Monday, August 31, 2009

Mayoral mishap turns into all-night bender behind City Hall, further proving mayor's ridiculousness

Article by Beak Wilder / Photos courtesy of the World Wide Web

Local area man Jeff Archaic spent the tail end of his weekend nursing a hangover after a controversial beer drinking session in the backyard of City Hall, which shares its space with “Heroin Alley,” the even more controversial alleyway, in which heroin addicts throughout the city are allowed to spike their veins all day long in public without any fucking consequences.

Jeff Archaic was last in the news after Officer Nico Haylen responded to a disturbance call and found Archaic attempting to break into a window of his North Quincy home.

Thinking Archaic was an intruder on the property, Haylen immediately drew his gun and placed him under arrest, charging him with trespassing and attempted burglary.

After revealing that he had merely locked himself out of his own home, Archaic then accused Haylen of being “racist,” even though their family roots can both be traced back to the very same triple-decker residence in Galway, Ireland.

Mayor Thomas Koch was later heard publicly panning Haylen’s actions on WJDA 1300 AM, where dozens of listeners immediately called in to speak out on behalf of the notorious diabetic cop, defending his honor in what was starting to become one of the most highly publicized fiascoes Quincy has seen since residents of the city burned down over three hundred homes and businesses on Donnie Wahlberg’s birthday just two weeks ago today.

Mayor Koch, taking it easy with his sleeves rolled up, as usual.

”As usual, I have spoken too soon,” remarked Mayor Koch, as he desperately picked at a wedgie during a small press conference on Friday evening. “I heard a part of the story and replied in haste. For that, I apologize. I would like to take this opportunity to invite both Officer Haylen and Mr. Archaic to sit down with me and settle this by drinking twelve beers of their choosing, paid for by the taxpayers, of course. I, unlike so many others, can admit when I’m wrong. I apologize for acting as I did, as I should not have spoken out until I had gotten the full story. But I will take this chance to make things right, and I look forward to meeting both Haylen and Archaic.”

The three men met together on Saturday afternoon at City Hall, wearing semi-formal clothing, as was previously discussed per phone conversations with mayoral aide Joe Schlopp. Media outlets were allowed to attend, although this was limited to the Scally’s own Brunk Edwards and Jennifer Mann of The Patriot Ledger, who both reportedly snuck in their own beers, causing them to be forcefully removed only minutes after their arrival.

”This whole thing is a crock of shit,” claimed Matty Hammers, a local scientist whose biggest claim to fame is that he once beat the shit out of Maura Tierney. “You got some trigger-happy cop drinking Guinness, a guy who’s supposed to be running the city drinking Bud Light Limes---which is bad enough in itself---and then this Archaic kid drinking an entire twelve-pack of King Cobra forties. I don’t know what they were attempting to achieve here, but it’s not working. Three people got drunk. And one of them got really drunk. That’s about all there really is to say about this.”

Jeff Archaic, drinking a 40oz King Cobra in his best "semi-formal" outfit.
Photograph taken by John Galluzzo during a thirty-minute walk behind City Hall.

Authorities were dispatched to the back of City Hall approximately three hours into the meeting after a homeless heroin addict claimed to have seen “three fools breaking into the mayor’s office.” A handful of Quincy’s highest ranking police officers were sent out, where they found both Haylen and Archaic giving the mayor “ten fingers” in an attempt to sneak in through a small bathroom window, as the mayor had somehow lost his keys, thus continuing the cycle and giving even more city employees an excuse to drink excessively.

There is no word yet on when the upcoming beer drinking session, or “Beer Plummet,” as media sources have begun to label it, will occur, although it is expected that it will most likely be the largest scale political drinking fest this area has seen since the time Ronald Reagan got a beer at Dorchester’s Eire Pub.

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Mayor Koch devastates four large pizzas in unnecessary act of showmanship, officially declares himself "The Lion of City Hall"

Article by Beak Wilder and Brunk Edwards / Photos courtesy of the World Wide Web

Mayor Thomas Koch shocked a crowd of onlookers yesterday afternoon at a peaceful Grand Reopening party at the Marriott Hotel in Crown Colony Park, devouring four large pepperoni pizzas in under five minutes, followed by forcefully grabbing the microphone from local musician Jacia Hearn and declaring himself “The Lion of City Hall.”

The mayor, who had reportedly been “legless” after only a single white wine spritzer, was later carried out of the function hall by local paramedic Don Schwab.

”He just kept raising his pudgy, little hand in victory,” claimed Schwab, a thirteen-year veteran of Deals on Wheels, a discount paramedic service that was last in the news after a botched CPR attempt caved in the chest of Alf Nelson, an elderly man who once claimed to have once gone to “third base” with Ingrid Bergman. “He just kept ranting and raving about winning some pizza eating contest. Honestly, I don’t even think there was a pizza eating contest. It’s actually pretty sad. The only thing that guy really won was a fair price on a trip to the ER, but that’s about it.”

“Have you no mercy?” bellowed Timothy “Black Hole Son” Bananas, son of James Bananas, and future heir of The Bird’s Nest sports apparel shop. “My father’s going away party was shut down by the Quincy Police Department just for being overcrowded, but the mayor can get drunk and do whatever he wants? That just doesn’t sound fair. While my father is rotting away in Bridgewater for the next twenty years, the mayor of this city is piling pizza in his face and getting drunk off white wine spritzers. This city is seriously fucked up.”

The only three pizza boxes that could be salvaged, as the fourth had been devoured whole.

The younger Bananas then advanced on the mayor’s campaign staff in a spicy display of hysterical vengeance-seeking and ignorant karate chop exhibitionism. He was shot repeatedly on site by lone-wolf police officer Nico Haylen, a diabetic who once unconsciously recited the entire script to the movie Kickboxer after eating a single strawberry flavored Starburst candy.

As the crowd gasped in horror, silence filled the room. This stillness was then immediately shattered by the inhumane laughter of Mayor Koch, who fell out of the back of an ambulance after spontaneously remembering a Jerky Boys skit he heard fifteen years ago.

”I am the lion,” exclaimed Koch, as he stumbled to his feet, ripping off his shirt to expose a crudely drawn lion on his chest. “Hear me roar!”

Artist's depiction of the poorly drawn lion "tattoo," which appeared to be done in Sharpie.

The mayor then collapsed to the ground and began projectile-vomiting entire slices of pizza, only to be shoved back into the ambulance by the annoyed and irate crowd.

Schwab, who remained in the driver’s seat during this spectacle, kicked back and allowed the others to do his job for him. Trying his hardest not to laugh, he then peeled out at lightning speed in the direction of Crown Colony Drive, momentarily losing control of the vehicle and nearly colliding with an old Toyota Corolla with a smashed clock on it. All in all, it was a pretty normal day in Quincy.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Quincy Marriot Hotel closes indefinitely after bizzare triple-overbooking fiasco

Article by Brunk Edwards / Photos courtesy of the World Wide Web

The Quincy Marriott Hotel was shut down by officials indefinitely last night for exceeding its guest capacity due to a wild party in the function room resulting from a bizarre overbooking by management.

The Marriott, long known as the premier accommodation for guests of the city, was warned repeatedly by fire safety officers to shut down the activities taking place in its Grand Ballroom on the fifth floor.

Distinguished guests attending a party at the Quincy Marriott's Grand Ballroom.

Speaking with staff at the front desk, it was revealed that the cause of the overbooking was due to a glitch in the Microsoft Works Calendar program, which the Marriott is legally bound to use after the Quincy Marriott v. Microsoft Works Calendar court case of 1995.

Three separate parties had placed reservations for the hotel's facilities on the night of August 26th. These include a farewell party for James Bananas, the owner and sole proprietor of The Bird’s Nest sports apparel shop on Hancock Street. Bananas was sentenced to twenty years in prison after a patron in his store reported that he was selling actual, licensed Starter® jackets, instead of the stolen knock-offs this city has come to love.

Also booked was a reunion for workers of the original Howard Johnson’s restaurant, which was located on Beale Street, in the area of the current Wollaston MBTA station’s south parking lot exit. It is not yet clear how the workers of the turn-of-the-century establishment remain alive, although it is assumed that a steady diet of diner food has preserved their bodies in a state somewhat resembling wax sculptures.

