Today Newt Gingrich announced that his wife, Callista, is in his words a “Stepford Wife.” Newt told reporters today. “Soon after I married Callista, I had her brain replaced with a robotic brain. She does anything I tell her to, which frankly, the way all wives should behave to their husbands.”
Callista has been the most public and the least known of the political partners bracing for the scrutiny of a presidential campaign. In eleven years of marriage, Callista Gingrich has never been the subject of a profile. Gingrich’s aides declined to make her available to any newspapers for an interview, to talk about her or the marriage on the record or on background, or even to suggest friends who might offer a glimpse of the would-be First Lady.
The reason: Callista is a robot.
Friends say she’s ready for the rigors of Iowa, where she went to college, and a comfortable public performer, if one who has spent much of her time on stage behind a gleaming french horn in the Fairfax City Band.
“The robotic brain I had put in her head, can handle any situation,” said Newt.
“She is much more in the model of a Laura Bush than a Hillary Clinton,” said David Bossie, the president of the conservative group Citizens United and a longtime Gingrich ally. “She just is a strong partner like Laura Bush, was but not out in front like Hillary Clinton was.”
Callista Gingrich is Newt’s third wife. He was tired of having his wives “talk back” to him and deny him sex. “Callista will have sex with me whenever I ask her too and she never talks back. If she starts to talk back, I just say the word “Speaker” and she shuts up. I love her so much.”
When asked where Newt had his wife’s brain replaced with a robotic brain, he said – “That’s something that will come out in the campaign. I will reveal that on every campaign stop ONLY to the men who promise to vote for me in 2012.”
Newt hopes to win in a landslide.
I am intrigued by the hint that Laura Bush may also be a robot.
RIO DE JANEIRO – Zombies have overrun the city after zombie ants infected humans.
Ophiocordycps unilateralis once thought to be a brain-manipulating fungus that only affects the minds of ants is now known to affect the minds of humans as well.
The mind altering fungus can remain dormant in the fire ants and black ants for as little as a few hours but may remain dormant in carpenter ants for as much as several weeks before it begins to take over the mind of the ant….
Due to the deforestation of the Brazilian Rainforest many creatures, including ants, have begun infiltrating the cities of Brazil in hopes of finding a new habitat. Several carpenter ants made their way to Rio de Janeiro in hopes of building new colonies within the wooden structures of the city. Many made it to the city just before Carnival began and, unfortunately, just before they fell under the influence of the mind controlling fungus.
As Carnival fired up the zombie ants began to wander aimlessly throughout the city being stepped on left and right. On any other day of the week no one would have even noticed or paid any attention to the dead ants on the streets of Rio. But some unfortunate drunk souls decided to eat some of the dead and some of the live ants allowing the fungus to take control of their minds. These human zombies then began attacking other humans during the festivities causing a massive outbreak. But much of the attacks went unnoticed due to the fact the Carnival can get “pretty f’ing crazy.”…
Additionally, most zombies were not noticed until many days after Carnival had ended since most everyone appeared like the walking dead due to their massive hangovers. Due to the multiple day hangovers caused by Carnival, it has yet to be confirmed how quickly the fungus affects humans.
Brazilian authorities have put the entire country on red alert warning all their citizens to be aware of anyone that may appear intoxicated as this could be the first signs of infection. They have also asked all citizens that if they see any ants anywhere to step on them and immediately burn the bodies with a magnifying glass.
And this is why I never eat ants. Or go to Carnival.
Representatives of FAO Schwarz, the famous New York City toy store, have confirmed that Charlie Sheen has purchased the Barbie Foosball Table for $24,999.99.
In an official statement, the ritzy toy emporium explained: “Mr. Sheen visited our store many months ago and showed serious interest in the Bonzini Babyfoot Barbie Foosball Table. At the time, he was staying across the street at the Plaza Hotel’s Eloise Suite. As was well-documented by the press, his stay was cut short due to Mr. Sheen’s unexpected hospitalization and he was unable to return to the store to finalize his purchase.
We heard from Mr. Sheen’s camp earlier this week and the table has finally been shipped to his residence. We believe Mr. Sheen will enjoy the Barbie Foosball Table. It combines two of his primary interests: blondes and winning.”
An assistant for Mr. Sheen confirmed, “Charlie likes games, especially if they involve teams of lovely ladies. He has already scheduled ‘Ladies Night: The Annual Charlie Sheen Barbie Foosball Tournament’ for this weekend. It will begin on Saturday, with finals taking place on Sunday morning at 4:30AM. Charlie is picking the teams and has included both former and current residents of his home.
He asked Denise Richards and Brooke Mueller to join, but both turned down his offer of ‘Team Captain.’ All the girls will be required to wear custom all-pink uniforms. The tank top says ‘Charlie’ across the front and the short-shorts say ‘Winning!’ across the backside. Charlie couldn’t be happier. He is assuming the role of ‘Tournament Referee’ and even bought a pink whistle.”
I hope this will be televised. How about it, Mark Cuban?
Veteran Hollywood publicist Stan Rosenfield, who represented Charlie Sheen through the actor’s rehab attempts and breakup with his employers on the hit sitcom “Two and a Half Men,” abruptly resigned on Monday.
Charlie Sheen called Rosenfeld a “pussy” and then immediately hired Xv Y’uuu, an alien from Planet Zeeba. Xv Y’uu stepped right in and is handling all Charlie’s affairs in a manner that Charlie likes.
“Y’uuu is a winner. Y’uuu is a rock star. He’s a rock star working a rock star and together we are going to Go Alien on CBS and take the whole network down. As a matter of fact, we might just take down all of Hollywood. We’re going to sue the whole town. You don’t treat the gold that I am like this.”
Asked where he met Y’uuu, Sheen said, “I’ve known Y’uuu for years. There are aliens living amongst us people. Don’t you see them. Y’uuu has been a good friend and couldn’t be happier that he’s handling my press now. We are going to napalm Hollywood!”
Y’uuu was busy firing off emails from his brain, so he was not available to talk to WWN.
The McDonald’s Corporation announced its plans to expand the franchise into unchartered territory. They’re building a Mickey D’s on the moon!
James A. Skinner, the Chairman and CEO of McDonald’s said the lunar restaurant is scheduled to open in January, 2015. The company set aside a budget of $12.5 billion to complete the project. That’s nearly 6000 times what it costs to open a McDonald’s restaurant on Earth.
When asked about the restaurant’s moon clientele, Skinner said the burger joint will cater to all kinds of space travelers, human and non-human.
