Mayor hires Russian Space Agency to deter band’s tour from hitting Quincy

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

Mayor Koch, fresh off his acquittal in a headline-grabbing lawsuit against his office in the overuse of the term “lock box," has inked a contract with the head of the Russian Space Agency, Anatoly Perminov, to prevent a tour by the band Harvey Danger from hitting Quincy.

Perminov was flown into the Granite City last night on a red-eye flight from Moscow.


Perminov, waking up from a 7-year bender to blow shit up.

The Russian Space Agency, or “Spaceworld Agency Used by the Former Soviet Union to Conduct Matters Regarding Space” for short, had discovered that, if left to its own devices, the tour by the band Harvey Danger would pass through the city of Quincy at approximately 9:01PM, on Friday, November 12th, 2010.

The tour, first announced in 1998, when the band had some sort of sway in the music world, was originally predicted to have only a 1-in-10-million chance of hitting Quincy. But now, in these uncertain times, space scientists, using data collected from the Billboard charts and a downloaded PDF file of “upcoming events at the Beachcomber," have recalculated the odds to 1-in-3.


Harvey Danger, devastatingly close to Quincy. (Notice the Asian in the right hand corner.)

“This is our city's primary concern,” bellowed a somber Koch, clearly ignoring an out of control electrical fire at a preschool behind his podium. “The Russkie’s are going to launch a van full of dynamite down 93 North at a speed of two miles per hour. It will have a slow-burning fuse consisting of Yankee Candle® wicks. Those things burn mad slow, dude. By the time their tour bus rolls this way, the van should collide with it, and the fuse should blow. It seems complicated, but they checked the figures using two different calculators, and we ran a demonstration of it in a wicked expensive computer program, so it’s all good, baby.”

Koch then straightened out his ridiculously crinkled shirt for four minutes before adding, "Not on my watch, motherfuckers. This shit is going to get nuts.”


Donald Sutherland, pointing to Harvey Danger on the Beachcomber’s "Upcoming Events"

Donald Sutherland was not reached for comment on this article.

Local douchebag in hot seat again as past indiscretions revealed to unsuspecting fiancé

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

Tony Montego, a West Quincy native from Town Hill Street, found himself in the hot seat again yesterday evening, as an old amateur sex tape from his college days was discovered by his fiancé.

According to downstairs neighbors who listened to the ensuing argument, the tape was discovered when Montego accidentally attempted to play a taped-over VHS copy of Fast Times at Ridgemont High, the compelling teen drama, which featured Judge Reinhold as Brad Hamilton, the lovable owner of a 1960 Buick LeSabre.

Montego is best known in Quincy for inventing the "Brew-Her-Corn-Her," the controversial sex move, which involves pouring a pot of scalding hot coffee on a girl's face while you fuck her with an ear of corn on Brewer's Corner.

The sex tape, which consisted of Montego receiving oral sex from three underaged partygoers, was said to have instantly driven his unsuspecting fiancé to the point of madness, causing her to call off the wedding until further notice.

Montego's fiancé asked that her name not be mentioned in this article, however, popular demand has persuaded Scallion reporters to admit that it is none other than Shirley Shupapo, the fun-loving "girl next door" type from the Coffee Break Café on Old Colony Avenue in Wollaston.

"This doesn't surprise me one bit," claimed Moranzo Llamas, a well-known day laborer from West Quincy, last in the news after getting wicked high and "acting the fool" at an otherwise peaceful social engagement. "Tony Montego is a filthy dude. I worked the docks with him back in the day and he used to do these disgusting tongue gestures to every girl that walked by. It didn't matter if they were fat, skinny, or somewhere in between. If a girl walked by, Tony was all over her, every fucking time. And they always went for him, too. I don't know what women see in that kid, but there's gotta be something. Fucking piece of shit. Must be nice to pour a pot of coffee on a girl's face while you fuck her with a fistful of corn. Must be nice."

Montego was unavailable for comment on this story, claiming to be detained by a previous chiropractor engagement, as the lack of cushioning in the arms of his Ikea sofa had quickly become too much for his body to bear.

