Random Clippings From The Addleton Gazette

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From the Personals section (page D11), dated 2/14/05:

Professional SWF, 36, seeks TDHM, 30-40, interested in LTR w/ passion + excitement. Must have good SOH, love good food, enjoy dancing, and want kids. Pls. no smokers, social drinking OK.

From the Classified section (For Sale: Misc., page D3), dated 4/19/05:

Lot for sale. Includes king-size waterbed, 2 mostly full beanbag chairs, 3 framed Lamborghini posters, a black light, 100+ vintage Penthouse magazines and 5 bongs. Moving in with girlfriend — MUST SELL! $8 OBO! Contact Dave M. at (505)-555-1977

From the Lifestyles section (Wedding Announcements, page C5), dated 6/20/05:

Mr. and Mrs. Charles Wilton have the honor of announcing the marriage of their daughter, local attorney Jennifer Elizabeth Wilton, to David Richard Millis, a freelance investor, on June the 30th, 2005. The ceremony will include family and friends from as far away as London, where the couple plans to spend their honeymoon.

From the Local section (page C3), dated 7/01/05:

‘BRIDE-ZILLA’ GOES ON RAMPAGE, 3 INJURED

Violence erupted yesterday at a wedding ceremony being held at the downtown Episcopal Church when the bride-to-be suddenly became agitated and began lashing out at guests and others in the middle of the service. Eyewitness accounts vary and no motive for the outbreak is clear.

“The (bride) just went crazy,” claimed a friend of the groom’s. “(Stuff) was all cool, they were up there saying all that ‘I do I do’ (stuff), then all of a sudden the (bride) just flips the (fudge) out!”

“I don’t know why she did it, but I’m sure she had her reasons,” suggested Emily Branch, an acquaintance of the bride. Ms. Branch went on to cluck and nod knowingly at this reporter without further elaboration.

The groom (whose name is being withheld but was described as looking unkempt and blurry-eyed, smelling of perfume and covered in glitter) managed to escape the wrathful bride (name also withheld) due to an over-elaborate wedding dress design. He and the best man leapt into a car parked out front, which some witnesses claim had been left running.

The bride was eventually sedated by authorities and released into the custody of her family.

From the Metro section (page B3), dated 7/03/05:

LAWYER FILES UNPRECEDENTED SUIT ON BEHALF OF SELF

Local attorney Jennifer Wilton yesterday filed a $60 million lawsuit on behalf of herself against one David R. Millis of North Addleton. The suit is unique in the sense that it alleges simply that “the defendant is a dick who ruined the plaintiff’s life.” Many legal experts have said that it will most likely never see a courtroom, but many more legal experts just laughed and hung up on us.

“Um, no, I don’t think she can do that,” said Michael Sanchez, a partner in the firm of Schlessinger, Goldman, and Token. “Well, I sure hope not anyway.”

“David Millis is a dangerous man,” according to a statement released by Wilton. “This landmark case is not only about justice for one woman, my client, me, but also about setting a powerful precedent that can stop behavior like this from other grown men in the future. As far as what that behavior is, I’ll just say that Mr. Millis knows what he did, and if he doesn’t then I’m not going to spell it out for him on a legal document.”

Millis could not be reached for comment.

From the Letters-to-the-Editor section (page A6), dated 8/09/05:

To Whom It May Concern,

For two weeks now I’ve had to look at that stupid billboard along Route 22. I’m sure you’ve all seen it too. It’s the one between the Denny’s and the yellow office building before the Center St. exit. The one that used to warn us about feline leukemia? Need another hint?

It’s the BRIGHT NEON PINK one that says “Jenny, I’m sorry! Please forgive me! Love, Dave” and it makes everyone in town puke!!! Know that one?? I thought so.

I don’t know who Dave and Jenny are, and I don’t care. I don’t need their little fight blinding me with pink rays of wussiness while I’m driving home every day. It’s not only stupid and annoying, but it makes every guy in town look bad. Except for Dave, according to my wife, but it sounds like that dude ain’t getting any anyway.