And finally, the wrap-up party for the cast and crew of Hollywood’s live-action movie version of Castlevania was to be held in the function room. The film, which is based partly on the beloved 1980s Nintendo game, which pitted players against Dracula and his batshit crazy antics, and partly based on the life of Jim Davis, creator of the Garfield comics, was filmed in Quincy Center over the last two months. The film's set explained to many confused residents why the Quincy Center church and Quincy Center graveyard were reconstructed to look like 17th century Translyvania, but does not explain why horrifying screams and spooky sound effects have been blaring through the downtown area’s public address speakers for the past two years.

Wang Wheelbarrow, a North Quincy local and crew member for the film expressed his frustration of the event. "This movie was a long shoot. We were all looking forward to a relaxing wrap-up party where we could blow off some steam. I mean, it took us four weeks to film a twenty-minute scene where Jim Davis confronts Dracula outside the graveyard. We would spend hours setting up the scene, only to have a train pull up to Quincy Center and a bunch of asshole kids run off and skateboard right through the shot. And there was at least three occasions where cracked-out homeless people would eat the bats we trained to rest on the tombstones. We had those things on loan from Fin, Fur & Feather, and they cost us a fortune. Eventually we just had to spray-paint a bunch of pigeons black. Man, this movie is going to be awful. Anyways, when we get to the hotel, there were literally hundreds upon hundreds of the weirdest looking bastards I’ve ever seen running around. What a mess."

Zach Brown, a man who has seen the movie National Treasure: Book of Secrets twice before he saw the first National Treasure, described his take on things. "I was there to wish James Bananas the best of luck in jail. He sold me a San Jose Sharks Starter jacket back in the day that had an ounce of pure, uncut moondust in the front pocket. The best part was, I didn’t even go to this store, and I didn’t even know the guy. He just showed up to my house at 3:00AM and sold me the jacket for twenty dollars. It’s too bad about the party, though, I’m really sick and tired of the Quincy Marriott’s shenanigans."

Zach Brown, telling a passerby to "go suck it" for no apparent reason.

Although the unplanned mix of three separate parties started off pleasantly, things took an awkward turn after mere moments. Unable to agree on background music, DJ Fork was forced to play an almost unlistenable mash-up of Schoolly D’s "Dedication to all B-Boys" and the Cockney Rejects' "East End Skins."

A podium set up for speeches was then drunkenly ransacked by twenty different members of the audience simultaneously. The result was a Phil Spector-esque wall of sound that at once thanked the cast of a vampire movie, condemned the Quincy Police Department, and praised sausage-delivering waitresses from the 1900’s.

Jeffrey Tambor, star of television’s Arrested Development and the actor cast as “Young Jim Davis,” was arrested following allegations that he smashed a soap dispenser in the men’s room. This was chalked up to rage resulting from either a zipper being stuck on a Notre Dame jacket he had purchased sixteen years ago from The Bird’s Nest or bad service he received at Howard Johnson’s over a century ago.

Quincy Police officer Nico Haylen, a diabetic who puts his pants on one leg at a time just like the rest of us, was wanted for questioning after the bullet-riddled bodies of four midgets were discovered in a coat-check outside the function room. The pint sized corpses were later revealed to be a short order cook from Howard Johnson’s, a living mannequin for children’s jackets from The Bird’s Nest, and two actors from the Castlevania movie who played the role of Garfield before and after he ate a plate of lasagna covered in the disemboweled entrails of his owner Jim.

Officer Haylen's official 2009 Quincy Police Department photo.

While patrons of the hotel were escorted out of the building, many remained optimistic that the party would continue elsewhere. Rutger Hauer, the only person at the party with ties to all three separate groups, invited the remaining partygoers to his Quincy Shore Drive home. “Everyone except for that Kenny Powers looking weirdo who works at the gas station next to the Alumni is invited. That guy just creeps me the hell out.”

Senator Ted Kennedy dies from brain tumor at age 327, welfare recipients mourn throughout state

Article by Beak Wilder / Photos courtesy of the World Wide Web
Senator Edward “Teddy” Kennedy died yesterday at his home in Hyannis Port, just two weeks after his sister, Eunice Kennedy Shriver, passed away from an undisclosed ailment.

Kennedy, who had been diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor in March of 2008, was said to have departed peacefully in his bed.

Born to the infamous Jew-hating, mafia-connected Joseph P. Kennedy, Sr., who is said to have made multiple millions of dollars through a well-blended mix of social networking and Prohibition era bootlegging, Senator Kennedy’s life had been destined for scrutiny and criticism since the very beginning.

Graduating from Milton Academy in 1950, Kennedy was quickly accepted to Harvard College, where he was expelled shortly after for cheating on a Spanish language exam. He was then reaccepted into Harvard after a brief stint in the United States Army, where his father’s political connections made sure that he was not deployed during the ongoing Korean War.

While attending law school, Kennedy met Manhattanville College student and occasional model, Joan Bennett. They were married in the fall of 1958, where they embarked on a journey of binge drinking, infidelity, and constant miscarriages.

In 1960, then-Senator John F. Kennedy, announced that he would run for President of the United States, giving younger Teddy the opportunity to manage his campaign in the Western states. Whether it be schmoozing, boozing, or fucking waitresses on tables during lunch breaks, Teddy was always ready for a challenge, and took on the task, helping his brother make it all the way to the Democratic National Convention.

Watching his brother succeed at things proved difficult for Teddy, and he quickly began to pursue his own achievements, nagging his father for a job, who eventually arranged for him to become elected Senator of Massachusetts.

Ted Kennedy in 1963, back when he still appeared to look somewhat human.

Two dead brothers and one plane crash later, Kennedy began to take on a drastic change in appearance. He spent months in the hospital, suffering from a back injury and a punctured lung. It was there, while whacked out on pain pills, ice cream, and smuggled pints of Cutty Sark, where he began developing idealistic thoughts of health care reform, in which the middle class working man pays dearly, and the welfare junkies with their hands out prevail.

From that point on, his unruly drinking habits were no longer only troublesome at home, as it was now a matter of public record, and a laughing matter amongst many Massachusetts locals. He became the sad clown, the fool, the idiot. He was like a courtroom jester, juggling nips of bourbon and signing documents, with the casual grace of a highly-medicated bear. And to make matters worse, his head had begun to take on the color and dimensions of a large, red briefcase.

Much of the public thought that this may be the end for Kennedy, but he still had a few tricks up his sleeve. Teddy wasn't done quite yet.

In the summer of 1969, while relaxing on Martha’s Vineyard’s Chappaquiddick Island, tossing back a few cold ones and fingering women behind his wife’s back, Kennedy snuck off from a party with 28-year-old Mary Jo Kopechne, for what he described as a “drunken, sweaty fuck.”

Being inebriated to the point of thinking his 1967 Oldsmobile could both fly and float, Kennedy drove off Dike Bridge into the Poucha Pond inlet. Leaving Kopechne to fight her own battles, Kennedy saved himself and did not alert authorities until the following morning. Being unable to hold her breath underwater for an entire night, Kopechne died, causing Kennedy to be forced to walk around with a fake neck brace for almost an entire week.

John Farrar, the diver who searched for her body the following morning believed Kopechne struggled for "at least two hours," making it pretty fucking clear that there was ample time to save her.

Ted Kennedy and his wicked pissed off wife attending Kopechne's funeral.

Almost a decade later, Kennedy decided that he, as well, would run for president. The fact that his brothers before him had both taken bullets to the head did not cause fear in the heart of the man who would one day be called “The Lion of the Senate.”

By this time, his womanizing, pill-popping, spirit-guzzling, luggage-sized head was far too bloated to see that even he could not achieve this goal. He dropped out of the presidential race on August 12th, 1980, delivering what was probably the only decipherable speech he ever gave.

Ronald Reagan and Ted Kennedy pretending they didn't hate each other.

For the next three decades, Kennedy sat in chair, muttering incoherencies and loudly judging others as he began to slowly take on the red glow of a ripe tomato. Signing countless bills that protect the lazy, the drug-addicted, and the filthy leeches of society who pump out babies like a Madagascar Tenrec, Kennedy bumbled and drank his way into the late-2000s, publicly backing whatever bleeding-heart-in-a-suit needed his confusing, yet undebatable, level of political power.

Just before his death, Kennedy reached out to Governor Deval Patrick in an attempt to appoint an interim successor in the event of United States Senate vacancies, pending a special election. This was the very same law that had been changed back in 2004 to prevent then-Governor Mitt Romney, a handsome Republican, from appointing a temporary replacement for Senator John Kerry, a repulsive looking Democrat, in the unlikely event that he would defeat Bush for the presidency.