“We expect a few astronauts to stop by every now and then,” said Skinner, “but we think the majority of the customers will be aliens. There’s just something about our golden brown fries that aliens can’t resist.”
In order to better serve their alien clientele, the McDonald’s Corporation plans to release a new, “moon-only” dollar menu, which includes foods like Astro-Fries, Martian Nuggets, and a new sandwich, the Big Uranus.
Skinner said he wanted to open a restaurant on the moon because the company had “run out of space” on Earth.
“We already have too many McDonald’s on this planet,” said Skinner. “There’s one in every country and on every continent on the globe. It’s only right that we expand our franchise into outer space. It’s the last available real estate at this point.”
So far, extra-terrestrial reactions to the lunar Mickey D’s have been mixed. Some aliens can’t wait to wrap their tentacles around a hot and juicy Quarter Pounder with Cheese.
“I’ve been craving McDonalds ever since I left Roswell in 1951,” said Splivzack, an alien from the planet Zeeba. “My buddies and I used to dress up as humans and chow down on some Chicken McNuggets after every alien attack. Man, those were the days.”
Others say the restaurant would be an unwelcome commodity in outer space.
“Just because I’m an alien doesn’t mean I have to eat like junk,” said Bjor, a cave-dwelling Martian. “There’s enough transfat in one of those burgers to kill six Plutonians!”
Still, the McDonalds Corporation shows no signs of foregoing their plans to open the first restaurant on the moon.
“We’re going through with this no matter what,” said Skinner.
Best of all, no matter how much fat and junk you eat, you still lose weight! Until you get back to Earth, that is.
1 commentFebruary 9th, 2011 at 07:31amPosted by Eli
Glenn Beck announced yesterday that he will be taking his controversial talk-show to China – permanently!
According to inside sources, Chinese media giant CCTV offered Glenn Beck a $3 billion dollar/year contract to move his show to China.
“We believe the Chinese people will embrace Beck’s love of government and respect for authority,” said Jin Yao, VP of Social Relations at CCTV. “He is an expert fearmonger and a skilled propagandist. The People’s Republic of China can only benefit from his scare tactics and fanaticism.”
Representatives from Glenn Beck’s television show, The Glenn Beck Program, say that the deal has already been finalized, and that Beck and his family have already purchased a home in Beijing.
“Glenn Beck is excited for the move,” said Alexandra Dumascis, Beck’s publicist. “He can’t wait to take his political extremism overseas and help the people of China become patriotic, red-blooded Communists.”
“He’s already brushing up on his Mandarin!” she added.
Beck refused to comment to major media outlets about his decision to defect. However, he did make a private call to the Weekly World News office to explain his motives.
“$3 billion dollars is a lot of money,” said Beck. “You’d have to be a complete idiot to turn down that much dough. The American people can complain all they want, but the truth is: I’d sell my soul to the devil for $3 billion bucks!”
STONEWARE, Colo. – “I’m putty in everyone’s hands,” said Bob Gray, looking back on his fifty years. And it’s not surprising: he was born with a medical disorder that caused his entire body to have the consistency of clay!
Despite a lifetime of difficulties, Gray is lucky to be alive at all. By a stroke of rare good fortune, the doctor who delivered him had read several articles about the strange condition in Weekly World News. Immediately recognizing the rare disorder, the scholarly obstetrician’s quick action saved the newborn’s life.
“I used forceps to widen the birth canal so he wouldn’t be born like toothpaste,” Dr. Vern Caliper recalled.
Gray’s parents admit they were initially shocked at his appearance.
“Even with Dr. Caliper’s heroic efforts he looked like a pink Tootsie Roll,” recalled Bob’s father, Todd. “But after a few medical tests, the doctor confirmed that he had Kaolinemia – Clay Man Syndrome – which results in pliable bones, skin, internal organs and muscles.”
Dr. Caliper immediately began kneading the boy back into the shape of a normal baby.
“I was even able to select the shape of his chin, to make it more like his dad’s,” Gray’s mother, Gwen, smiled.
Now, as a middle-aged adult, Gray looks completely normal except for the faint letters “maR egdoD” on his forehead, the result of recently being struck by a pickup while crossing the street. He was otherwise unharmed, a benefit of his condition.
“Oh, I’ve been healthy enough physically,” related Gray. “But it’s been an emotional nightmare. All my life people have tried to shape me into something I’m not. My high school basketball coach rolled me on the gym floor until I was a seven-foot-tall beanpole. It was humiliating.
“But that wasn’t as bad as the time I fell asleep in the first grade,” shuddered Gray. “I was at my desk with my chin resting on my hands. I awoke to screams and realized my lower jaw was squished up against my nose. The teacher grabbed me by the ear to take me to the nurse but it kept stretching like Silly Putty. That got a lot of laughs and kind of broke the tension. I had to spend study hall putting myself back together.
“But there were some advantages,” he went on. “What would have been a broken leg for other kids was nothing more than a rebending for me. And a little twisting and pinching made my face grotesquely horrifying for Halloween.”
Bob, who works as a bricklayer, has been married for times and blames the breakups on being too impressionable.
“I’ve been nothing more than a Play-Doh plaything for all my wives,” Gray sighed….
“Maybe I’m just not firm enough with my women,” he added. “Females seem to have a power over me – I melt when I’m around them and fall in love in about two minutes. My buddies continually warn me not to get bent out of shape, but I’m putty in their hands.”
Fortunately, things are looking up for Bob. He recently met a fine lady who seems to like him just the way he is.
“I’ve never been happier,” he said. “Doris encourages me to be myself. In fact, I’m considering quitting my job and trying something totally new and different. Now that I have my confidence back, I’m not afraid to do something in the public eye.
“Maybe I’ll do some modeling.”
I have to confess, the phrase “I used forceps to widen the birth canal so he wouldn’t be born like toothpaste” will probably haunt me for as long as I live…
“I was sipping a cappuccino on the Via Veneto when I heard yelling in the distance,” twenty-five-year-old graduate student Scott Gordon told Weekly World News. “At first I paid no attention to the growing din, thinking it was fans at a bar cheering a soccer match. I was wrong – dead wrong.
“Without warning, an Alfa Romeo sports car came sailing through the air as if it had been catapulted,” Gordon went on. “It turned end over end like a hanging curve ball before smashing into the Neapolitan pastry shop across the street!
“Following the crash came a throng of Romans cursing vehemently as they ran pell-mell down the street, fleeing from some unknown terror.
“Suddenly a vast, pink tongue flicked out from behind a tall building,” Gordon continued. “The fleshy organ wrapped itself around an empty sightseeing bus, then snapped back – taking the bus with it!
