Fortress of Solitude Too Solitudinous

November 1, 2003

Antarctica’s population grew by one yesterday when local resident Superman purchased a hamster in order to alleviate the crippling loneliness of living in an ice cave at the South Pole. Along with cage, wheel, and hamster ball, the icy Fortress of Solitude is now equipped with a portable area heater because, according to Superman, “no one wants a repeat of the goldfish incident.”

Superman told reporters that he just couldn’t take the Fortress’ solitude anymore. “I’ve been feeling pretty depressed lately,” said Superman, “but last week, I finally hit rock bottom.” The Man of Steel admitted to taking an entire bottle of Xanax last Thursday, in an attempt to end his life. “But since it wasn’t Kryptonite Xanax, I was pretty okay.”

The Last Son of Krypton’s special friend came in the form of a brown and white dwarf hamster. “His name is Mr. Huggles,” Superman told reporters, “and he’s my bestest friend.” Superman then tenderly put a small cape around Mr. Huggles’ tiny neck.

Gotham City’s Batman, once believed to be Superman’s best friend, was unavailable for comment.

In unrelated news, billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne spent the day alone on a park bench, eating a pint of H+A+-agen-Dazs and casting wistful gazes at Gotham’s empty skyline.

Volume 13- Issue 3

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November 1, 2003

David Duman, feature

Recently uncovered and collected by the National Archives are personal journals kept by everyday citizens in the days following September 11, 2001. It is an attempt to preserve for all time these raw, incisive, and emotional accounts of what people went through to make it home safe to their families. In this recurring feature we’ll share a new, touching story of real Americans and their real lives.

Donald Robinson, Businessmen
_I was in Washington, D.C. at the time and being the really fucking rich businessmen that I am, I’m entitled to everything going right. I knew I couldn’t get a flight so I headed to the rental car lot but all the cars were booked. Even the U-Hauls and Ryder truck lots had waitlists. It seemed that the only way to get back to California was in a pine box. That was when I spotted it, a gleaming yellow, black, and white chariot of freedom. I hailed the cab and climbed in… _

Cabbie: Where to?
Me: Pacific Palisades.
Cabbie: Excuse me?
Me: You heard me. California. Let’s get cozy.
Cabbie: But….
Me: Drive. There’s $50,000 and a handy from one of my many mistresses in it for you.

_We were cruising through the Appalachians when the tedium began to hit. _

Me: Slug bug! You owe me a Coke.
Cabbie: Hey, I wasn’t even playing!

_By the time we reached Nebraska you could cut the tension with a knife. _

Cabbie: So, uh…. How ’bout all those people who died?
Me: Yeah, that’s a bummer.
Cabbie: Say, is that an out-of-state license plate?
Me: If you even think about hitting me on the shoulder I’ll cut your head off and fuck your esophagus.

_Our toughest challenge was when we crossed the Rocky Mountains. His 1984 Crown Victoria was having troubles. _

Me: Look, you’re giving it too much! You’re going to burn the transmission! Downshift!
Cabbie: You’re not being very helpful. I know how to drive my cab!
Me: Look, who’s the cabbie and who’s the passenger here?
Cabbie: You’re this close to getting thrown out of this cab.
Me: Hey look, we’re crossing the Great Divide!
Cabbie: Hmm, this should prove metaphorical.

_But a brighter future was ahead. For you see, we took a detour… _

Me: Hey, pull over.
Cabbie: But this is the MGM Grand. I thought you wanted to get home to your family.
Me: Look, I’ll bankroll your gambling and you’ll get two handys from two of many mistresses and a blowjob from my 20-year old Laotian sex-boy if you stop.
Cabbie: Agreed.

We shared a bed together in the casino that night, just the cabbie and me huddled against the dark forces of terrorism together in the warm darkness of that casino hotel. It was there that I decided that I would leave my family and together the cabbie and I would open a small roadhouse on the outskirts of Vegas where we’d serve warm home cooking and a hot cup of coffee to anyone who walked through our door with a smile. Then we’d steal their wallets.

Volume 13- Issue 3

Bum Saves Woman From CIA

November 1, 2003

newsflash, Unfunny Asshole 2

At 7:00 PM exactly, Berkeley student Amy Delacruz was walking down Telegraph Avenue when she narrowly missed being incinerated by an orbiting satellite. She was saved by local street person Amos Terwuggen, who was nearby and dove on her just as, in his own words, “beams made all out of lasers” were about to strike her down. The beam disintegrated half the street and a storefront before mysteriously disappearing.

Ms. Delacruz shrieked at Mr. Terwuggen and beat him senseless, walking away without looking behind to view the utter destruction.

Mr. Terwuggen explained that the beam was fired from a CIA satellite being controlled by “Rick the Smick.”