But now Teddy’s dead, and all of this will eventually be rendered meaningless and mundane, because politics-as-usual will go on, and nothing will change.

The tumor that had been swelling inside of Kennedy’s head has finally won, and now it’s time for a new blundering, unqualified idiot to take his place.

“I was wrong,” claimed Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger, Kennedy’s nephew-in-law and political adversary. “It was a tumor!”

So, here’s to you, Teddy. You fucked lots of girls, you got drunk all the time, and you even killed a bitch and got away with it. You truly lived the American dream. You took a shitload of my hard-earned money and handed it to some of the laziest, most undeserving people in the state, and you did it all without even giving a fuck what I thought. But nobody’s supposed to talk about that stuff in this state, right? It’s sort of how nobody talks about how your bootlegging father, scumbag that he was, authorized a lobotomy to be performed on your own sister, because of her “mood swings that the family found difficult to handle at home.” Or how nobody around me is ripping you apart for attempting to circumvent the laws that you were supposed to uphold, actually thinking that you could just appoint a successor to your less-than-perfect throne. I’ve heard of those methods before. I think I saw it on an episode of HBO’s Rome. But you’re no Julius Caesar, and that little State Representative son of yours, who’s most likely responsible for about fifty percent of the scrapes and scratches on Providence’s guard rails, is certainly no Augustus.

You just had a little too much tumor, and way too much ego, for that head to contain, didn't you? No wonder your head was so huge.

Ted Kennedy on C-SPAN, being extra careful after the Chappaquiddick incident.

But, either way, now you’re gone. And it's not like I can say you didn’t leave your mark. You left a lot of marks, trust me. Especially underwater. For your sake, I hope Mary Jo Kopechne wasn’t working the door last night in Heaven, because, if she was, you probably got sent downstairs. As long as they serve liquor in there, though, right? I hope you brought shorts.

All in all, it doesn’t really matter that much, because life goes on. It just won’t go on for you. See you in Hell, fat boy. I’ll be the kid in the Misfits shirt. Maybe we’ll do lunch.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Eastern Nazarene College faces intense scrutiny in wake of aggressive marketing campaign and allegations of suspicious activities

Article by Beak Wilder and Brunk Edwards / Photos courtesy of the World Wide Web

Eastern Nazarene College is under investigation today after multiple complaints of nepotism, discrimination, and faulty business practices have been made by both concerned citizens of the neighborhood and Quincy College.

Opening its doors in 1900, using the former summer home of Josiah Quincy Jr. as its main residential campus, the liberal arts college has long since been the subject of outside critique and suspicion.

Complaints were filed with the Better Business Bureau of Quincy yesterday morning by lawyers representing dozens of residents of the city. Charges against the college thus far include mass harassment, blackmail, racketeering, intimidation, tax evasion, illegal usurping of property, and one count of “loitering” filed by a man who claimed the college itself has not moved from its ominous place of rest in years. That charge was subsequently thrown out by a judge only moments after it was presented.

The names of those filing against the college have been withheld at the request of their legal counsel, as the school is currently facing one thousand counts of alleged witness intimidation.

The bright facade of Eastern Nazarene, long held as a beacon of learned Christian scholars dabbling freely in the world of reason, has seen cracks emerge in recent times. The aggressive marketing campaign for the fall 2009 classes, which has included door-to-door pamphletting at gunpoint, flaming Bunsen burners tied to crosses and placed on lawns to advertise the science department, and dropping upcoming class schedules from zeppelins circumnavigating the city, has raised concern and led some to refer to the college as the “Nazzi Regime."

The school’s headquarters, located in the depths of Wollaston, has also often been referred to as the “Eastern Front.”

"People need to realize that Eastern Nazarene College is the way to go," casually remarked Dr. Collosus Von Wolfenstein 3D, the college’s self-proclaimed "Minister of Propaganda."

Sipping blood-colored liquor wistfully from a human skull, Von Wolfenstein 3D went on. “All this talk of harassment and violence towards our opposition is really just idle chatter from those who probably scored too low on their MCAS tests, or whose facial features, which we measured, did not add up to an ideal student’s dimensions, leaving them unable to qualify for the supreme learning experience that our school offers. It’s all just jealously, and those who look past the smoke and mirrors of these outrageous lies will see that our fall 2009 schedule is absolutely our best yet.”

"Our science department is working towards a new energy source that will make the hydrogen bomb look like a child’s toy,” Von Wolfenstein 3D added. “Our culinary arts department is constructing a barbecue sauce more bowel-shaking than the highest caliber anthrax available in West Quincy. And, I might add, our ‘Germ Warfare and Go-Green!’ recycling program is coming along very nicely. Very nicely indeed.”

The minister then ended his rebuttal to the allegations by fiendishly cackling for ten solid minutes before adding that “further questions will be answered later. A new episode of Two and a Half Men is on, and I must retreat to my underground lair, where a fifty-inch, high-definition, 1080p flat-screen television is awaiting me.”

One of the most awkward accusations against the school is their alleged ban on all beverages containing juice.

Students protesting juice in the lesser-known financial district of the ENC campus.

"We don’t see the need to allow juice on the premises," remarked Ada F. Hilter. Eastern Nazarene’s Führer of Decision-Making and author of The Life and Times of an S.S. Leader: An In-Depth Look at Being Employed in the South Shore. “We are a private school, therefore all those who are under our control are subject to our final judgment. It is the strong opinion of the leadership and alumni of this school that we must prohibit all juice from entering the building. The Nazzis have fought too hard, and have gone too far, to allow the juice to infect the minds of the superior and the elite. The inferior makings of today’s juice is not something our students need to be bothered with, as our students are designed to be the purest of the pure."

Protests against the school’s policies have begun to erupt at all times while classes are being held, most frequently in the vicinity of the Concentration Campus, an area where students and faculty are allowed to relax and study in total fucking silence.

While the college remains privately owned, and thus retains its ability to govern itself, Quincy’s educational guidelines must still be met.

Chief Constable Marlboro Churchslope, a thirty-year veteran of the city’s Board of Education, recently crippled by a self-induced “ninety-day bar-hopping bender,” has repeatedly asked that sterner action be taken against Eastern Nazarene.

"By God, they are at it again," grumbled Churchslope. “I have reason to believe that Eastern Nazarene College is about to renege on their signed promise from 1997 to not invade Quincy College’s campus and put up flyers for their upcoming fall courses. They have rented out thousands of square feet of space from Granite Self-Storage in Wollaston, which was revealed to contain sixty armored golf carts packed to the brim with promotional posters for the MBTA. By land, air, sea, and train station, they have plans to ‘blitz-werbung,’ or ‘lightning-advertise’ all over Quincy College’s domain. They have little-to-no intent of avoiding using the most obnoxious looking people on their posters, either. I mean, seriously, there is no way in hell those clowns on the ads are actually from Quincy. No way, buddy.”

Churchslope, between inhuman gulps of bathtub gin and long bouts of creepily leering at women on the street, went on to suspect the school of other immoral behavior. “They say there is an unmarked grave behind the gymnasium. There they say rests at least six million charred remains of Quincy College pamphlets that were stolen out of the people of this city’s mailboxes. These people will stop at nothing. These goddamn Nazzi bastards just won't quit.”

“They killed my family!” screamed Radish Weirdbusky, who later went on to clarify that his family had been sent a “pre-rejection” letter from the school for not being able to trace their bloodlines back at least five generations to Quincy residents. “Without a higher education like the one Eastern Nazarene offers, my children will be forced to attend classes at Quincy College, and there is a very dangerous intersection at Newport Avenue there that will most likely kill them---uhhh---eventually. I probably should have made that clearer when I yelled out at you.”

Using a megaphone to address a crowd of perfectly aligned freshman standing in the formation of a majestic eagle on the front campus lawn, Maximillian “2 Kool 4 Skool” Thule, the recently appointed head of the Third Psych department, which the college is hoping will last for at least “a thousand semesters,” directed a speech intended to calm any nerves rattled by recent events.

“Eastern Nazarene College, like Lucifer himself, is simply the victim of a heartless smear campaign,” Thule said. “We both want to shed light and knowledge, and we both suffer from our desire to branch out on our own. Is it our fault we offer biology classes where the students are allowed to dissect animals without the restrictions of anesthesia? Is it our fault that we show repeated viewings of the movie Highlander to teach the proper way to behead immortals? And I ask you this, kind people: is it our fault that we have made a pact with the Japanese and Italian restaurants of North Quincy in order to secure fine dining for our cafeteria? No, it is not our fault. It is all because of the J.E.W. That’s right, the jealous, envious workers of Quincy College, who will stop at nothing to ensure that we do not succeed. But we shall succeed. Eastern Nazarene will dominate the world…of higher education.”