“The panicked mob surged forward, sweeping me along in their hysteria. As I was pushed down the avenue, I suddenly saw to ‘whom’ the tongue belonged – or more accurately to ‘what.’ Incredibly, it was a weird hybrid of a giant frog and a gargantuan mushroom!”
It was, in fact, the abomination the world would soon fear as Mushribbita!
“The immense creature, more than one hundred feet long, came after us on its amphibious legs,” said gelato peddler Al Tino. “Even in my nightmares I had never imagined something so hideous. Its frog head was encircled by a frilly, fungal dome dome attached to a mushroom stalk torso from which its webbed feet extended. It smelled musky and damp, like my socks after a day in the hot summer sun. But worse. Also, my socks don’t rip trees from the ground and eat them, as this titan was doing.
“As the crowd tumbled onto the Aventine, it ran smack into an onrushing police battalion,” Tino said. “While the police herded the terror-stricken mob to safety, I ducked behind my cart.”
The crack antiterrorist team, Unit B Speciale Thirteen, quickly threw a cordon around the rampaging monster. A phalanx of Rome’s Finest under the command of Captain Lucius Verona opened fire.
“My men blasted it with everything we had – bullets, tasers, grenades – all to no effect,” Capt. Verona explained. “Since Mushribbita was part spongy fungus, it evidently had no internal organs on which to inflict a fatal wound!”
As Mushribbita croaked in triumph, its deep voice caused windows to shatter in nearby buildings, showering police with glass.
[A]s swiftly as he had arrived, the monster leapt out of sight. For a few tense moments, the city was silent. Then the roar of F-16s shattered the quiet. Blazing across the sky, the Falcons flew in a tight V formation toward the ruins of the historic Colosseum.
“Mushribbita was scuttling up the walls of the ancient amphitheater as fast as its distorted physique could carry it,” Gordon revealed. “Like some improbably gladiator perched on a precipice, the monster bellowed defiance. Its webbed toes curled around the granite edifice as the goliath thrashed its forelimbs wildly at the incoming fighters.”
The behemoth’s pink tongue lashed out. The F-16s smartly looped, evading the taste-bud-studded weapon, then streaked down at Mushribbita. As the first tracers erupted, the barrage passed right through the colossus.
“Mushribbita suddenly became a formless, twinkling mist before vanishing into thin air – as if it had never existed!” Tino said later.
[T]he Italian Parliament blamed the incident on leftist extremists….
It’s the vanishing into formless twinkling mist that worries me. What if that wasn’t mist at all, but a cloud of spores? I’m definitely going to stay away from Europe for a while.
George W. Bush reveals in his memoir, Decision Points, that he personally waterboarded VP Dick Cheney.
“Dick was so in favor of waterboarding, that I thought he should experience himself to see what it was like. He thought it was a very effective tool.” Bush went on to say that after waterboarding Cheney as a “test” he used it on two other occasion to get the Vice President to keep his mouth shut on certain issues.
“Dick was making me look bad a few times with the press. He was too arrogant. So, I had to waterboard him to get him to shut his pie hole!”
Dick Cheney, who hasn’t read Bush’s book yet, said that “Bush went a bit overboard with the waterboard stuff. He got a little waterboard crazy. He wanted everybody waterboarded, Andy Card, Karl Rove… one day he even wanted Laura waterboarded. I’m sure he’s waterboarding his staff in Crawford to keep them in line.”
Bush said that when he sees Cheney next month at a conservative conference in New Orleans, ‘I’d love to take an hour or so and waterboard Dick again. I had so much fun waterboarding Dick. It was a hoot!”
Bush said that he, personally, was never waterboarded, but “if I ever do anything wrong, I wouldn’t mind. But I’ve never done anything wrong. I have no regrets.”
I just hope there aren’t any photos of Dick Cheney naked, wearing nothing but a hood and some electrodes…
Last week’s application letter to be Earth’s ambassador to alien civilizations was poignant but ultimately selfish, as the poor distraught woman sought to exploit this very important position to track down her alien babydaddy. But this, this is the guy I want representing my interests to the galaxy or universe at large:
I, Todd Lewis, delight in announcing my interest in becoming Earth’s Interplanetary Ambassador. It is typical of our galactic neighbors to make such a prestigious position available by means of apparently bogus advertising. However, as one that speaks Oondefoort, an alien language, I am not at all surprised at it; and furthermore, will rise to the challenge by demonstrating my ability to discern treasure in the strangest places. Without compromise, I will offer two invaluable gifts as Interplanetary Ambassador: I will seek to establish humanitarianism with hostile planetaries; I will seek to overthrow the earthly tyranny called work put on the planet by the darkest veil of alien super-intelligence.
Despite the amount of humanitarianism already lacking in the earth today, I have high hopes that it will at least be attained in the heavens, if not on earth. I have future goals of destroying counter-alliances and the new sport of planet popping practiced by baser aliens of advanced heat technology. In the event that I should encounter such opposition from Earth-hating aliens, I promise to put on a pretentious disposition and agree with all comments about earth’s stupidity so as to save innumerable souls. I feel confident in my ability to land food agreements with extraterrestrial suppliers; which will further their humanitarianism on the earth, as we will not have to work for food.
As we all know, work is a part of our very existence. Notwithstanding, it is unpleasant and utterly oppressive. Earth will be better served in the day that it can grow food in the fridge, rather than put purchased food into it. It will not be an easy task to overthrow the alien super-intelligence by myself, but I will seek to insure that each individual on earth is liberated from such tyranny as work by means of Karate, luck, and cunning. I feel positive about the current alien-earth trade operations and I will endeavor to reduce shipping costs by bargaining for closer galaxies.
In honesty, there is no question I would not fail to be the most stellar Interplanetary Ambassador the Earth has ever had/known.
Not sure I’m entirely sold on his Pretentious Disposition strategy, but I am very intrigued by his promise to use Karate, luck and cunning to free us from the tyranny of work.
1 commentOctober 27th, 2010 at 11:26amPosted by Eli
The Weekly World News solicited letters from readers applying for the position of Earth’s ambassador to alien civilizations. Some of them sound like they may have ulterior motives…
This contest could be the solution to all my problems. I’m embarrassed to say an E.T. is my baby’s daddy. His name is Hmpf, and he took off. None of the government agencies can help me collect child support…. Hmpf comes from Oberon, a moon of Uranus. It’s not that far, I hope I can catch a ride if they’re going that way.