So Dave, wherever you are, you can have my wife if you take that billboard down. And Jenny, either forgive the creep or tell him to buy you some flowers and a steak.

Signed,

Annoyed in Addleton

From the Blurbs section (page A2), dated 8/12/05:

‘DICK’ SUIT DROPPED

A $60 million lawsuit against local investor David Millis, which alleged that he was “a dick,” was dropped yesterday. The plaintiff, Jennifer Wilton, cited an “amicable and passionate settlement” as grounds for the dismissal, adding that nuptials and “perfect, perfect little babies” were included in the agreement. Millis had no comment.

From the Front Page Headline (A1), dated 11/22/05:

BIZARRE SLAYING ROCKS COMMUNITY

Neighbors awoke to a grisly scene in North Addleton yesterday morning when police were called to the home of David R. Millis, whose body was discovered by a Jehovah’s Witness at 5:45 am. An autopsy will be performed, but police reports claim that he had over two dozen stripper-style thongs forcibly inserted into multiple body orifices in addition to at least one issue of Penthouse magazine, rolled into a sharp cone, fatally lodged in his crotch. To make the tragedy even worse, he was due to be married later that morning.

His fiancee’s whereabouts are still unknown.

“It’s so scary,” said one resident… (continued on A3)

From the Personals section of a small paper several states away from Addleton (page D11), dated 2/14/06:

Mysterious SWF, 37, seeks mild mannered SM any age for LTR w/ stability. Must hate the past, asking questions, and porn. No cops.

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FOX Network’s Weekly Explanation Of Paula Abdul’s Increasingly Erratic Behavior

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We here at FOX are appalled by suggestions that Ms. Abdul was acting strangely on last night’s American Idol. Yes, Paula was emotional during and after several of the performances. But really, who wouldn’t be? Did you people not hear Sanjaya’s rendition of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”? What are you, made of stone? I mean, who wouldn’t be reduced to pawing at the face of the person next to you after a poignant moment like that? Or say anything other than rambling baby gibberish? And, if you go back and watch the episode closely, I think you’ll clearly see that Simon offered Paula his sleeve to use as a much needed Kleenex.

* * * * * * * * * *

OK, show of hands. How many of you people are multi-platinum recording artists who danced next to an animated cat in one of the 80s’ seminal music videos? Hmmm? No one? Then perhaps none of you are really qualified to question why Paula was lying under the desk for half of last night’s show. And later appeared to be facing the wrong way. She’s an artist. And that’s how she gleans talent. This is a master at work, people. And when you think about it, it’s actually very Zen-like.

* * * * * * * * * *

Regarding last night’s show: Paula has just informed us that only minutes prior to filming, Donald Trump phoned her and launched into a nasty tirade about her weight and suspect talent. While we were unaware of any feud, Paula has never given us any reason to doubt her credibility and, frankly, the man does have a track record. Knowing this, we are now embarrassed that we approached this brave woman before the show to inquire why she was picking through the trash for leftover Chinese take-out. Our suggestions that she probably not appear on that night’s show now seem callous. Thankfully, Paula is a professional and she wouldn’t hear of it. “The show must go on!” she slurred, literally biting the hands of a young P.A. attempting to restrain her from entering the set. Well, we here at FOX applaud her commitment to the show. Also, we can only assume that Paula’s disheveled hair was deliberately pushed into a comical comb-over in a furtive dig at Mr. Trump. Let’s all take a moment to say “Well played, Paula. Well played.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Many of you might not know this, but Ms. Abdul served in 1990’s Operation Desert Storm. During her tour of duty, Lt. Abdul, as she was then known, was commanding an elite special-ops force when her team suddenly came under heavy enemy fire. Despite only being armed with a pen knife and some lip liner, she successfully took out several militants, even gutting one with her bare hands, before finally being taken captive. During this time, it is our understanding that she was subjected to brutal, systemic torture that left her psyche bent beyond repair. Sadly, somewhere in the middle of LaKisha’s performance of “Livin’ on a Prayer,” Ms. Abdul suffered a flashback to one of her many water-torture episodes and had what experts refer to as a psychotic breakdown. So, as should now be obvious, her spastic arm gyrations and repeated “No deal, Howie!” outbursts during last night’s telecast are entirely understandable.