Eastern Nazarene student, Karl Blondenblüe, preparing himself for his morning classes.

No further information could be obtained on the subject, as three students were removed from the speech, as they were caught singing “Der Neue Kampf,” the popular German version of the little-known KILL$QUAD song. As per policy, the students were immediately taken out into the hall and verbally reprimanded for approximately one hour, making it one of the largest scale “hall accosts” the college has dished out since the time Eva Bronsky fell asleep on her nightly watch, allowing several Quincy College students to storm the beaches of Wollaston and claim Caddy Park as their own.

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Recent study shows those who choose to party in the "Quincy Room" are three-times more likely to come out on top

Article by Beak Wilder / Photos and Journalism Advice courtesy of Jimmy Flynn

A recent study has shown that those who spend the majority of their time in the "Quincy Room" of the party are three-times more likely to come out on top.

The Quincy Room theory states that any one Quincy kid can sneak off into a separate room at a party, knowing that, by the end of the party, that particular room will be the main event, often resulting in musical debates, trips down "Memory Lane," and heated conversations about petroleum.

As legend states, if a Quincy kid sneaks off into another room at a party, at least one person is guaranteed to follow, followed by up to seven more people, subject to their level of social prominence, what drugs they may be carrying, and the estimated potential for post-hookup awkwardness that may occur, depending on who else is in the room.

As the hours pass, legend tells us that the room grows stronger. It becomes something more than just a room, it becomes the Quincy Room. And before you know it, it's the most happening thing in the party, and everybody wants in.

Whether sneaking off in a snobbish or socially awkward manner, or just trying to get away from an annoying partygoer who won't shut the fuck up about the first time he saw Cloverfield, the Quincy kid finds his nest. He marks his territory, he empties his pockets, he sets up camp. The others see him. They know he is on to something. They choose to follow. The room is formed.

Other theories have stated that the room would not necessarily have to be started by a Quincy kid, and that it need not be an actual room, as it could just be considered a "way of life," as local object of infatuation, Jimmy Flynn, says.

"I've seen people make a Quincy Room out of a remote corner in the woods," said Jimmy Flynn, as he soothed a Madball-related injury on his head with a moist towelette. "This one time, at this crazy party in Allston, my friend, Smash Turner, and I were just kinda kicking back and drinking some coo coo juice out of watermelons, and we decided to go off into a bedroom and talk about what ruthless music snobs we were. There may have some mushrooms involved, too, but, honestly, who the fuck really knows, right? Either way, about five minutes later, George Camaro walks in, and he just starts busting out some of the craziest dance moves I've ever seen. I thought he was on fire at one point, but he wasn't. He was just dancing like a fool. And then, just as you'd suspect, everybody starts naturally migrating our way, wondering what we're up to, exactly. A half-hour later, that room was the biggest fucking party Allston's ever seen. Everybody wanted a spot in that room. We were rocking harder than Def Leppard, but that's probably a bad example, considering the fact that their drummer is a fucking one-armed mutant. They started calling that area 'Allston Rock City' after that night. The place is still outta control. The party never really stopped."

Jimmy Flynn and Smash Turner, just minutes before starting a Quincy Room.

One of the biggest examples of a Quincy Room was when North Quincy Jones, a man who needs no introduction, walked away from a group of friends at a party in Abington to rummage through Tom Turkolio's sock drawer, inadvertently starting a rager of biblical proportions.

"I was creeping around," explained North Quincy Jones, as he soothed a Madball-related head injury with a slice of the Wheelhouse Diner's warm apple pie. "I was just in there for a few seconds, just kinda going through Tommy's drawers. That came out the wrong way, but you know what I mean. But, anyway, I was just messin' around, just checking things out, and a couple of other Quincy kids came into the room. So, we're just tearing Tommy's room apart, looking for funny shit he might be hiding, like weed, or creepy VHS porn, or even a baseball bat with a dead hooker's tooth stuck in it. You know, something like that."

Taking a quick break to listen to Sonic Youth's "The Diamond Sea" in it's entirety, Jones continued. "Before we even realized it, that room had become the most popular spot in the whole party, maybe even the city. Everybody just kept pouring in there, even people we didn't know. It was crazy. Everybody just kept grabbing the nearest girl and grinding her into oblivion. Moist towelette sales went up sixteen percent after that night. I wish I had invested in them, I'd be set for life."

Jimmy Flynn, grinding the living shit out of a seemingly welcoming lady.

"A hundred and sixty-three years later, Quincy's still on top," said Rick Maxwell, a "meat and potatoes" kind of guy from the Mount Wollaston section of the city.

"Every party I have ever been to has been taken over by Quincy kids," claimed Matty Hammers, an Allston-renowned scientist with nothing to prove. "It doesn't matter if it's in Boston, Allston, Abington, Weymouth, or even fucking Lowell. It could start off as something innocent, like two people sneaking off to do coke all night. Or it could be mischievous, like that time Neal Diamondz got caught making out with those two little bleached-blonde whores from G-Town. It really doesn't matter. No matter what the reason, someone's bound to follow. And then, without you even realizing it ever even started, it's the center of the party. Or the 'nucleus,' as we scientists say. It seems that no matter where these Quincy kids go, they always come out on top. They are the trendsetters. They are the leaders of men. They are the ones who cannot be controlled. I've done the research, and the figures don't lie. These kids are having way more fun than people who aren't hanging out in the Quincy Room. Three times more fun, to be exact."

Like anything else, the Quincy Room is not without controversy, some even claiming that it is affecting our youth. This can best be explained by the time Pete Rowe, a Dedham resident who has been morbidly fascinated with Quincy for the past fifteen years, started a Quincy Room during a peaceful wine tasting. Being from somewhere other than Quincy, Mr. Rowe was said to have quickly lost control of the room, resulting in one stolen wall panel from the since-defunct Rathskeller, one stolen watch, an intense trading session involving hardcore records and baseball hats, and one of the biggest shit-eating grins the South Shore has seen since the time North Quincy Jones literally ate shit and smiled during an otherwise harmonious day at Pageant Field.

Pete Rowe, posing like a meathead in front of the stolen Rathskeller wall panel.

As to when the act of forming Quincy Rooms started, no one can be sure. Is it they who start the room, or is the room always there? Is it just an open space which allows us to act as we choose, or an omnipresent force, occasionally embracing us as it chooses, only to spit us out the following morning, like some filthy little reject that society just wouldn't allow? The answer to these questions may never be known. And to search for these answers would be to ignore the laws of "taking it as it comes," as well as a simple waste of time. And those who appreciate their time know that time is not for the wasting, because, if there is one thing in life that is guaranteed, it's that time is money up in this world.

Great One Killer strikes again, police sketch of suspect revealed to public to mixed reviews

Article by Beak Wilder and Brunk Edwards / Photos courtesy of the World Wide Web

The body of another murdered female was found floating in Furnace Brook this morning by a well known and highly regarded homeless man behind the American Legion in Quincy Center.

The woman has yet to be identified, although shows definite signs of being related to at least three other murders that have taken place in this area since late July.

No names have been released as to the possible suspects of these crimes, however, a police sketch was made public earlier this afternoon, which was given by a near blind woman who claims she saw a man with “ridiculous intentions” walking by her Quincy Center apartment with a Great One cup in hand.

The vaguely familiar police sketch released earlier today.

“This bullshit has gone on too far,” said Officer Nico Haylen, the diabetic cop in charge of bringing the killer to justice. “I am going to smash this fucking guy’s teeth in, just like he’s done to these girls. I’m gonna find this guy, I’m gonna tie him to a radiator, and then I’m gonna shove my gun so far up his ass that it comes out his mouth. You can fucking quote me on that. This is bullshit!”

Officer Haylen then stormed away through the confused and alienated onlookers, stopping once to turn around and empty his clip in the air.

The city has been in a state of alert for weeks as authorities organize a plan to scour the streets and apprehend the killer. With the release of the sketch and additional police manpower being approved by City Hall, steps are being taken to ensure that the case is solved before any more ridiculous murders are perpetrated by the killer.

Bowing to pressure from residents of the city, Mayor Koch’s office has agreed to divert tax funds away from his plans to rent out an entire showing of G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra and into the search.