I’ll never forget my wonderful night with Hmpf. He stripped off his human disguise and revealed to me that he is a being of pure light energy, giving an aura of light and peace. What girl could resist?
And now I have his baby. It’s difficult to care for her because she glows like she has a light bulb inside her. She’s brighter than a lamp. I think Hmpf should at least provide disguises for her since he left us stranded here on Earth. I have to dress her in a cat skin because her eyes are cat-like. I can’t keep up this charade much longer. I just hope I can find Hmpf with your help.
Hmpf, indeed. Never get involved with a guy who doesn’t have a corporeal form.
3 commentsOctober 20th, 2010 at 06:25pmPosted by Eli
“For many years, the expression ‘fancy shmancy’ was thought to be of Yiddish origin, uttered by tailors, mothers, and more mothers to describe someone who was unnaturally self-impressed,” philology Professor Gardner Broome of the Dover College of Origins told Weekly World News. “We now know that to be wrong.”
The revelation came in a long-lost diary, found buried in the banks of the River Seine in Paris. It was written by the Fourteenth Vicomte of Shmancy, Luc Fancie, in the late 1780s.
“After bumming around Europe for years as a semi-professional rogue, Fancie married the wealthy Duchess Marie Shmancie and added her name – and her property – to his,” Broome explained. “Given that all he owned were his name and the clothes on his lazy back, he brought little to the union.”
According to the diary, after assuming his title, the new vicomte began dressing as befitted his lofty stature. He wore only the finest silks, the most outrageous plumage and the nattiest neckwear. His ostentation revealed a true lack of breeding and his true nature as a crass opportunist.
“After a few months of this, acquaintances of the couple privately referred to him by his compound name,” Broome went on. “Indeed, any person or thing that reminded them of the miserable pretender became known as ‘like Fancie-Shmancie.’ Eventually, this crossed the Channel and was anglicized as Fancy-Shmancy.”
Ironically, when last seen, the vicomte was every inch ‘himself.’
“Wearing his finest attire, the nobleman was torn from his carriage by an angry mob during the Reign of Terror,” Broome said. “The last entry was written in his own blood as he was taken to the guillotine.
“‘I am about to lose my head,’ he wrote. ‘Happily, I wore my finest hat this morning, so I shall go out in style.’
“He was Fancie-Shmancie to the last.”
The Weekly World News is a vastly underrated educational resource.
“I was inspecting the derricks when two of my riggers, Cass and Hob, came ripping over the dunes in a jeep with a crazed look in their eyes,” veteran wildcatter Wiley Gordon told Weekly World News. “They breathlessly gasped that some ‘thing’ was after them and that I should hop in. The only thing I could see was a dust devil whirling haphazardly in the dry Arizona desert.
“‘That ain’t no devil,’ Cass howled, straining to be heard over the wind. ‘That’s some kind of giant monster!’
“I grabbed my binoculars but didn’t see a thing,” Gordon said. “Suddenly, a terrible roar bellowed from within the earth! The white sands erupted high into the clear sky as a vast tentacle launched itself upward followed by another and then another! Slowly, the rest of the creature emerged, a hideous abomination more than one hundred feet tall with eight spindly limbs attached to the head and the torso of a snarling prairie dog.”
It was the part cephalopod, part gopher that the world would fear as Octopheron!
“The thing started yanking on oil derricks with its tentacles, snapping the structures like they were made of ice cream sticks,” Hob added.
“Octopheron was a bit slow moving in the hot sun, but he sure was determined to cause trouble,” Gordon said. “He kept slithering and yanking down derricks as pools of oil spilled onto the desert floor.
“I told the boys to drive on, that I would find a way to deal with this menace,” Gordon said. “Evading those deadly tentacles was tough because they were so darn big! But I knew we were gonna go bust – and possibly be killed to boot – if I didn’t stop the thing. That was when I remembered the oxyacetylene torch in my tent. If I could ignite those oil slicks, we’d stop the threat and be eating fried calamari in no time.”
Gordon plodded through the sands as the lumbering behemoth closed in. The wildcatter ducked into his tent and grabbed the torch.
“I emerged in the dust storm kicked up by the colossus and charged,” Gordon said. “I lit the torch when I was near enough to hit it with the flame, but the land-going sea-thing had a surprise for me: a thick spray of black ink came shooting from somewhere deep in its belly. I couldn’t be sure if it was ink or oil, and it didn’t much matter. Once it hit, I couldn’t see anything but black.
“I dropped to the sand, scooping it against my face to try and absorb the gunk,” he went on. “When I could finally blink my eyes open, much to my amazement, Octopheron was nowhere to be seen! He hadn’t slithered off nor had he burrowed some place else. He had simply disappeared – as if he had never existed, except for all this mess he’d made.”
Technically speaking, calamari is squid, not octopus. Other than that, this story seems perfectly plausible.
1 commentAugust 25th, 2010 at 07:03pmPosted by Eli
Two nights ago, hundreds of cruise passengers were distracted from an evening of dancing and drinking when thirty-year-old financial advisor Dianne Rimsky started screaming and wildly pointing to the waters off the starboard side.
“The way that woman was carrying on, I thought she had spotted an iceberg,” said vacationer David Willis. “But when I looked where she was gesturing, I almost dropped my cocktail.”
Half a mile from the luxurious Marco Majestic, Rimsky had seen what turned out to be an ‘Unidentified Submerged Object.’
“It was large and gray,” said a still-shaken Rimsky, “and covered in multi-colored flashing lights. And it was moving very fast. I thought it was going to hit us – but then, suddenly, it turned and went in a different direction.”
Virtually everyone on the ship reported hearing a high-pitched burbling sound, like a porpoise on helium. The strange object was only visible for a few minutes, during which time everyone on the ship watched in fascination.
“We had a number of theories as to what it was,” said banker Jason Green. “Some thought it was a new type of submarine. Others imagined that it was an alien vessel of some kind. But based on careful study of some cellphone images I managed to grab, I believe it was simply a whale tangled in Christmas lights that had washed away in a hurricane the year before. That seemed the most logical explanation.”
There was more, but it was really all downhill from there…
This is why I never pick up my phone unless it’s someone I know:
Flip Mallard thought he’d finally be free of annoying telemarketers.
“I got a new number and promptly registered with the National Do Not Call List so I could say goodbye to unsolicited sales pitches,” he told Weekly World News. “The only folks who would have my number would be friends and family.”
Silence was golden for a few weeks until Mallard started receiving phone calls in the middle of the night.
“It was way past two in the morning when the phone rang,” he said. “I scowled at the Caller ID, which read ‘Caller Unknown – Out of Area.’ Furious at being awakened, I picked up the phone, determined to give whoever it was a severe tongue-lashing.”