Mayor Koch to approve torpedo attack on Weymouth, destruction of Fore River Bridge

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

In what is being called the boldest move of his career, Mayor Thomas Koch is expected to approve a torpedo attack on Weymouth, destroying the Fore River Bridge, thus making it virtually impossible to travel between the two cities.

Weymouth, which is known for it's inability to entertain mankind for more than twelve seconds, as well as being a giant obstacle for Whitman and Abington kids traveling north, has long since been the shame of the South Shore.

Liza Stufart, a domestic engineer and mother of one from Whitman, who is so insanely stubborn that she has actually convinced her sick, demented mind that Weymouth isn't even part of the South Shore, agrees with Mayor Koch's decision, stating that the destruction of the Fore River Bridge will not only make Quincy better, but may bring new businesses to the area, as well.

"There is no legitimate reason why anyone from Weymouth should ever cross the Quincy border," Stufart commented, as she casually reenacted the final act of Brian De Palma's Scarface. "Once Quincy takes out the Fore River Bridge, the only thing they'll need is a porn store. After that, it's all gravy."

Stufart then proceeded to throw a series of wild, yet well-placed spin kicks and haymakers at anyone who she declared as having a "Weymouth face," which, according to experts, is a face that looks so much like Weymouth, that there is absolutely no way of mistaking where the owner of said face hails from.

Stufart was detained shortly after, however, as her nonsensical ramblings and maniacal movements were decided to be "just a little overboard," as the mayor pulled up in his city-issued Hummer H1 to present a framed declaration of war to Weymouth spokeswoman, Carla McFang. Stufart was brought to the Quincy Police Department, where she was frisked extensively and beaten within an inch of her life.


Mayor Koch with Carla McFang, who mistakenly thought she was accepting an award.

Mistaking the mayor's declaration of war for an award, McFang then posed with the framed statement for what she took to be a chance photo op. This, of course, did very little to ease the shame that all Weymouth residents must deal with, causing many in the inferior city to begin rethinking McFang's role as spokeswoman.

"McFang is a fucking whorebag," remarked Neal Diamondz, a man who has lived on both sides of the bridge, no matter how fucked up that may seem. "Anyone that gets one-upped by Mayor Koch is a fucking idiot. I've done a lot of shameful things in my life---believe me---but living in Weymouth is the worst of them, by far."

Parading the giant torpedo through the Fore River Shipyard, dozens of spectators were able to stare at the great weapon, each with the dazed and puzzled stare of a girl who has just been told that she had a load dumped inside her.

"He who dares!" the mayor exclaimed, as his signature hairdo majestically whipped and tousled under the massive gust of an out-of-view industrial strength fan. "Tomorrow, our great city shall attack Weymouth by means of a single torpedo. We will do so by destroying the Fore River Bridge, making it so the only way for Weymouth to penetrate the Quincy barrier will be Route 53, which is notoriously slow-moving, as well as frustrating on the soul. On the last day of 2009, I shall launch my torpedo into the heart of that bridge, and I shall watch as it crumbles before me. I offer Weymouth no more notice than that, and ask that all residents refrain from attempting to stay in our city, as we most definitely will find you. No single Weymouth resident has ever successfully been able to pull off blending in with a crowd of Quincy people. Maybe it's the hypodermic needles hanging out of their neck, or maybe it's the Nightstick t-shirt that they're wearing, but, either way, we can always tell. I honestly don't give a fuck if you can't get to Boston without that bridge. If you need to go shopping, go to the Independence Mall. And if you have a problem with that, you can suck the meatlover's pizza out of my swollen, red ass."

The torpedo, made by Bluefin Robotics, on display at the Fore River Shipyard earlier this morning.

"He who dares!" the mayor repeated, before disappearing into a cloud of smoke and glitter, as the Gap Band's "You Dropped a Bomb on Me" blasted through the shipyard's Bose speaker system at an ear-shattering volume.

It is still unclear as to what time, exactly, the mayor is expected to destroy the Fore River Bridge, although bomb specialists and bridge disaster analysts all agree that an attack at exactly "high noon" would be most likely, as the mayor's love for classic westerns is no secret at all.

New restaurant to open across street from Fat Cat will offer gourmet cuisine, controversial name

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

A new restaurant in the works, which is setting up shop directly across the street from the successful Fat Cat, is scheduled to open it's doors sometime in the coming week, although controversy over it's name looms large, as many residents of the area have complained that it is simply inappropriate.

