh words in what is normally a source of lighthearted entertainment, Jeanketeers, but this is serious business!)

It's been a long, tough winter, especially in my neck of the woods, and I thought it would put a smile on the faces of neighbors and passersby alike if I reminded them that spring was just around the corner. Yes, I thought I could spread a little sunshine... literally! I even made myself part of the act, braving the icy chill in my Hawaiian-style floral smock and sun-hat (with longjohns underneath, naturally!) and waving to passing pedestrians and motorists! I actually got a couple of people to honk or wave back. (And I'm not even counting the guy who wanted me to show my nay-nays!)

Dressing up the porch was the cutest creative idea I've had in ages. It was even better than when I made those duck-headed Easter baskets out of bleach bottles and pom-pom balls for my brother Kevin's children back in '99. I later heard from my mother that he threw them away because there were bleach fumes. But if you ask me, I'd say Kevin, a born-again Christian, really got rid of them because he thought they were idolatrous!

As fun as it was for me, there was a deeper personal reason why I put up this display. You see, growing up, I never had a lawn. For most of my childhood, we lived in a three-bedroom house, but shortly after we moved in, my parents had the entire yard paved. Not with patio-type flagstones, but with cement. My father didn't want ants and termites, and he thought having grass would increase the odds of them entering the home. He also stripped the ivy from the house and chopped down the oak trees, including one with a treehouse built for the previous residents' kids.

It wasn't really much fun to play in a paved yard, and the neighbor kids made fun of me about it, so I spent a lot of time indoors. But, you know, it wasn't that bad. That's when I discovered my love of writing and began a lifelong love affair with daytime-TV programming. (At the risk of showing my age, let's just say I was probably Dinah Shore's youngest fan!)

I still don't have a yard to call my own: Hubby Rick and I only have a small second-floor apartment, so that balcony is the sole outdoor exposure we have. It was kind of a disappointment at first, but then I thought, why not take the lemons life has dealt me and make lemonade? Isn't that the definition of being a good sport?

And while we're talking definitions, perhaps the five-star fink who took my display would like to brush up on the definition of good citizenship. There might be a big war soon, and we on the homefront need to be as kind and helpful to each other as possible. I'm not saying what happened to me was necessarily terrorism, but in my book, people who commit cold-hearted acts like stealing perfectly innocent "Danger: Chipmunk Crossing" signs are as anti-American as they come.

Ever since the crime, I've been wondering: What if someone had broken all the way into the apartment, intending to steal more than just what was on my porch? I recall hubby Rick stumbling in shortly after 3 a.m. last night, later than usual because he had today off. The theft must have occurred after that; otherwise Rick, as pickled as he was, would've at least noticed the display missing. I like to think of myself as a feminist, but sometimes I wish Rick would act more gallant and defend my stuff. He wasn't around last Halloween when someone smashed the six jack-o'-lanterns I carved to spell "BE SAFE." And, once again, he was nowhere to be seen when I found the missing Baby New Year 2003—a doll I had specially dressed and mounted to our front door—shoved in the trash behind our building with its legs sticking in the air.

Old Jean may be down, but she's not out. I'm offering a reward, no questions asked, for information leading to the safe return of my display. A pan of my world-renowned Cocoa Almond Caramel Coffee Toffee Fudge Bars With Melted Peppermint Patty & Butter Creme Icing awaits the Honest John brave enough to track down the culprit. Any takers?

Beginning March 1, the Teasdale balcony will be magically transformed into the Emerald Isle. And it will stay that way right through St. Patty's Day, even if I have to dress up hubby Rick in a leprechaun outfit and put him on 24-hour guard!

Next Story

Onion Video

Watch More