“At first there was silence, then a low pulsing hum as if I were being connected over vast distances,” he said. “Suddenly I heard what sounded like a cat caught in a blender. In the midst of all that shrieking, I could’ve sworn I heard my name. I figured it was my creepy coworker, Robert Bendis, trying to ‘punk’ me, so I screamed right back. He screamed. I screamed. We both screamed – for a full five minutes.
“I finally hung up,” he said. “But moments later, a bright beam of light shot from the night sky into my bedroom. A hologram of slithering, tentacled, vaguely humanoid creatures with multiple breasts danced by my bed. It was like an extraterrestrial version of Girls Gone Nova – and somehow I’d ordered it!
“That was when I realized I’d been alien telemarketed!”
In the weeks that followed, Mallard received more off-world sales calls.
“Evidently I was now fair game to every Tom, Dick and Q’uetztol out there,” he complained. “Since I had ‘bought’ once, my name and number had been made accessible to other ETelemarketers. Whenever the phone rang I was too scared to say anything, lest I accidentally order a molecular condensing weight loss program!”
The beleaguered – and tired – Mallard had no choice but to finally change his phone number again.
“Thankfully, the intergalactic calls stopped,” Mallard said. “I haven’t figured out how to cancel the holograms, though, so I guess I’ll have to change my debit card number as well.
“Fortunately, pennies go a long way on their world.”
Hmm, a vacation in outer space is even more attractive now that I know the exchange rate is so favorable. Also, I really, really love the word “ETelemarketers”.
The conclusion of The Bachelorette can only mean one thing – that it is time for the newest installment of The Bachelor. While Ali’s mission is over, ABC’s has started – again. This season did not produce the usual fan favorite to become the next Bachelor. With that in mind, ABC had to think outside the box to land their next stud.
Weekly World News has confirmed that ABC has selected none other than Bat Boy to become the next Bachelor. While one producer said that the answer was “obvious,” other insiders of the show said that the decision was a difficult one.
“We are swinging for the fences on this one,” said a producer, speaking anonymously. “Bat Boy is America’s favorite mutant, but what do we really know about him. He is someone of great intrigue and mystery, but there is no denying he has his faithful following.”
Opting to not select one of Ali’s heartbroken suitors, ABC decided to go in a new direction in hopes of breathing new life into the series.
“There is only so many times that we can select the same kind of guy to become ‘The Bachelor,’” said another producer. “We didn’t want to go with the usual rugged, all-american man or the wealthy man with a smile that’s fit for a movie. We wanted something unusual, something that would rock the boat.”
There is no doubt that ABC is swinging for the fences on this one. Bat Boy is certainly ecstatic on the decision and cannot wait to begin his quest for love.
“Bat Boy has always been an individual that has lived a life of mystery,” said Bat Boy’s rep. “What many people don’t know about him is that he has always wanted to find love, but has never been successful in that quest. He his hoping that this new venture will produce the woman of his dreams. We will have to work on his biting problem, however.”
I just hope the competition doesn’t get too ugly – what healthy, red-blooded American woman wouldn’t do anything to date Bat Boy?
2 commentsAugust 4th, 2010 at 11:31amPosted by Eli
Pitcher Pope Benedict XVI has signed with the Los Angeles Angels for the remainder of the 2010 Major League Baseball season.
The 83-year-old pitcher looked ecstatic after signing his one-year contract. The Angels have now loaded up their pitching rotation by adding the Holy Father, a highly praised righthander, to their staff.
The move isn’t the first time that the Vatican has broken with tradition, but Pope Benedict wants to reach out to Catholics in America and there’s no better way than pitching for his favorite team. The St. Louis Cardinals were disappointed, they thought their team was Pope Benedict’s favorite, but as the Pope said, “Angels are holier than Cardinals.”
Vatican sources were concerned that the Pope would not be able to wear his traditional gold cross while pitching, but Bud Selig, the Commissioner of MLB, said he will allow the Holy Father to keep it on. “Bless Bud,” said the Pope.
The Angels were going to acquire Dan Haren from the Arizona Diamondbacks in exchange for Joe Saunders, but at the last minute they decided instead to trade Joe Saunders to the Vatican for the Pope and two bishops to be named later.
The Angels will not only have one of the best starting rotation in the American League, but they will have God on their side. “We really feel good about adding the Pope to our starting rotation,” Angels manager Mike Scioscia said. “This is a huge opportunity for us to upgrade not only now, but for eternity. To have real Angels rooting for us… that’s worth gold. Hallelujah.”
Some baseball insiders are skeptical. “An 83-year-old on the mound, are you kidding me? He’s gonna have to rely on a screwball, a change-up and a lot of prayers,” a laughing Bob Geren, the Manager of the Oakland Athletics said. Angels pitching coach, Mike Butcher said in response, “Geren can laugh all he wants, but PB has some pitches no major league player has ever seen. He’s got a lot of movement on the ball. We call one of his pitches “The Pope Popper.” It just pops into the catcher’s mitt without PB ever moving a muscle. Hallelujah.”
Non-Catholics, atheists and sinners in MLB are concerned that the Pope may favor Catholic batters, especially those named Jesus. However, Scioscia said the Pope will be “charitable” to all.
Washington, D.C. The White House announced this morning that they will be putting Bat Boy in charge of the newly created “Perfect Citizen” cyber program.
The program was created to detect cyber assaults on private companies and government agencies running such critical infrastructure as the electricity grid and nuclear-power plants. The surveillance by the National Security Agency, the government’s chief eavesdropping agency, would rely on a set of sensors deployed in computer networks for critical infrastructure that would be triggered by unusual activity suggesting an impending cyber attack. “Who better deal with unusual activity than Bat Boy?” a White House spokesperson said.
Even though Rod Blagojevich was lobbying to get the job, in exchange for his “silence” on Valerie Jarrett (and everything else under the sun), a NSA spokesman said that Bat Boy was the only one seriously considered for the job. “Bat Boy has a long history of protecting America. Just eight years ago, he defused a terrorist bomb on a United Airlines flight from Amsterdam by urinating on it.” The government feels that a half-bat, half-human being has an advantage in protecting Americans from cyber assaults. Bat Boy’s enlarged ears are good sound gathering devices, much like a satellite dishes. Bat Boy also has the ability to send out sounds, which will bounce against an object, then return to him for interpretation.