The restaurant, which is to be named the "Abnormally Large Pussy," has been said by some to be purposely named, not only to mock the name of the Fat Cat, but to haunt the minds of Quincy residents everywhere.

Head chef and owner, Fernando Schneigle Püpe VII, however, denies these accusations, claiming that the restaurant is named after his family cat, Jeffrey-Alejandro, who weighs in at a bone-crunching seventy-six pounds.

"It's merely a misinterpretation," remarked Püpe, a twelve-year native of the Little Belgium area of Hough's Neck. "The pussy I have at home, it is so abnormally large. But I love the pussy, no matter how unhealthy it may appear. Everyone loves to play with the pussy, especially when it is so big and so fat. I come home and I take my hands, and I knead the pussy, massaging it, and relieving it of it's tensions. I wanted to do something nice for the pussy---my dear Jeffrey-Alejandro---so I name the restaurant after him. It was my gift to the pussy. But now the entire city is upset with me, and I am in danger of losing my business before it is even opened. It seems that no matter how much a man loves the pussy, it can also be a man's greatest downfall. How anybody could miscontrue this name is beyond me. I am beside myself with both agony and frustration. All I ever wanted in life is for people to look at pictures of my pussy while they dined."

Fat Cat owner Kyle Nealy was unavailable for comment on this matter, although one patron, Steve Fritz, after drinking several Golden Monkey ales, was willing to tell Scallion reporters his side of the story.

"Abnormally Large Pussy?" exclaimed Fritz, as he desperately clung on to what little was left of his sanity. "I've seen some poorly named businesses in my time, but this one takes the cake. I mean, seriously. Abnormally Large Pussy? Are they fucking kidding me? This can't be serious."


Steve Fritz, hamming it up for the camera in what was to be his final moments.

Moments later, Fritz was asked by the management to leave the Fat Cat and never return, as his physical appearance and drinking habits were becoming quite troublesome for all those who were forced to bear witness.

As to be expected, Fritz then took a wild swing at the closest person near him, who immediately grabbed Fritz by the back of the head and drowned him in a giant bowl of piping hot macaroni and cheese.

"Delicious," Fritz was heard to say, as the tender gift of life escaped him.

Body of hit-and-run victim found in West Quincy by local cat with raging gambling addiction

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

The body of a hit-and-run victim was found in West Quincy this morning, on Garfield Street, ironically, by local feline miscreant, Waldo-Juanchavez, who, as reports say, has a $400-per-day scratch ticket addiction.

Waldo-Juanchavez was last in the news when he was charged on several counts of domesticated abuse, after a dispute with then-girlfriend, Dawn-Carmelita, left her partially blind in one eye.

The body of the man, which, at this point, remains unidentified, was found by Waldo-Juanchavez at approximately 6:30AM, as the cat was preparing for yet another vigorous morning of non-stop, frantic gambling.

Waldo-Juanchavez was unable to comment on his findings, however, as his larynx is not nearly as developed as the average humans, making conversation with authorities a drastically tiresome effort.


Waldo-Juanchavez, contemplating what life will be like when he finally hits it big.

Flip Retrievex, a part-time 7-Eleven employee, flagged down a Quincy Police officer and alerted him of the strange scenario.

“I saw Waldo-Juanchavez lurking near the body,” said Retrievex. “He usually swings by my store first thing in the morning before heading over to Lil’ Peach in Dorchester, and then back through to some other spots in Quincy. He has a very specific routine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him win anything this way, but you can’t break a routine once it gets going. No, sir.”

Waldo-Juanchavez, working on his third pouch of Tender Vittles cat food, remained silent during questioning, possibly due to shock from finding the dead body, but more likely due to his frustration over a measly $4 in winnings after spending $200 on “Crazy Diamonds!” Massachusetts State Lottery tickets.

As ambulances and fire trucks convened on Garfield Street, neighborhood residents were asked to provide any possible information they could.

“You gotta stick to one store and hit the same type of ticket, I tell ya!” screamed George Chopsuey. When informed that police were looking for details about a fatal hit-and-run accident, Chopsuey spun a complex web of lies and returned to his home where he promptly shut off the lights and remained silent.