“Smick always doin’ stuff for the CIA,” said Terwuggen. “They’re mad because I keep the air from moving too quickly. Look, Rick got his CIA remote control out now!”

Unfortunately, Rick had apparently hidden his remote before this reporter could look at him.

Volume 13- Issue 3

Women’s Sexuality De-Cal Walked in On

November 1, 2003

Ben Narodick, newsflash

The Women’s Sexuality De-Cal class was deeply embarrassed last weekend when its Mother walked in on them, unaware.

The class, both famed and controversial for its explicit exploration of female sexual topics, was in the middle of a hot and heavy discussion of the implications of the clitoris.

“Mom! Get out!” the class reportedly yelled, gathering a blanket around itself.

The Mother, Karen Gronsky, 45, muttered an apology and walked out, cheeks red.

“She totally doesn’t respect our privacy,” said the De-Cal class, which was suspended two years ago over accusations of inappropriate behavior. “I can’t believe she didn’t knock or something.”

The class then helped the Male Sexuality De-Cal out the back window before going downstairs.

Volume 13- Issue 3

Take off that fucking trucker hat

November 1, 2003

Dan Freedman, feature

Dear posers,

Take off that fucking trucker hat.

I hate all of you wannabe skater punks who think it’s cool to get paid $16K a year to drive across country with only your CB radio and a half gallon of hand moisturizer, but don’t wear are fucking hats! I’ll tell you this much, you won’t see us truckers wearing your girly Hurley T-shirts or your Abercrombie gear. We don’t pretend to look like Ashton Kutcher, so maybe you should stop pretending to look like us! Trucker hats are for truckers and faded jeans are for homos and that’s just how it is.

You wouldn’t wear O.R. scrubs to class, nor would you wear one of those silly British police caps, so why a trucker hat? That hat is our uniform. It’s like a badge that only us truckers are given the honor to wear! It’s the law! I’m serious! Ever since congress voted to pass the Trucker Hat Act in 1948 (HB 1037), truckers have been given, “sole authority to sport all trucker wear and paraphernalia; especially the hat. Take away our hats and we have nothing! Just a truck and that hitchhiker who performs oral!

In addition to breaking the law, you law breakers, your wearing a trucker hat creates national security problems. Think about this, suppose you are walking down a street when a trucker blows a tire. The driver gets out with his authentic trucker hat on and asks you (a trucker hat-wearing civilian) for help. Will you know how to replace his tire? You could be putting an entire nation at risk! What if the truck is carrying nuclear bombs and then another truck carrying fireworks plows into it and then another truck full of cigar-smoking Cuban immigrants crashes into that! An entire state could be nuked because some stupid poser on the street couldn’t help the driver change a fucking tire!

So, in summary, take off the Trucker Hat and deliver them immediately to any local truck stop for redistribution among the trucking community. Cute girls wearing trucker hats can keep them on cause they look hot in them. Stupid, but hot. Everyone else relinquish your caps immediately.

-Trucker Dan “No Fat Chicks” Jackson

Volume 13- Issue 3

Ostensible Fun Fact Turns Out to Be Terrifying Omen

November 1, 2003

Eamon Doyle, newsflash

On Wednesday evening, shortly after consuming his fourth banana of the day, Cal junior Bryan Dempsey opened a bottle of Snapple only to find the short but harrowing factoid “Eating bananas makes you more attractive to mosquitoes” staring up at him from the underside of the cap.

Moments later, a tremendous cloud of mosquitoes descended upon Dempsey and drank three pints of his banana-rich blood.

Snapple Spokesperson Amber Horowitz remarked, “Snapple is not liable when God uses its enjoyable ‘fun fact’ feature in ironic ways.”

“I don’t know what was worse GAA almost being eaten alive by a swarm of mosquitoes, or being slapped in the face seconds beforehand with the inevitability of it,” Dempsey told the Squelch from his bed at Alta Bates Medical Center, where he remains in stable condition. “Thanks for the fun fact, Snapple.”

Volume 13- Issue 3

R&B Lyrics Too Implicit For Middle Schoolers

November 1, 2003

Eamon Doyle, newsflash

“Pony,” the breakthrough hit from R&B star Ginuwine, was barred from all future play at Willard Middle School dances after school officials declared the song’s lyrics to be too tame for the student body.

“‘Send chills up and down your spine/Juices flowing down your thigh?'” said Principal Andrew Simmons in an official statement. “Come on. This song reeks of 1996. As educators, we can accept only the freak-nastiest jams for your eleven year-olds.”

Student government president Tiffany Moran agreed. “‘Pony’ might have been the shit for my big sister, but this is, like, the twenty-first century. You take Khia, on the other hand – now she a nasty bitch.

Volume 13- Issue 2