We here at FOX salute you, Lieutenant.

* * * * * * * * * *

Whatever. Look, you try chugging a 24 oz. Coke container full of Jim Beam and see how far you make it before passing out.

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Superman Dies

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Today the Man of Steel rallied, briefly. The Kryptonite drip to his arm numbed the pain and wracked his body, but for five seconds his x-ray vision worked. He scanned the indestructible prostate tumor that was killing him. Ugh. Not unlike Bizarro’s face. But why not, when he was 95? Today also he had misjudged his super strength and turned a bedpan into a pancake. The nurses’ buzzer he had mashed into molecules days earlier. The old super powers were erratic if they functioned at all. A stronger Kryptonite drip would kill him. He thought, come on, Kryptonite.

Over the last decade his super feats had not been well received. His construction of a fence along the Mexican border with 10 billion aluminum pop cans was called a silly stunt. His solving the global warming crisis by hauling glaciers from Neptune across space had only enraged the environmentalists. The administration said it didn’t need a senior citizen to hunt down terrorists, and the vice president said the Axis of Evil — Poison Ivy, Lex Luthor, and Mr. Freeze — had been brought to justice. If he wanted, the VP added, he could go after the Penguin, who was implicated in the Iraqi oil-for-food scandal, but why didn’t he just retire?

His prostate cried for attention when he hit 87. He was in the Fortress of Solitude working on his autobiography, the chapter on Ma Kent’s delicious homemade fruit pies. Suddenly he felt a stabbing pain in his gut and an attack of weakness, as if a lump of Kryptonite lay close by. The pain never went away and his powers started to fail. As a nonagenarian the Geezer of Steel could hardly fly, and banged about Metropolis like a large, drunken moth. Exhausted at the end of each day, he fell in bed in Kent’s apartment. Kent, a loner, was utterly isolated. Lois had died of breast cancer in 1988, Jimmy had overdosed a year later. Perry White had been entombed since 1977. No one cared about mild-mannered Kent. In fact, no one believed in him.

The day before his ninety-fifth birthday he finally discarded Kent. He donated the reporter’s wardrobe to AMVETS and went in to work the next morning as Superman. No one at the Daily Planet raised an eyebrow. He had blown his cover years ago in a pre-cancer series of senior moments. There was the time he came to the office with his shirt unbuttoned and his big red S showing. Another time he stepped out the fifteenth-floor office window to catch a cab. A few coworkers snickered at these faux pas, but they only confirmed what everyone already knew. Never a sick day in decades, come on. Turning down medical coverage until it was mandatory, uh huh. Kent had effectively died around 1965, and Superman might just as well have been himself beginning then. But he couldn’t erase Kent from his mind. Although he typed at his desk in full heroic spandex on his ninety-fifth birthday, he didn’t talk to anyone unless they called him Clark. Two weeks later he collapsed at the copier and rode an ambulance to the hospital.

Admirers came, and sometimes he was alert enough to speak with them. Batman stumbled in on a walker. The Caped Crusader told him Spiderman lay in a nursing home with bedsores from neglect, the Green Lantern wore Depends, and Wonder Woman’s closet was full of pointy bras she’d never need again. He enjoyed Batman’s visit, but it tired him. All the celebrities and fans tired him. When Obama arrived, he turned his face to the wall. Superman instructed the hospital to bar all further visits. Superman, he told them to say, was having a bad day.