“Murders are terrible,” quipped Stacks Goodman, a mayoral aide whose duties include feeding Koch’s Chinese fighting fish, “taking the heat,” and speaking to reporters when Joe Schlopp is eating lunch. “A bunch of women get mangled and the whole gosh darn city is turned upside down. But I ask you this: is putting the Mayor’s hard-earned tax money towards this problem going to make it go away? No. And when the temperature reaches ninety degrees with seventy-to-eighty percent humidity, where is the mayor going to go to concentrate on real problems? His office? Sure, there are three industrial strength air conditioners in there, but it doesn’t have the relaxing feel of having an entire movie theatre all to yourself. Working in conjunction with AMC Theatres in Braintree, the mayor has secured at least one showing of G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra all to himself for every single day that the weather is predicted to be over seventy-two degrees. Believe me, he’ll get shit done after watching that flick. I should know, my cousin is John Goodman. That’s right, the John Goodman. I spent the entire summer of 1991 watching him up on the big screen in King Ralph. After soaking in his gripping, lion-hearted performance as Ralph Hampton Gainesworth Jones, an everyday 'Joe Sixpack' who inherits the goddamn throne of England, I got right up and applied to my job here at the mayor of Quincy’s office. I didn’t even bother putting anything on my application, other than ‘John Goodman’s cousin.' And you know what happened? That’s right---eightteen years later I got that job.”

A citizen-filed complaint was issued against Mr. Goodman after he allegedly ended his statement by launching a cup of his own boiling hot urine all over the crowd.

Stacks Goodman, just after delivering the "Boiling Hot Urine Speech."

Andy Nonimous, age and address unknown, became irate by the lack of urine on female members in the audience.

With continuing efforts to locate the Great One Killer, all citizens of Quincy are being asked to phone in tips to police headquarters. This has become somewhat of an issue itself, as the officers in charge of handling the calls have been rated as having a “luke-warm” reception at best.

“I merely stated that perhaps they should try scanning security footage at local Dunkin' Donuts for suspicious persons,” remarked local old timer Alf Nelson. “They told me that was ‘too obvious’ and that I should 'fuck off' and die.”

Mr. Nelson later fulfilled the wishes of the Quincy Police Department by dropping dead of a heart attack in his home in West Quincy. The cause of death was most likely related to gruesome footage of the carcasses of the victims being shown inappropriately on Quincy’s cable access television. As such, Mr. Nelson’s death has officially been chalked up as another score for the Great One Killer.

Mr. Nelson’s funeral arrangements will be held at Lydon Funeral Home in Wollaston. It is expected that no one, as usual, will attend it.

As the body count rises and tensions flare, many are left to wonder what will happen next. Confusion, the dreaded side effect of a city in chaos, once again has reared it’s ugly head.

“This is no laughing matter!” hissed Count Vlad McDrackerson, a Transylvanian prince who rose to power over the centuries to become the chief financial officer and window display expert of Hobbytown on Hancock Street. “Hobbytown is having a sale this weekend! If you thought those prostitutes had it bad, wait till you see what we do to our prices! We are going to slash the shit out of them! At least forty percent off everything in the store! More hobbies means less time to murder. It’s a fact that will be learned the hard way.”

“Times are changing, for the worse,” added Doug Phree, the owner of the nearby Dollar Store. “You gotta keep a positive outlook, but growing up in such violent times, you need some faith if you are to get by. That’s why I’m selling these wooden crosses for only one dollar. I guarantee you will not get killed if you have one of these. I’ve had one for weeks and I’m still alive.”

It was unclear whether Mr. Phree’s claims will prove true, or if he was aware that he was blatantly paraphrasing lyrics from seminal New York hardcore band Madball.

Attempts to interview other business owners in the area were cut short by the police who wished to keep things under wraps until further leads come to light. Responding to questions being raised by concerned family members of the victims, Mr. Goodman simply put on a pair of hologram “googly eyes” glasses, cracked open a case of Miller High Life, and proceeded to get ridiculously fucking drunk.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Hideous picture of mayor surfaces on World Wide Web, causing brief terror, permanent disgust

Article by Beak Wilder / Photos courtesy of the World Wide Web

Mayor Koch has yet again proven himself to be a mentally retarded apeman who has absolutely no idea how to convince the city of Quincy that he is anything even remotely close to being considered human.

A general feeling of disgust erupted in Quincy after a most unfortunate moment in the mayor's life was captured in the thumbnail link to a recent tax discussion he held. Footage of this tax discussion has since become available for streaming on YouTube, the popular video sharing website that rose to fame after the "beak wilder man points" search resulted in one of the most crippling discoveries a Quincy kid has ever had to deal with since the time over a thousand Queen Latifah photos were found on Officer Nico Haylen's personal laptop.

"Why would anybody ever post a thumbnail like that on their website?" commented Stefanie "Nails" Tinotaran, the self-proclaimed "Gloria Nathan of Quincy," last in the news for using her influences in the riot grrrl scene to commandeer Tully's Cafe one night for a raging bachelorette party. "I wouldn't even post a picture of myself like that if I was just some conceited idiot who wrote one of those internet blogs. He looks like a fucking primate in that picture. I've seen hardened prisoners that looked better than that, even after thirty days in the hole. His hair's messed up, his sleeves are rolled up, his tie is coming apart, and his face looks like he's sucking on a Sour Patch Kid with a broomstick up his ass. And what the fuck is a virtual coffee hour, anyway? Seriously! What a fucking dipshit."

Other residents in the area were just as displeased, some of them resorting to immediately cancelling their already shitty Comcast internet service, which only further angered them, as it reminded them of the fact that Mayor Koch is merely one of many obstacles this city faces in its attempts to have Verizon FiOS made available in our area. [ Sign the fucking petition, I guess. Rock the vote! ]

Mayor Koch, securing the Asian vote by posing with some type of geisha.

Upon hearing of the city's complaints, Mayor Koch's office immediately advised him to take a trip to North Quincy and spend some quality time with his Asian constituents, as they believed it was most likely that those who were internet savvy enough to find his website would more than likely be Chinese.

"The Asian people are rich in their culture," remarked political fall guy Joe Schlopp. "And they're very good with the internet. And they make these amazing little things with ground pork and vegetables, and they wrap it up with this ravioli, and they call them "Peking dumplings," it's hilarious. We had some of the brightest minds in the city looking into this, and we determined that the Asians were approximately 98% of our online readers. If the people of this city were online and had a problem of some sort with the mayor's snapshot, it was most likely them. That's when we knew we had to start showing face and securing some votes."

After offending, and sometimes permanently scarring, dozens of Korean, Thai, and Japanese residents by constantly referring to them as "Chinese," the mayor then ordered a large Asian style banquet to be held at the Irish Pub on Billings Road, payed for exclusively by the taxpayers. It was a banquet that ended almost immediately, however, as Mayor Koch was asked to leave shortly after standing on his chair while an uncooked duck was brought past him, as he began pointing and screaming, "Ugh!!! Ugh!!! Look at that thing!!!"

There is no word yet on if Mayor Koch will ever fucking "get it," although experts have speculated that this may never fucking happen. Until then, cross your fingers and just be thankful that he's not in charge of how fat your pockets get. Or is he?

See for Yourself: Koch for Quincy (Official Campaign Site)

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Recent scientific study proves that watching sports makes you "sort of gay"

Article by Beak Wilder / Photo courtesy of the World Wide Web

A recent study conducted by scientists has shown that there is a definite connection between watching sports and being homosexual.

The study, which was conducted in front of O'Brien's Pub in Allston, was overseen by three highly respected area men, and was rumored to last almost the exact amount of time it took for Rampant Decay to start playing and then get banned for life. It was a storyline O'Brien's Pub had most definitely seen before.

"Those scientists were up to something," claimed Jimmy Flynn, a "man with a plan" type of guy with at least ten years of being shifty and shady under his belt. "They were trying to discover shit."

Scientists in the area refused to admit whether, or not, they were there to, in fact, discover shit, however, many locals believed that they were.

"It's sort of gay," said Jorge Camifortia, a crisp looking fellow from the smooth part of town. "It's just a bunch of dudes sitting around on a couch, watching a bunch of other dudes on the television. It's really weird, y'know? I'm not saying there's anything wrong with being gay. I'm just pointing out something I've noticed, that's all. All I'm saying is, if I was watching a movie that had a bunch of dudes slapping each other on the ass, people would start to think things about me. And who blame 'em?"