Defense contractor Raytheon Corp. won a classified contract for the initial phase of the surveillance effort valued at up to $100 million. A Raytheon spokesperson said Bat Boy is a perfect fit for the program because he “can stay up all night, and he likes to eat insects and bugs, which we have in abundance around here.”
Vice President Joe Biden stepped to the podium to discuss the program at this morning’s press briefing dressed as Batman’s sidekick Robin. Biden said, “I love Bat Boy and I love Batman. Bang! Pow! Kazam!” When Robert Gibbs informed the Vice President that he had the wrong Bat family, a saddened Biden remarked, “can I still wear my costume to meet the Prime Minister of Israel?” Gibbs responded tersely, “No, Joe. You can’t.”
Bat Boy is already working as the Perfect Citizen. He is monitoring your computer as you read this post. Please wave at your monitor.
SYDNEY, Australia – The Light Speed Opera House has a revolutionary new show in previews – a real space opera!
“For years we’ve struggled to maintain our identity in the shadow of the much larger Sydney Opera House,” impresario Jonathan Drake told Weekly World News. “When I was approached by aliens from the Cygnus System to mount a production of their classic space opera, The Tentacle Groomer of Sigma-Seven, I leapt at the chance.”
The libretto details how Lar, the wealthy tentacle groomer, feigns poverty to find true love. Disguised as a neutron disposal chef aboard The Sigma-Seven star cruiser, he meets and woos a luckless thrall worm. Tragically, during a battle with space pirates, his beloved is killed. Luckily, thrall worms can regenerate – just in time for the finale.
“More important than the hoary plot are the transcendent music and and splendid voices of the Cygnian performers,” Drake enthused.
“The thrall worm is sung by Adra, an Omega-Soprano from Nebula M-78. She hits notes far beyond the range of human hearing. Her voice doesn’t just shatter glass but actually melts it within a ten-meter radius. We’ve had to replace our chandelier with one made of plastic.
“The pivotal role of the tentacle groomer is sung by Bar Parse-Five, a renowned Pulsar Tenor. His voice is beyond mellifluous. Parse-Five’s complex phrasing can actually cause earthquakes. During his solo, ‘Sepulchral Activity of a Multiple Heart,’ tremors were detected as far away as Perth.”
Since the opera is performed in its native Cygnian, crawling subtitles are available for those who wish to read them.
“They really do crawl,” added Drake. “They appear on the skin of lizard-like Cygnian Chameleonaries that creep back and forth on the top of the proscenium.”
The space opera is currently in previews and will premiere next month with a gala benefit for Cygnian Children of the Gravity Challenged.
It’s like the Exorcist version of “Man Bites Dog”…
When famed exorcist, Father Henry Flapps, received an urgent call to rescue the victim of demonic possession, he was completely unprepared for what happened.
“I arrived at the location at three a.m. and discovered that the request had come from a group of Satanists,” said Flapps. “They were gathered in a small, black barn that that had been transformed into a demonic church on the fringe of a dark woodland. Despite my reservations, I followed them into a hayloft that was decorated like a young girl’s bedroom. There, I witnessed the most astonishing sight I could have imagined: a horned demon, sitting on the floor, legs crossed, combing a doll’s hair.”
The embarrassed Satanists explained that earlier that evening the novice demon, Revadac, had attempted to possess a little girl who lived in town.
“We didn’t realize that Revedac was dyspossessive – the demon equivalent of dyslexic,” Satanic leader Derrick Nethers told the priest. “Because of this, he accidentally brought the girl’s spirit into his own body. To save the demon – and, uh, of course to help the girl – we didn’t know who else to turn to other than the church. Yours, I mean.”
“I knew that conventional exorcism rites wouldn’t work, so I had to improvise,” said Flapp. “I first told the girl, whose name was Ashly, that her mother and father wanted very badly to see her again.”
Unfortunately the Ashly-possessed demon was too preoccupied primping her doll to be moved by Flapps’ appeal to her sense of family.
“I realized I had to arouse her more fundamental desires,” said Flapp. “As much as it repelled me, I repeatedly made offers of vast amounts of ice cream and candy to coax her from the demon’s body. I reasoned that, after all, this is sort of what we do when it comes to talking up the afterlife.”
After three exhausting hours, Flapp managed to draw Ashly from Revedac and sent her back to her own body, which was still asleep.
“I was overjoyed to have saved Ashly’s soul,” said Flapps. “I also took some pride hearing that Revdac lost quite a few demon friends during an evening of hopscotch and tea parties.”
GROUPER, N.J. – “It’s despicable,” roared environmentalist and ichthyologist Robert Finn. “Besides showing utter contempt for marine life, it’s probably illegal.”
Finn, a fishery ecologist with the Jersey Asbury Water Society, was referring to the mob practice of dumping one’s enemies in the water.
“They call it ‘sleeping with the fishes,'” snapped Dr. Finn. “That’s an insult to our scaled friends and it clutters up the seabed. Besides, it’s technically wrong as many species of fish don’t sleep at all. But I digress…
“We’d prefer they call the practice ‘resting with the gophers,'” he explained. “They should bury these guys in the dirt where they belong, and where the local fauna expects to find rotting carcasses.”
A threatened lawsuit against this so-called ‘Code of H2Omerta’ was met with sneers by a local mob attorney.
“I believe you will find that any potential dumping is environmentally sound,” said John Wiggy. “All refuse is encased in cement blocks that exceed EPA standards.”
The frustrated fish expert is also saddened that sharks are treated with disrespect.
“Yes, they’re predators, but they consume dead flesh as well as live,” he said. “It would be more accurate to call hucksters who lend money at exorbitant interest rates ‘loan lions.'”
I just wish, say, BP showed as much care and concern for the undersea environment and proper anti-contamination protocols as the mafia.
See a need and fill it – Weekly World News interviews Matthew Morris, head of ClownAir:
WWN: Your new airline, ClownAir, certainly has a lot of people talking!
MM: Well, the premise is based on my experience in the circus – and by that I don’t mean cramming as many people into a vehicle as possible! Rather, the big top is always filled with happy, relaxed people. Airplanes are generally packed with tense, uncomfortable people. The solution was obvious: to staff airplanes with circus clowns.
WWN: But not only in service positions?
MM: No, all of them. Ticketers, flight attendants and pilots.
WWN: Doesn’t that endanger the passengers? I mean, suppose the pilot’s nose falls off –
MM: That doesn’t happen. We’re professionals. All staff members are qualified airline personnel whom I have personally trained to be clowns. They’re quite competent at flying and maintaining an airplane and taking pratfalls as they serve you drinks.
WWN: So they don’t simply go about their duties in clown costumes?
