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Volume 33, Issue 1:
The HEURISTIC! Squelch

A Series of Unfortunate Events: The Gooky Grocer

Oh dear reader, I am about to impart to you another woeful tale – indeed, a tale so full of woe that it would take four hundred two-time lottery-winning puppies made entirely of lucky nickels and therapy just to graduate this tale to a status of merely “disappointing.” “Disappointing” is a word which here means “what you are to your mother.”

On the day this terrible tale begins, Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire (who, as you may remember, were orphaned when a fire consumed their home and loving parents) were just about to meet the next relation who would be caring for them. “Relation” is of course a word which means “someone who will care for you after your loving parents are consumed in a fire, but who probably doesn’t actually love you because no one could ever love you. Even your parents. They were lying.”

The taxicab dropped the Baudelaire orphans off in front of a grocery in a mini-mall that also contained a dry cleaners, another dry cleaners, and a restaurant selling very old soup. “This is a strange place for us to live in,” said Violet.

“I agree,” said Klaus, picking up his infant sister Sunny, “but this is the right address.”

“Fee!” said Sunny, which probably meant something like “I think that vagrant is masturbating himself.”

Suddenly, the door to the grocery flew open and out lurched a robust Vietnamese woman with a hump on her back.

Chao ong, children! I am your aunt Phuong!” Of course, “chao ong” is a word in the Vietnamese language which here means: you don’t have to learn it.

“You’re related to us?” asked Violet.

“Of course I am, children! You will be living here with me from now on,” said Aunt Phuong, smiling cheerfully.

Violet was wary of Aunt Phuong. Could she actually be Count Olaf in disguise? In the past, the wicked Count Olaf had made numerous attempts to gain control of the Baudelaire orphans’ vast fortune through lying, murder, and overacting through heavy makeup reminiscent of his performance in The Mask.

Klaus was thinking the exact same thing. His favorite thing to do was read, and he had read a great number of books on people of Aunt Phuong’s background. “I certainly don’t feel Vietnamese,” he said. “I don’t live in a hut, and I don’t know what napalm tastes like or anything. I mean, I’m good at math, but that’s chinks, right?”

“Blaag!” said Sunny, which probably meant “What, bitch? Everyone was thinking it.”

Aunt Phuong looked thoughtful. “You children have a regrettable view of ethnic stereotypes,” she chided. “Regrettable” is a word which here means, “grettable again.”

“Now children,” Aunt Phuong continued, “come inside and we can play a game of pin the tail on your ridiculously wealthy flesh.” She thought for a moment, then said, “That’s Vietnamese for Scrabble,” subtly dropping the hatpin she had been carrying.

Suddenly, Violet was struck with an idea. She grabbed the hatpin from the pavement and jabbed it into Aunt Phuong’s hump, which gave a loud pop and disappeared.

Now that the cat was out of the bag, Aunt Phuong, who was actually Count Olaf, made a grab for the Baudelaire orphans. Klaus, however, had been taught exactly how to deal with these situations.

“RAPE!” screamed Klaus, plunging his knee deep into Count Olaf’s groin. “RAPE RAPE RAPE RAPE RAPE!”

Count Olaf doubled over in pain, but he had easily two hundred pounds on the orphans, so he was able to overpower them anyway. After having each of the assembled vagrants promise to “forget” the events of the evening in exchange for a swig from his flask, he took the Baudelaire orphans inside and strangled them, but not before converting Klaus’s scream from a warning to a prophecy. And of course, “prophecy” is a word which always means “violent, unlubricated anal rape.”

3 Dead, 12 Wounded After Bear Wanders Into Furry Convention

The San Jose Airport Hilton was the scene of a tragedy Thursday, as fifteen people were attacked by a wayward bear. The Alaskan Kodiak, escaped from a nearby zoo, became enraged when numerous “furry” fetishists tried to have sex with it.

“Furroticon ’05,” as it was dubbed by organizers, was an otherwise peaceable gathering of faux-bestiality enthusiasts. Moments after the 1800-pound bear entered the convention hall, no fewer than four people wearing crotchless animal costumes tried to initiate intercourse with the very real animal.

The convention, a meeting of people with sexual fetishes for people dressed in animal costumes, was declared “a disaster” by attendees. After repeated attempts by the furries to copulate with and/or on the bear, it became enraged and started mauling nearby people.

“Sure, I wanted to fuck it,” said convention participant John Fordham. “But as soon as I waved my dick around to signal that I wanted to have sex with a stranger dressed like a bear, I knew something was wrong.”

Martin Luther King Gets Undeserved Recognition

A recent survey reveals that, in casual speech, the “Jr.” is omitted from the end of “Martin Luther King” 67% of the time. “This not only detracts from Martin Luther King Jr.’s well-deserved recognition, but also gives undo respect to his father,” said Revel Washington, professor of African-American Studies at UC Berkeley. “I hear people all the time say ‘It’s on MLK’ or ‘Martin Luther King Day.’ Though a respected reverend, Martin Luther King Sr. by no means deserves this undo recognition.”

