Very Few People Like Me

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Vol 30 Issue 01

Band's Van Breaks Down

CHAPEL HILL, NC—Promising local band Spacegoat suffered a major setback on its path to fame yesterday, when its 1982 Dodge van broke down en route to a show in Durham.

African Nation Not War-Torn

PORTO-NOVO, BENIN—According to inside sources in the capital city of Porto-Novo, the nation of Benin is not currently torn by war. In addition to lacking massive civil strife and severe political turmoil, the sources say, the small West African nation is also not under threat of violent military coup by leftist guerrillas. "Benin is a peaceful country," said New York Times West African correspondent Richard Coombes. "Its people are not being killed in large numbers and buried in mass graves. Further, Benin's many cities and villages are not being burned to the ground by roving bands of power-hungry, machine gun-wielding warlords." Benin's Department of Tourism is capitalizing on the nation's lack of combat, next week launching a $30 million "Benin—You Will Not Be Killed Here!" promotional campaign.

Lester Jackson Gets His Sorry Ass Home

ST. LOUIS—At the strong urging of his wife Rhonda, Lester Jackson got his sorry ass home last night, narrowly avoiding an explosive domestic confrontation. "He better get his sorry ass home real soon," Rhonda Jackson told reporters around 11:45 p.m. yesterday, more than two hours after her husband was supposed to return from his weekly poker game. "Cause if he don't, he ain't gonna like what he find when he do." Several minutes after Rhonda Jackson made her statement, Lester Jackson dragged his sorry ass through the front door, trying to pass off another one of his sorry-ass excuses and wearing that sorry-ass hangdog look on his face he always wears when he knows he's going to get it real good.

Dream Team Wins Small Soft Drink

ATLANTA—The U.S. men's basketball "Dream Team" took home a small soft drink from McDonald's yesterday, making its players big winners and quenching their Olympic-sized thirsts. "We win when the USA wins," said power forward Karl Malone, taking a sip from the Dream Team's 12-ounce Coke. "This refreshing beverage is ice-cold proof of that." The Dream Team won the food prize Sunday, when U.S. fencer Dana Owens took gold in the individual women's epee, defeating Qatar's Faizla Hourani 15-11, 15-9. Nine of the eleven Dream Teamers shared the drink, the exceptions being center Shaquille O'Neal, who is signed to a long-term exclusive contract with Pepsi, and reserve point guard John Stockton, who wanted a Mello-Yello.

Navy Admiral Thinks He's 'Mr. Important'

QUANTICO, VA—According to a recently published report, Navy Admiral John A. Weinhardt, 57, thinks he is "Mr. Important," or something. "Oooooooh... Aren't we Mr. Special? Aren't we just Mr. Look- At- All- My- Medals- I'm- So- Important- I'm- a- Mr.- Big-Shot- Important- Mr.- Navy- Man," read part of the 340-page classified government report, which concluded, "Like wow, I'm really powerful. Oooh, look at all these people saluting me... Like, I'm just so cool, you know?." Admiral Weinhardt has declined comment on the allegations.

The Not-So-Friendly Skies

Last month's mysterious crash of TWA Flight 800 near Long Island, which came on the heels of several other major air tragedies, has sparked a national debate about the safety and security of commercial airlines. What do you think?
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Very Few People Like Me

Very few people like me because I'm loud, and when I speak I usually demand something, only not in English, but rather by grunting. Then I get very angry when no one understands me, so I start to cry. That way sometimes waitresses will get close enough that I can grab their breasts.

People also hate it when I sing really loud in the park, due to the fact that I sit next to them on a bench and press my lips to their ear—and also because I sing by belching with my tongue stuck out and wiggling all around.

Those are very annoying habits, but they're only the tip of the iceberg. There are loads of other things I do that make people dislike me.

If someone drops something, they hate the way I laugh at them so loudly that I start to cough up bits of phlegm into their face, especially when they are in places where they can't move away from you, like in a movie theater or a hospital bed.

Once in a while people will act as though they like me, but when that happens I just try to have sex with them, whoever it is—the social worker, the UPS man, my mom.

It's not just what I do; very few people like how I look. I'm so greasy that people are uncomfortable being around me because they have to make such an effort not to look at the rivers of pus and grease that streak my forehead.

They're always nervous that I'll catch them looking at my lopsided, ugly, oily face, so they look down at the ground. That's why I like to urinate on public streets.

Then there's that smell that instantly fills up any room I step into. I smell incredibly bad, like sort of a cross between tequila vomit and the soup you make out of the brains of those men you dig up at the vagrants' cemetery.

And because of my stink, there's flies. Not those big black flies that you can catch and eat on the bus, but those little teeny swarms of fruit flies that lay their eggs in the matted tufts of your hair.

Would you like someone like me? Of course not. I am very unlikable. You're right not to like me.

I don't really wash myself, except for when I go to McDonald's, and even then I only do it at a booth right up in the front with a 32-ounce cup full of water and a whole big stack of napkins.

If they ask me to leave I order something and then, so I can get my money back, I plant a big fistful of hair in it that I yank out of some kid that runs past.

Sure, I know that very few people like me, but it's not all my fault. Someone else gave me that gash across my chest—the one that I pick at constantly, getting blood all over myself, before I try to shake hands with everyone.

Then again, people might not want to touch me because I'm always putting my hands down my pants and scratching myself. They hate it when afterwards I smell my fingers. And they hate it worse when I make them smell my fingers.

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