MM: No, they do so much more. The trip starts with all of the clown attendants piling out of the lavatory. Since there are eight attendants squeezed in there, it always gets a laugh. They’ll often trip down the aisles, spill drinks on each other, and do the normal things that clowns do. These just happen to be thirty thousand feet in the air.
WWN: What about people who want to sleep, or just read without all the distractions?
MM: We have soundproof red wigs for passengers who want them, though we don’t have many of those. We advertise exactly what the experience will be. ClownAir caters to families – the ones with crying babies. Everyone knows it’s going to be a flying circus.
MM: In case of an emergency, seltzer bottles fall from above so the passengers can spray themselves and stay cool and alert. In addition, we keep custard pies handy to foil hijackers. And our horns are not just for entertainment. They’re used to alert the rest of the crew if there’s trouble.
WWN: Does it make passengers nervous to see pilots with white makeup, red noses, and oversized shoes?
MM: No, no. Just because they’re clowns, it doesn’t mean they fly by the seat of their pants. In fact, they often fly with their pants down.
One morning, thirty-three-year-old Dan Marshal awoke and immediately felt something clutching his shoulders.
“I thought I was having a heart attack or something,” said the young man. “I turned on the light and was surprised to see two little people clinging to my skin. If that wasn’t freaky enough, they were miniature versions of myself. One was angelic, the other devilish….”
Marshal’s new guests launched into a heated discussion regarding a moral dilemma he’d been wrestling with that week.
“They were both advising me on what to do about my boss, who I knew was embezzling from the company,” Marshal said. “My good conscience ordered me to turn him in, while my bad conscience instructed me to let him off the hook because he had given me my first break – though it also suggested that I extort a little blackmail money for my silence.”
Assuming that he was the only one who could see his warring selves, Marshal got the shock of his life when he arrived at the accounting firm.
“Everyone was looking at me like I had three heads,” said Marshal, “which, actually, I did. They could all see and hear my consciences.”
Marshal immediately visited his psychiatrist who, though astounded by the presence of these tiny advisors, had a theory about their existence.
“Intense emotional conflict excites the brain,” said Dr. Robert Stamford. “It causes energy levels to increase dramatically. Theoretically, if someone is experiencing enough distress, their mind can generate sufficient power to project their thoughts. In Marshal’s case, his moral dilemma was so overwhelming that he conjured up these corporeal beings to help solve his problem.”
To put an end to his stress, Marshal chose a third option that neither of his small advisors had offered.
“I talked to my boss in private and pleaded with him to stop taking money from the company,” said Marshal. “He respected my honesty and integrity and agreed to put an end to it. The moment I made the decision, my little buddies vanished.
“It’s a good thing, too,” Marshal added. “I was getting sick of hearing their non-stop bickering. My conscience was literally killing me!”
I just have two questions about this story:
1) Does anyone at Marshal’s accounting firm read the Weekly World News?
Since Bat Boy has a rather limited vocabulary – consisting primarily of “Scree! Scree!” – we have taken the liberty of interpreting his answers.
Dear Bat Boy:
We were learning about bats in class and my teacher said bats like to eat bugs. Is that true? If so, what bugs do you like to eat?
Renny Harker ,(age seven),
Bat Boy prefers ‘human’ food, especially hot dogs with sauerkraut. He said he gets plenty of bug parts in every bite.
Dear Bat Boy:
How come you have such big ears? I thought bats used elocution [sic] to see in the dark?
Debbie Duell, (age eight),
Bat Boy uses his oversized ears to echolocate – which is a bat’s version of sonar. To actually see in the dark he uses a flashlight.
Dear Bat Boy:
You know what would be awesome? If you and Bigfoot became professional wrestlers. You could be a tag team. Bigfoot could pick you up and throw you at opponents! When you see Bigfoot ask him what he thinks.
Tony Rocca, (age twelve),
Bat Boy is scared of Bigfoot, so it is unlikely they would team up.
Dear Bat Boy:
What’s your favorite ball club?
Leon Snyder, (age seven),
The Batavia Muckdogs in the minor league Penn Division.
Dear Bat Boy:
All bats got wings. How come you don’t got ’em?
‘Bat, Bat’ Leroy Browne, (age six),
Some scientists believe that Bat Boy’s wings will sprout when he reaches adulthood.
Dear Bat Boy:
Do you have a sister? Is she a Girl-Bat, too? I hate my sister. She’s always taking my copy of Weekly World News and making paper dolls out of it. If I were a bat, I’d bite her!
Bobby Neville, (age nine),
Bat Boy doesn’t approve of violence. He suggests you buy two copies of Weekly World News – one for sis and one for yourself.
Brilliant business idea or just the latest church scandal/insurance scam?
The American Church of Spirituality has initiated a new and unprecedented practice, one which many Christians have been calling ‘morally questionable.’
“When a soul goes to Hell, it affects not only the damned, but his or her family as well,” said Founder and Pastor Paul Winston. “They suffer knowing their loved one is writhing in fiery agony. That’s why our new program, soul insurance, is so important.”
“It happens more often than people would think,” said Winston. “Even with our guidance, not everyone earns a place by Jesus’ side. The least we can do is offer a substantial cash settlement for the families of unredeemed sinners.”
Weekly World News spoke to a few members of the congregation to get their thoughts on this new program. Not everyone is happy with the policies they bought.
“My husband was a gambler, so we had a policy that cost us five thousand dollars a year,” said housewife Dolores Hayes. “When he was killed in a car accident – while cursing another driver – doctrine declared that he must go to Hell for perishing with an oath on his lips. That was six months ago and I still haven’t received any insurance money.”
Pastor Winston explained that Mr. Hayes’ death resulted in a probationary period in Hell, not a permanent sentence.
“Swearing is not an endless sentence to the pit,” he explained. “There is no payout until it can be demonstrated that the incarceration is permanent. In this case, according to church canon, the soul has a century to reform. While I understand that this doesn’t necessarily fit in with Mrs. Hayes’ financial planning, she should be relieved that her husband may not suffer eternal damnation – not obsess over the fact that she may not receive a hundred thousand dollars for a hundred years.”
This raises the point of how the church verifies that a soul is, in fact, damned. Pastor Winston explained.
“As you may imagine, there are many, many insurance agents in Hell,” he said. “With the help of a medium, we contact these agents and ask for weekly status reports on our clients.”
Despite the updates, a number of parishioners are still dissatisfied with their policies.
“I did some checking, said Dave Roberts, who is the beneficiary of a policy in the name of his father, Joe ‘Light Finger’ Roberts.