There has been no comment yet from any sports fan, as they are all assumed to be slapping, touching, and hugging, all while screaming "we did it" into the air, even though they didn't actually do anything at all.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

City prepares for rebuilding process after 16th annual “Donnie’s Night” decimates over three hundred homes and businesses

Article by Beak Wilder and Brunk Edwards / Photos courtesy of the World Wide Web

Over three hundred homes and businesses were burned to the ground last night in the 16h annual “Donnie’s Night,” the destructive night of intense rioting and celebration that occurs each year on August 17th.

Beginning in 1994, Donnie’s Night began as a way for city residents to celebrate the birthday of entertainment tycoon Donnie Wahlberg, and has since become known as one of the most notoriously violent and dangerous nights in the South Shore, often resulting in drunken fistfights, home invasions, looting, public fingering, and multiple cases of arson. Most notably was in the late-nineties, when Taso’s Pizza was burned to the ground by a gang of angry Wahlberg fans, causing many locals to be forced to find another favorite pizza place.

While City Hall claims the Quincy Police Department had been issued a warning about this early last week, giving them ample time to properly prepare for the impending chaos, many firsthand witnesses claim that authorities were overwhelmed by Wahlberg-crazed mobs rampaging through the streets.

Cops arriving on Beale Street were faced with the scene of a man known to locals only as “Joe Chaos,” repeatedly dousing himself with high-grade barbecue sauce and swinging a sand-filled wiffle ball bat at anyone crossing his path.

Reports of cars and trucks being driven into businesses with their stereos pumping New Kids on the Block tunes at full volume have been filtering into police headquarters from all corners of the city. And at least one instance of a full grown adult male being arrested for executing his neighbor with a pair of Reebok high-tops, using a devastating spinning dance move that was obviously learned from NKOTB music videos.

Quincy Police Department evidence photo of the immaculately clean Reebok high-top.

"My clients were merely expressing their complete dedication to one of the greatest musical performers of our time," claimed Sol Shrewdman, the attorney representing the entire city in the upcoming trial. "Donnie Wahlberg is an exciting young man, whose roots derive from an area not far from here. He was a trendsetter for those who reside in the South Shore. To deny my clients the right to celebrate his birthday---his 40th birthday, I might add---is to deny them their right to be treated as free men. These homes and business that were burned; they can be rebuilt. We, together as one, can make them better. But you cannot heal a wounded soul. I think I can safely say that I speak for the majority of this city when I say, 'Give me Donnie Wahlberg, or give me death.' And while the actions my clients may, or may not have, committed could be considered to be wrong---in certain circles, that is---their motivation was pure. I ask that you, the residents of Quincy, take a few moments to think about that, because that, ladies and gentlemen, is just the cold, hard facts."

Shrewdman himself was later asked to return to Quincy District Court to face charges of firing razor sharp copies of the vinyl soundtrack to The Sixth Sense out of his car window as he cruised down Hancock Street at speeds of up to 100 miles-per-hour. The box office smash hit starred Wahlberg as a mentally deranged former patient of the character played by co-star Bruce Willis. Audiences and critics alike were abuzz all summer long about his daring portrayal, mainly his shocking decision to kill himself in the very beginning of the film. The twist-beginning became the hallmark moment of the movie, with some sort of surprise ending also becoming somewhat memorable, but, as most Quincy residents left theatres after Donnie’s character died, they had not bothered to watch it.

Industrial strength fire hoses were used to clean off Wahlberg-related graffiti from local businesses in the Montclair area. Shamrocks with “08/17/2009 – NEVAH 4-GET” scrawled inside them were spotted on walls up and down West Squantum Street, and were later power-washed off by mildly competent city workers.

Two residents of Farrington Street in Wollaston were apprehended by the Quincy branch of the Federal Bureau of Investigation for allegedly running a sophisticated money laundering scam tied into the madness. Joseph Hip-Zepi and Bev “Marmaduke” Murphy duped tens of residents of their street into investing in birthday cards for Wahlberg from the local CVS. The money was then filtered into some sort of hair-brained combination of a pyramid scheme, a ponzi scheme, and a thus far unheard-of “dream scheme,” in which the cash was ripped up and duct-taped back together.

“It didn’t quite work out that well,” murmured Murphy, as he was led away in handcuffs. “Nobody on either end made any money, plus Zepi and I both lost at least thirty bucks at Copy Cop drafting up the blueprints to this scam. I think we also dropped at least fifty bill each, beforehand at the Irish Pub, back when we were coming up with the whole thing, which, in hindsight, is probably why it didn’t work.”

It wasn't until Donnie Wahlberg himself took it to the streets that locals began to settle the fuck down and go home, causing a much-needed sigh of relief to fill the city, coincidentally sounding almost like one of Donnie's sighs in "Step By Step," which, in turned, caused the entire city to begin rioting again.

"That's when things started to spice up a bit," remarked Jeff Archaic, a man who once carelessly spent his entire tax return before realizing what it was. "Donnie put on a police badge and whipped out a handgun. It was awesome. Nobody even did anything, not even the cops. It was like they just accepted what was happening, almost like they just knew that he was in charge now, and there was nothing anybody could ever do to stop it. Eve
rybody just watched him in awe. He was brilliant. He just moved from person to person, smashing people's teeth in with the butt of his gun. I would have given anything to watch something that funny, but, there it was, right there before me, and I didn't even have to pay shit. That side of it worked out really well for me, with the whole tax return fiasco, and whatnot."

Donnie Wahlberg, running rampant with his fake badge and real gun.

It is u
nknown at this time as to where Donnie Wahlberg has fled to, although it is speculated that he has returned to a secret area where legends are born, and, quite possibly, reborn. Authorities have asked all Quincy residents who may come into contact with Wahlberg to "please do whatever he says," as not only does he have a loyal legion of fans, but he, himself, was arrested and charged with first class arson back in 1991, when he was accused of starting a hotel fire with a Mototov cocktail. Look it up, douchebags. I'm just sayin'.

As the final total in damages and lost wages are added up, outside help was brought in to begin preparations for the rebuilding process. Mayor Koch’s office has again decided to team up with “Fat” Matt Amorello and his fly-by-night team of wacky sidekicks to get shit officially straightened out.

“It’s no secret that things got out of hand and we need a little extra help here,” announced former assistant to the mayor’s assistant Joe Schlopp, who woke up this morning hungover to a find his own back littered with New Kids on the Block tattoos. “We got a good price from Mr. Amorello’s company and we are very pleased with the work he has done in past---uhh---barring that one time when that tunnel collapsed and killed someone.”

Amorello did not answer calls to his office, as he was busy constructing a cheeseburger at Mr. Sub's, but his business accomplice, Phillip Seymour Mothman, agreed with statements from Schlopp and added, “All things must come to an end. Especially privately owned property. Quincy will rebuild itself, just like after last year’s Donnie’s Night, and this city will become a beacon of hope for the Western world….the saga continues.”

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Illegal basement show at North Quincy High's Black Box Theatre results in midnight madness

Article by Beak Wilder and Brunk Edwards / Photos courtesy of the World Wide Web and Dora Lalaney

Aftershocks are being felt throughout Quincy this morning as an illegal basement show took place last night at the famed Black Box Theatre in North Quincy High School, resulting in massive confusion for all involved.

The famous theatre, used by drama students of the high school to stage plays such as “Death of a Salesman,” “A Comedy of Errors,” and “Howard the Duck,” was hijacked late last night by underground entertainment promoters with the intent to hold a punk rock concert and gambling circuit.

While charges have not yet officially been brought forth against anyone, numerous people have been taken in for questioning. Among the parties of interest are Joseph Hawk, 28, a vaguely white truck driver from New Bedford, a Hollywood Video clerk from the Montclair branch known only as “Smiley,” and Matt Duffman, a 29-year-old slickster from Brockton. Duffman was last wanted by police for his involvement in an infamous counterfeit t-shirt operation that was busted at the Showcase Cinemas in Randolph on opening night of Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring for selling crudely made “I Survived Gandalf at Randolph” shirts.

Among the famous attendees at the illegal concert were Dave Smalley of DYS, “Gorgeous” George Camaro of Shot Dead, and Jack “Choke” Kelly of Slapshot, who provided haircuts for a fair price to all those who needed them, all while ridiculing them for their shortcomings and vices.