At the end the Man of Steel found no peace. The Man of Tomorrow didn’t take ‘er easy. The Strange Visitor from Another Planet couldn’t chill. Thing was, he left no legacy. There were no super kids to follow in his footsteps, and he would shortly be forgotten. It wasn’t for want of trying. Lois the lesbian had checked his advances, and then for a brief time, without any protection, and only to perpetuate his name, he had been as Wilt Chamberlain to all comers. But that was years ago, and he had heard of no youths running 3-second miles or leaping over buildings. Had he shot blanks? Was his seed incompatible with the earthly egg? Were all these human hags barren?

Dozing, Superman felt an unfamiliar presence. Opening his eyes, he found a large youth standing in his semi-private room. Brown-skinned and badly overweight, he had that signature ringlet of hair hanging over his forehead. Could it be? He was saying something. Superman thought he heard “I flew here as soon as I got word, dad.” But was this really his offspring, or some con artist trying to get his hands on Kent’s pension and the royalties to I Am Superman?

He waved the young man to his bedside. The lad waddled over. Then the Patient of Steel, with his last strength, grabbed the four-foot, 75-pound green oxygen tank by his bedside and smacked the kid’s cranium with it like Bonds hitting a homer. The guy’s head came right off.

No son of mine, thought Superman, and died.

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Bill Walton Helps You Open A Chase Free Checking Account

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Welcome back to Chase Bank here on Ashland and Roscoe. Truly great to have you with us on this beautiful Wednesday morning. This branch is not only one of the best branches in the city, but it’s quite possibly one of the best branches in the entire history of the world. You’ve just witnessed a spectacular display of customer service up at the teller window with Barbara, and now I will show you the superb benefits of a Chase Free Checking account. Goodness gracious alive. It doesn’t get any better than this.

With our free checking account you will have total access to over 7,300 Chase ATMs and 2,600 branches nationwide. I am truly stunned to hear that you had your last account over at First Federal with their despicable monthly fees and lackluster show in available ATMs. I’m shocked at their display. I scratch my head in bewilderment over the fact that you weren’t even offered online statements. They didn’t give you a choice over check safekeeping? Balderdash. That’s a terrible call. Terrible. Chase Bank is doing things we’ve never seen before from anybody — from any planet! This might very well be the best account for you in the history of Western Civilization.

There’s absolutely no minimum balance for your free checking account when using direct deposit, which is just spectacular. Just outstanding. You also get free online bill pay, and that right there is one of the true marvels of this wondrous world, if not of all the galaxies. You can actually pay your cell phone bill over the Internet. No more of those suffocating and exasperating lines at the post office. Chase is the greatest thing to happen to demand deposit accounts in a long time.

Now it doesn’t take a genius of the human spirit, or someone who went to UCLA, to understand that you might overdraw your account. That’s why the superb beings at Chase offer overdraft protection in the form of a credit card that is directly linked to your checking account. Remember that failing to prepare is preparing to fail, and that sacred cows make the best hamburger. I’m not a critic, just a reporter of the facts: Having overdraft protection is just one the true marvels of Chase Bank. Not just of this generation, but of all time. I can’t say enough about their resolve. Breathtaking move. Just remarkable.

I’m mainstream; always have been. On the other hand, I’m 6-foot-11 and I’ve got red hair, freckles, and I’m a goofy, nerdy-looking guy with a speech impediment — I stutter and stammer all the time – and to top it all off, I’m a Deadhead. But I found a safe place in life in the plethora of Chase’s personal banking services. If Chase Bank, the epitome of competitive greatness, can give a man like me or a man like you the opportunity to exceed the hype and receive a free Chase Check Card and personalized email alerts when there is suspicious activity on your account, then this surely is a momentous event in the storied history of financial institutions.

I just need you to sign here, here and then here on your debit card application. Stroke it, big man! Stroke it. I will also need a minimum amount of twenty-five dollars to open the account. Did you want to go with regular or duplicate checks? And while I’m on the phone ordering them, point a steady finger to the color scheme you prefer. Slam it down, big man! What a superb showing of grace and power. Now please write down your PIN number in that box. That’s a thing of absolute beauty. Perfection. We welcome you with open arms. Remember that this is Chase Bank’s world, we’re just lucky to be living in it.

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