“Of the two thousand policies they’ve issued in the past six months, only two have been paid out,” Roberts said. “One was on a serial murderer, the other on Saddam Hussein.”
“That number proves how successful the church is at rehabilitating souls,” insisted Pastor Winston. “You would think these people would be relieved to know that their loved ones are either in Heaven or Heaven-bound, instead of worrying about monetary gain.”
“I’m thinking it’s a scam, and Pastor Winston ought to take out one of his own policies,” said Roberts. “The one that will protect him against the sins of greed and falsehood!”
Saddam Hussein was a member of the American Church of Spirituality???
The first rule of Woodland Fight Club is… do not talk about Woodland Fight Club.
While patrolling the western boundary of Yosemite National Park, ranger Jack Bailey heard animal screeches echoing throughout the densely packed fir trees.
“The only times I hear woodland creatures make those kinds of sounds is when they’re in jeopardy, pinned by a tree or wounded in a fall,” said Bailey. “I went to investigate, prepared for the worst.”
However, Bailey couldn’t have been more surprised by what he saw in the small clearing.
“Twenty or so animals had formed a circle about ten feet in diameter,” he explained. “The ring consisted of chipmunks, beavers, raccoons, groundhogs and even skunks. They were all facing the center of the circle, where two squirrels were beating the heck out of each other.
“Those rodents were out for blood.”
“It was like one of those Ultimate Fighting Championship matches, but with little brutes instead of big ones,” Bailey recalled. “Within minutes, one squirrel was pinned to the ground. He tapped his tail frantically on the hard sod, ending the bout. As the winner strode from the circle and the loser was pulled out by his two tiny legs, a pair of rabbits hopped into the ring and waited for the signal.
“….[T]he rabbits began thumping each other with their massive feet. It wasn’t long before their white fur was flecked with red from wounds inflicted by nails and teeth. The more badly injured of the two vomited and the smell of carrot filled the air. It was awful.”
Weekly World News asked zoologist Dr. Mark Path why these animals might have formed this fight club.
“I suspect they’re training themselves to fight more dangerous predators,” he said. Residential and commercial development has caused natural habitats to shrink. As a result, there’s been an increase in the number of coyotes and foxes entering the park. These little creatures may have finally gotten fed up being fed on.”
Believing that they posed no threat to humans, Bailey decided not to interfere with the miniature pit fighting.
“Although it’s uncharacteristic behavior, I have no right to interfere with the development of these animals,” Bailey said. “However, I am considering selling tickets. There’s a doe that just might be the next Ashley.”
Hopefully the next stage will be martial arts. Kung fu squirrels and ninja skunks would be pretty damned awesome.
“Cows put up with a lot of discomfort to give us milk,” said fifty-year-old dairy farmer Bill Fuller. “The growth hormones, the uncomfortable living conditions, the constant tugging. I’ve never approved of that, which is why I developed a method of milking that not only eases the cows’ burden but yields a superior product.”
For the past two months, Fuller and his wife, Kelly, have been teaching their cows to meditate.
At five o’clock each morning, the Fullers go to their pasture and instruct their bovines on the intricacies of Hatha yoga.
“We teach them proper breathing, relaxed body positioning, and how to clear their minds,” said Fuller. “That last one is pretty easy since cows don’t have much to think about. We took them off hormones and allowed them to roam the ranch freely all day, rather than stay cooped up in a barn. After one month they were yielding twice as much milk and it was the creamiest I’d ever tasted.”
As the fame of Fuller’s farm grew, people from all over the state visited to watch the meditating cows.
“I explained that there’s not much to see,” said Fuller. “A meditating cow is hard to distinguish from a regular one. They all look pretty vacant, most of the time. It’s all in the breathing.”
Fuller has already started developing his own brand of dairy products to distinguish them from the rest.
“I don’t want our dairy to get lost in the mix,” said Fuller. “Our first product should be in grocery stores in the next month. I think people are going to be thrilled with the taste of our ‘yogart.'”
Earthquakes are apparently even more dangerous than we realized…
A relatively minor earthquake along the San Andreas fault opened a fissure deep within the center of the Earth. Within minutes, all Hell broke loose – literally – in the small town of Canon!
“I was walking my schnauzer when I saw someone who looked just like Saddam Hussein strolling toward me,” 65-year-old Sara Allgood recalled. “He stopped short in front of me, paused and then kicked my dog before darting furtively across the street. I immediately called the police but they didn’t believe me, reminding me that Saddam was dead.”
“There was a sudden clamor down the street,” stay-at-home dad Chuck Vargas revealed. “As I peered through the window, I saw a barbarian overturning trash cans one after the other! He finally selected a suitable lid for a shield before stalking off. That was when I noticed an inscription on his sword. I looked it up online; it said, ‘I am Attila, King of the Huns.'”
Tammy Lyn Smith, a high-school cheerleader, was practicing handstands in her backyard when she was approached by a man in a Victorian high hat and cloak, carrying a surgeon’s bag.
“He pulled a scalpel from the bag and told me his name was ‘Jack,'” she said. “From the look in his eyes, he seemed intent on doing me harm. A well-placed high kick to a chin followed by a pom-pom in the eyes sent him howling off down the driveway.”
Police finally realized that these sightings of history’s most notorious vermin were no hoax.
“Professor [Ophelia] Virgil contacted us after hearing of the attacks and and told us what she thought had happened,” Police Chief Nick Beale told Weekly World News. “We called police from every town in the country to help us search for the hellspawn. By the time where we got to the corner where Lucrezia Borgia was selling spiked lemonade, we knew we were up against something bigger than all of us. Bullets didn’t stop them and they just slipped through our handcuffs, laughing as they fled.”
Cops finally caught a break when Father Seamus Flynn made a citizens’ arrest, collaring Judas Iscariot. “He was throwing rocks at our ‘Jesus Saves’ sign when I tackled him,” Father Flynn told police.
“Judas acknowledged we were facing a Hell-break of massive proportions,” Father Flynn said. “I knew that a large-scale exorcism had to be performed immediately.”
Commandeering a mobile TV truck from the local cable station, Father Flynn broadcast the rites repeatedly as they rolled through the streets accompanied by a police escort. One by one, the refugees began to vanish. Fire crews pumped over a thousand gallons of holy water into the fissure to make sure they stayed ‘vanished.'”
“Hopefully, those ne’er-do-wells have learned their lesson,” Father Flynn said when it was all over. “I also hope Our Lord forces Satan to reimburse the town for all the damage and overtime.” He added with a smile, “It will give ‘hell to pay’ a whole new meaning!”