“That Choke guy was a little rough around the edges,” said Tom Slack, a philosophy major who currently resides in the basement of his mother’s Adams Shore bungalow. “He made fun of my shoes, called me names, started picking apart my political beliefs, it was horrible. To be honest, I didn’t really need that shit---but I did need a haircut---so it all evened out in the end.”

Speculation still abounds as to how the organizers of the event and showgoers gained access to the Black Box, but many theories point to Erving Fritz, the overnight security guard who was working at the time. Fritz, a 45-year-old former member of the Quincy Police Department, and current Guinness Book of World Records holder for most consecutive hours asleep on the job (29 hours), has long been known as the weakest link in the city’s night watchmen community.

“I thought they were all taking some midnight class here,” feebly replied Fritz, who had visible sleep creases on his cheeks, coupled with bags under both eyes, and a case of bed-head that was deemed to be at a “Level 5.”

“They seemed kinda old to be high school kids,” Fritz added. “Especially that Choke asshole who put my hand in a cup of warm water when I was resting my eyes, but I’m not getting paid to harass old looking kids, so I just let ‘em all in. What was I supposed to do, tell them they couldn't come in?"

Police officers noted suspicious behavior in the area while ordering from the 24-hour McDonald’s drive-thru located directly across the street from the high school. Upon spotting known bartender extraordinaire, Bernie “Taxzee Driver” Allen, conversing outside of a propped open door with known alcohol consumer, Jarrod Shanastyhan, the officers abstained from a second helping of McShakes and moved in for further examination.

“Allen is definitely not a high school student," explained Officer Bruce Old. "I don’t care what time of day or night it is. Plus, he has a habit of writing in ridiculous tips to himself when people get hammered at Shooters, so we needed to have a few words with him. And that Shanastyhan character just had a look about him…a look I do not care for at all. He was wearing jean shorts, cut off at an obscene height and a t-shirt that just said ‘Czech Me Out!’ What a maggot. I knew right then and there that this world just had no decent people in it anymore.”

But more trouble was on the horizon, as authorities uncovered what appeared to be a “make out club” going on in the mysterious sixth hallway, the infamous hallway in North Quincy High School that was brought to the attention of many media sources after local band, Outburst, recorded the demo-track-turned-internet-phenomenon, “New York Surprise.”

The door to the mysterious sixth hallway at North Quincy High School,

”It was fucking disgusting,” claimed Officer Nico Haylen, Quincy's favorite diabetic cop, recently put in charge of the one-man task force set forth for the purpose of tracking down the elusive Great One Killer. “I’m not exactly sure what the O’Jays were proposing in their hit song, ‘Love Train,’ but it would probably look a little like what I saw in that hallway. And I'm not one for public displays of affection---trust me---there's just something about 'em that irks me. I'm not sure if anybody's ever seen two punk rock kids making out, or not, but it's a little bit weird. It's basically like watching a homeless couple make out. There's really no difference.”

Sources present at the gathering claim that the police’s heavy-handed presence did little to deter the concert. While many of the people there attempted to keep a somewhat low profile in order to postpone the event being shutdown by cops, others where not so calm.

Joe O’Connell, a history-loving graduate of North Quincy High with a devil-may-care demeanor, was spotted by a police helicopter “firing hot clam chowder” down from the roof onto people milling around on Hancock Street below. O’Connell vanished in a cloud of smoke when officers tried apprehending him.

Springa, former vocalist for renowned Boston hardcore band, SSD, was arrested in the high school’s front parking lot after being repeatedly mistaken for both Beetlejuice and Bobcat Goldthwait, and refusing to sign autographs.

Former KGB operative and recent KFC customer, YoYo Stah of the Merrymount section of Quincy, was issued repeated warnings to stop revving a motorcycle loudly on the inside 2nd floor bridge of the school. Stah later acquiesced and promised to "keep it under twenty miles-per-hour,” as neighbors were trying to sleep. He was also issued a citation for dragging the body of a dead horse around inside a school zone.

While first reports estimated attendance at the illegal concert to be in the hundreds, it was later revealed that much of the city's population had attended at one point, or another, during the night. This is rumored to have been the cause of much anger and resentment from Mayor Koch’s office as the mayor and his top aide were visibly upset for not having been invited at all.

Author's Note: The Quincy Scallion is in no way affiliated with North Quincy High School, and chooses to remain impartial when it comes to schools. Therefore, we wish both the North Quincy High School Red Raiders and the Quincy High School Presidents an excellent upcoming football season. In the immortal words of Peaches, who just happens to be one of the most shameless and disgusting whores I have ever seen in my entire life, "Stay in school, cuz it's the best."

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Search party for missing prostitute turns into great day for wiffle ball game

Article by Beak Wilder / Photos courtesy of the World Wide Web

A search party for missing hooker Wanda De La Santos unexpectedly turned into an all-day affair today, as residents of Quincy celebrated the acceptable-to-mediocre weather with a series of competitive wiffle ball games, grilled hot dogs, cold beer, and live musical performances.

De La Santos, who has been missing for nearly a month, and is expected to be in no less than eight pieces by now, was well-known by area locals, and had dreams of one day becoming a highly regarded rooftop criminal analyst.

"She was definitely unique," claimed Sandy Pants, a Quincy Point resident and founder of Cool Connection, Inc., an online service that rents out popular people, socialites, and "life of the party" types. "There must be about four divorces going on right now because of Wanda. She wasn't the best looking lady, but, from what I hear, she knew how to treat a man. I really hope she's okay, though. Chances are she's probably burned to a crisp at this point, but who knows. Her hamstrings were really defined. She might have been a fighter, it's hard to tell. I didn't really know her that well. Either way, I hope she's just on some crazy heroin binge, or something."

Nearly a half-hour into the search, authorities and locals had still found no clues as to De La Santos' whereabouts, causing many people to wonder if anything would be found at all.

Taking a quick break at Merrymount Field, members of the search party then organized a heated game of wiffle ball, in which all who tried their hardest were the winners, regardless of the score.

The intense wiffle ball game, which was followed by the even more intense party.

"I sprained my finger in the bottom of the third," said Elizabeth Longfur, a Squantum resident known for greeting politicians with knives. "That's when I knew we'd have to crack a few beers. It's not really a wiffle ball game until you get a few cold ones in ya. They just kinda go hand-in-hand."

As the wiffle ball game grew closer to an end, residents began wheeling other people's grills and coolers over, preparing for what ended up being one of the better outdoor parties of the summer.

From foot-long hot dogs, to handmade burger patties, to barbecued chicken wings, spectators prepared some of the finest summer dishes around, while those who lack culinary knowledge picked up cold, refreshing beers.

"It was a good day," remarked Neal Diamondz, a local rap legend from Hospital Hill. "I got a few foot-longs up in me and just kicked back and watched the game, it was great. I got some beers up in me, found a few fine-ass girlies, and went swimming in that new fountain they have here. There's nothing quite like kicking it in a fountain on a nice summer day, with a Red Stripe in one hand, a blunt in the other, and a girl on each side. And the cops were mad cool about it, too. Usually, those dudes all up in my shit---just because I have a little bit of gold and a pager---but they just kinda let everybody kick back and enjoy the day. They knew it was for a good cause, and they just sorta backed off because of that. Even if it was just this once, I really appreciate it. It was really cool of them."

Live music was then performed, as city residents were graced with the melodic barroom sounds of Bryan McPherson, the angst-ridden folk punk artist known for local hits, such as "100 Cigarettes," "Poor Boy," and "Bang."

Bryan McPherson, playing for the crowd of fearless searchers.

"That mothefucker can sing," said Donnie Wahlberg, the former New Kids on the Block member who is currently playing second fiddle to his younger brother. "He's got the right stuff, that much is for sure. I just found it weird that all the leaves fell off the trees as soon as he started singing. Those leaves were hangin' tough before that guy showed up, I don't know what happened. That was some really weird shit."

Six hours into what was starting to look like a very poorly arranged search, De La Santos' whereabouts was still unknown, as attentions in the crowd seemed to become fixated on dancing, dining, and general tomfoolery. There is no word yet on whether De La Santos is still alive, although it is expected that she has either been hacked into pieces, turned into firewood, or is floating around somewhere in the bottom of Wollaston Beach. Citizens are encouraged to contact authorities if there has been any known sightings of this beloved neighborhood prostitute, although they are even more encouraged to take a dip in the brand new water fountain at Merrymount Park, which has been chemically treated in a valiant effort to make swimming around in it seem slightly less disgusting.