19th Century Job Interviews

Boss: I understand you’re applying for…chimney sweep, Mr. Thorped?
Jimmer: Jimmer Thorped, best sweep in Merry England, sir! Sharp as Big Ben’s toll, I am.
Boss: Tortured analogies…good, good. And you’re an orphan by…?
Jimmer: Right sorry, governor?
Boss: Orphaned by war? Orphaned by crime? Abandoned by Royal Family? It’s for the form.
Jimmer: Oh, middle-class mother thrown out of home. I have a reference for it, if you like.
Boss: That will be fine, Jimmer. I like everything I see here…except we’re really only looking for Cockney accents right now.
Jimmer: Er… ‘Ello ‘overnor! I’s sharp as an ‘ol nail, I’s!
Boss: Nice…but that’s really more of an Orkney. I’m sorry, Jimmer.
Jimmer: Oh ‘ell.

Boss: Yes, Mr. Bellows, we’re looking for someone who looks quite similar to our prince, but is, in fact, a pauper.
Bellows: My father is a blacksmith…
Boss: Mmm…that’s really more middle-class, lower-middle-class, isn’t it? Thank you.

Boss: What would you say is your biggest weakness, Mr. Hornel?
Hornel: Right good question. Well, I’m told I work too hard. I’m rarely willing to push back at my boss’s decisions. I’m loyal to a fault. Oh, and I have bloody flux.
Boss: Bloody flux?
Hornel: And consumption…and probably the black lung. What’s your medical policy, again?
Boss: A sound slap on the back for coughing, and we’ll fish your body out of the vats if you fall in.

Boss: I see you know Excel and Word…how about sticking your tiny hands into little gears to retrieve stamped plates?
Pip: Oh, right good at that, sir. See? Tiny, tiny hands, and very supple wrists. Very nearly double-jointed.
Boss: Oh, you’ll be double-jointed soon enough, never worry. (Laughs)
Pip: Yeah…heh heh.
Boss: Well, everything looks good here, mister…ooooh…says here you’re seven years old?
Pip: Seven and a month, sir.
Boss: We’re only hiring six-year-olds. Very, very sorry. We’ll keep your application on file, so let us know if you turn six again.

Boss: Where do you see yourself going with this company, Howard?
Howard: I’ve always been excited about pig skinning. Majored in it. It’s where I see myself for the next three to five years.
Boss: This is something you want to grow with?
Howard: Yeah, I’m looking for something that challenges me. So yeah, of course I expect to start out with hooves, I’m young, but I intend to end up with snouts or even management.
Boss: This is a snouts-track position, keep in mind. Snouts is the highest level.
Howard: Oh…that’s fine. Perfectly fine. Snouts is great.

Top Ten Slavery-related Rock Bands

  1. Audioslavery
  2. New Kids on the Auction Block
  3. Men at Work for No Pay
  4. 2/5 Less Than Jake
  5. Jefferson Davis Airplane
  6. Men Without Hats…or Freedom
  7. Godspeed You! Former Black Emperor Running North
  8. The Dandy Civilwarhols
  9. Colored Me Badd
  10. The Velvet Underground Railroad

Massage Therapists Take Legal Action

The “Massage Therapists” Union made “head lines” this week by heavily publicizing its “legal action.” While the specific details of this “legal action” remain unclear, union spokesperson Angelina Silk described it as including anything from “physical evidence” and “oral arguments” to “backroom deals” and “restraining orders.”

Looking for further information, a group of reporters “pressed deeper” and discovered that, if necessary, Silk would be willing to “take the fifth.”

In other news, massage therapy is a truly legitimate profession in the midst of a serious legal battle.

Top Ten Reasons to Escape

  1. Ctrl-Alt-Del not working
  2. Town’s just one long dead-end drive since the factory closed down, so maybe it’s time to pack up your lucky hat and suitcase full of dreams and hit the road like the young guys says they should, and the old men say they should’ve. Also, you killed a cop.
  3. Chemo ward smells like old people
  4. You’re already a medical experiment; might as well go horribly wrong
  5. Most Dangerous Game not actually Beer Pong
  6. Quarantine, shmarantine!
  7. Just blew up Bond villain’s secret Antarctican complex; also, are James Bond
  8. There was a big line for not escaping
  9. You’re a famous black comedian and the hooker has an Adam’s apple
  10. Pirates unsympathetic about rope allergy

Berkeley Bong Ripping Contest Violates Law of Non-contradiction

Last weekend, Berkeley’s most notorious potheads faced off in a battle of lung capacity and “sheer stoner righteousness,” resulting in a logical paradox of G+A|delian proportions.

The paradox arose from the identification of the contest’s apparent winner, David Resinbauch, as “a big fuckin’ loser” and “a major punk.” This fact received further support in the interview that followed Resinbauch’s victory, in which he meticulously described the weeks of training that preceded the contest. “Imagine like a Rocky montage, only instead of ‘Eye of the Tiger’ playing, it’s that Phish song with the tambourine,” said the impotent ne’er-do-well.

Resinbauch won the contest after managing to cash a 1.2-gram bowl in a single breath, thus securing his status both as the Superman of burnouts and a huge goober. While Berkeley’s experts in formal logic and cannabis culture are still working out the ramifications of “the stoner’s paradox,” it has already been agreed that the other competitors can simply be categorized as losers.