No link between De La Santos' disappearance and the Great One Killer has been established at this time, however, experts insist that the likelyhood is there. Authorities have asked anyone with information on her disappearance, or, more importantly, the murder of those who were not call girls, to please contact them as soon as possible. This, of course, does not apply on weekdays between the hours of 6:00PM and 8:00PM, as police will most likely be engrossed in the Hallmark Channel's mini-marathon of The Golden Girls, the hilarious sitcom about America's favorite post-menopausal whores, and the men who fuck them. More on this developing story will be made available as it becomes known.

Listen: Bryan McPherson (Official Website)

John Hughes memorial high school house party held in North Quincy

Article by Brunk Edwards / Photo courtesy of the World Wide Web

A memorial high school house party was held over the weekend for late Hollywood director John Hughes, famous for his ability to capture the angst and wonder of the American 1980’s teenager.

The party, held at a residence on Billings Road, began at approximately 8:00PM Friday night and was declared over by local authorities at 7:35AM Sunday morning.

High School students and dropouts alike began gathering at the location after a Twitter newsflash that the legendary director had died circulated throughout the city.

“I told everyone to meet me at my friend Carmine’s place,” boasted Berris Fuellerson, a smug bastard from Wollaston whose antics have propelled him to the upper echelon of the Quincy underage drinking scene. “Carmine wasn’t so hot about people showing up his joint, but I told him that I’d take care of it. I mean, Mr. Hughes meant a lot to this city, it’s only right to send him off to that great house party in the sky with an absolute five-alarm rager.”

Fuellerson was last in the news after being beat into a coma following his ill-advised attempt to sneak him and two friends into a reserved table at the ritzy Quincy Center restaurant, Alba.

Holly Ringwall, an absolute average girl with a heart of gold, told the Scallion that things may have gotten out of control, but it was all for a good cause.

“I got a text from Berris that some dude died and we were going to party. I didn’t want to hang with that kid after he convinced half the school I had Michael J. Fox disease, but he said he bought thirty boxes of wine for all the girls. I love that shit. Anyways, sure, the party got nuts, and a lot of people got hurt, but it’s all for good cause. I mean, if it wasn’t for that guy, we wouldn’t have 80's night at Club 58, right?”

Police were called to the area an hour after the party started by elderly neighbor Alf Nelson. A recording of the 911 call was released earlier today, in which Mr. Nelson can be heard repeatedly telling the dispatcher that his name is “Alf goddamn Nelson” and that some “hungry Asian kid named Donger is eating ten boxes of Alumni pizza on my lawn.”

Unfortunately, things took a turn for the worse, as they usually do in this city, when Mr. Nelson dropped dead of a heart attack. The cause was determined to be a loud bang heard when a vehicle driven by a partygoer’s uncle backfired loudly.

Alf Nelson’s burial arrangements will be held at Coughlin Brother’s Mortuary tomorrow morning.

The police officers responding to the location decided to let the partiers off with a warning by firing several shots in the air and then leaving. It would not be the last time they were called.

In total, there were thirteen instances of police activity, five of Quincy Fire Department intervention, two confirmed deaths after officers shot two “A-1-EZ-OK Parking” garage attendees who attempted to steal a Ferrari from neighbor “Richy” Rich Moneybags’ driveway, thirty confirmed cases of STDs, four instances of the song “I Feel Good” by James Brown being played above 5,000 decibels, and at least one alleged instance of a pizza spinning around on a record player.

Hughes, who died August 6th, and whose death was eerily predicted by the Dairy Freeze on Adams Street, became the latest celebrity to inspire absolute drunken madness in the city's youth. With every social group, from high school football champions and stunning cheerleaders, to badass outsiders and nerds who wear glasses, even in the age of the contact lenses and Lasik eye surgery, attending the party, things were certain to get out of hand.

Scotty “Da Body” Twohotty, a square-jawed Ford Mustang owner from the wrong side of the Red Line train tracks, readily admitted to escalating tensions within the soiree. “I was just chilling on the porch, ked, crushing Buds and butts. See, my old man gave me a carton of Marb’s for my birthday and I was determined to smoke 'em all up before the party was over. Some people might think that getting a carton of cigarettes for your birthday is a sign of a bad parent, but, in reality, those things cost a fortune. A bad parent wouldn’t give enough of a shit to get you anything, let alone an entire carton of ciggs. Anyways, I spent two straight days drinking and smoking without saying a word to anyone there.”

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Abington declares war on Montclair, demands land and property for own uses

Article by Beak Wilder / Photos courtesy of the World Wide Web

The town of Abington declared war on the Montclair section of Quincy today after a series of passive-aggressive comments in the Quincy Scallion's comments section got blown out of proportion, causing residents of both areas to take it to the streets in one of the most insanely horrifying fights the city has seen since the last one.

The fighting began when Tom Turkolio, the Abington ironworker who staked his claim in the Quincy mayoral campaign back in June, began making snide comments online towards those who reside in Montclair.

"Tom Turkolio called Montclair out in front of everyone," said Jake Shacklin, a lifelong resident of Montclair who is currently awaiting parole. "What were we supposed to do, just sit there and take it? That guy came into our city and started telling us what to do. It's not right. He should go back to Abington, that's where he belongs."

The fighting only got worse when a frozen turkey was thrown through the window of Malachy's Saloon in Quincy Center, a known hangout for Montclair kids, as there is technically no actual bar in their given area.

"If you ask me, it was obviously Turkolio's work," Shacklin continued. "It really wasn't hard to figure out. The fucking turkey had '02351' written on it, which is Abington's zip code---as long as Google wasn't fucking around on me again. And it was a turkey, for Christ's sake! If you show me a thing I can throw through a window that's named something that sounds more like 'Turkolio' than a turkey, then you deserve a fucking medal, because I can't think of shit."

Malachy's Saloon, where the infamous "turkey bomb" was thrown.

A letter was then mailed to a socially prominent Montclair kid, stating that Abington hereby declared "war on their land," and that "all residents must evacuate the area," as it was now considered to be "Abington territory."

"I couldn't even tell who sent it," said Jimmy Jambowski, a highly-regarded legend in the Montclair stickball scene. "The return address just said 'The Musterfields.' I don't even know what that means."

As both sides got their residents together and prepared for war, a brief chill could be felt through the air, as habitants of the surrounding areas awaited the next move, unsure of what was to come. Some say the chill was the natural effect of an army of thousands, all marching slowly, together as one. Others say it was the wind.

"Go fuck ya mutha, kid," said Tony Calabro, a foul-mouthed, young Germantown kid, who declined to comment any further.

Authorities have yet to comment on the escalating violence between the two South Shore factions, although it is assumed that they have yet to even hear about it, as no two areas of the South Shore have ever been able to get along, no matter what the subject, or how short the time period in which they are forced to commingle.

"The people of Montclair have declared themselves as my enemy," said Tom Turkolio, the most likely suspect in starting the war, as he addressed a crowd of nearly thirty people outside the Firestone on School Street. "I will not admit to throwing a turkey through the window of a bar, but I will admit that it is hilarious. The people of Montclair have said that their neighborhood is 'God's Country.' Well---people of Montclair---tell your God to ready for blood, because Tom Turkolio is coming for you. And when I strike, I will strike with the force of a hundred Green Street kids. The Abington Green Street, that is. I'm not sure if you guys have a Green Street here, but, if you do, that's not what I meant."

Taking a quick, fifteen-minute break, Turkolio took the opportunity to publicly perform approximately thirty-five perfectly executed sit-ups, followed by exactly ten minutes of speed bagging the living shit out a piece of finely polished marble.

"I promise those who oppose me one thing," he continued. "Suffering and pain, like nothing in your past. That is what I have to offer you, nothing else. Give us your land, and you shall be pardoned. But if you chose to fight, know that I shall fight without mercy. I will care not for the bleeding cries of men as they scream for their mothers. I will shed no tear for those who have lost their limbs, loved ones, and/or testicles. I will devour each of my opponents whole, and I will do it swiftly. I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger. And you shall know my name is Turkolio."

The Abington-Montclair beef then came to sudden standstill, which was followed by a complete lack of attention by all parties, as everyone involved began to realize that it was Tuesday, which, as almost all those interviewed stated, is "so fucking close to Friday." No further retaliation on either side is anticipated, as it is expected that both groups will simply forget the beef and move on.

Whether this is true, or not, one can only guess, as while South Shore beefs are known to dissipate, they are also known to rejuvenate at the drop of a fucking dime.