No further information has been released in regards to the identity of the dead body, although it is expected that more clues will become available as soon as somebody grows a set of balls and checks his pants for an ID.

Fowler House Café named "Hot New Wedding Spot" in highly-regarded Maxim magazine

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

Quincy's Fowler House Café was named a "hot new wedding spot" by the well-respected, highly-regarded Maxim magazine, known for it's creative blend of thought-provoking articles and tantalizing breasts.

This latest issue of Maxim, which is expected to bring enormous amounts of revenue to the already popular romantic wedding spot, can be purchased for a fair price at almost any convenience store, supermarket, or newsstand.

"It's about time the Fowler House got the attention it deserved," said Alf Nelson, a local oldtimer who later keeled over and died from simultaneously suffering an explosive brain aneurysm and a massive heart attack. "I don't read Maxim, to be honest. The doctors say that one more ounce of excitement for me would probably be enough to make every organ in my body explode. But what do those crook doctors know, anyway? If you ask me, I'm as healthy as a mule."

Maxim spokesman Tal Fedora refused to state exactly why the Fowler House was chosen for their latest issue, although it is expected to be due to the establishment's recent inclusion of a newly refurbished 26" Zenith.

"That new issue of Maxim was fantastic," exclaimed Taco P. Buttersworth, the resident bartender at the Fowler House, last in the news after receiving several parton-filed complaints about being too slippery smooth. "The entire issue was about Quincy. They had some really great articles about how to excite the Quincy girls in bed. I ain't trying to say that I didn't already know all those tricks, but it was a fun read, nonetheless. And that three-panel pullout with that washed-up Quincy Point Panthers cheerleader wearing nothing but an open rehab johnny and nipple covers that looked like giant OxyContins---damn! I haven't seen something that hot since the time I accidentally saw Sara Tyler's browneye on the last day of eighth grade."


The latest issue of Maxim, which features many of Quincy's finest whores.

Due to this latest edition of the popular magazine, the Fowler House has promised to up the ante even further with their wedding packages, now offering half-priced appetizer samplers, in-house ushers, Herbie and Walter, who are guaranteed to woo over almost any drunk bride and groom, a five-minute period in which they will turn off the nightly sports game, and a plethora of red-faced regulars who will stare awkwardly at you and eat mozzarella sticks while you read your vows.

"I think it's a really nice place to have a ceremony," said Donna "Fupa Face" McClusky, who was featured in the "Hotties of West Quincy" article in the latest Maxim. "It's good to see people keeping it local these days, especially with all the bad things being said about Quincy. But what do I know? I'm just a painkiller-addicted whore who buys cases of Keystone with an EBT card. Hell, I'd probably fucking blow the dude from Andre's Market for a shot of Cossacks and a Perc 30, even after I found out he had AIDS. What the fuck do I have to lose, right?"

Alf Nelson will be laid to rest at the Lydon Funeral Home on Hancock Street, which, ironically, is of direct relation to Michelle Lydon, Quincy's snazziest justice of the peace, who comes with the Fowler House's finest recommendation. Mrs. Lydon's services can be obtained quite quickly, and her information can be found on her easy-to-navigate website at www.justicelydon.com.

Sneakers hanging from telephone wires still citywide problem, experts say

Article by Beak Wilder and Brunk Edwards / Photos courtesy of Timothy Nightingale

A recent study conducted by experts shows that children having their Adidas shell toes stolen and hung from telephone wires is still a major problem in Quincy.

The study, which was performed in the basement level of Roxie’s Market, shows that most children in the areas of West Quincy, Germantown, and Quincy Point have lost at least sixteen pairs of shell toes by the age of 18.

It is a problem that has so far shown no signs of going away, yet has been repeatedly ignored by the mayor’s office.

Since accepting office, Mayor Thomas Koch has not only denied the existence of this problem, but has abandoned the “No Shell Toes Left Behind” act that previous mayor, Bill “The Red Power Ranger” Phelan, had enacted two years prior to leaving.

“This is not an ongoing problem,” lied City Hall lackey Joe Schlopp. “These are isolated incidents, and there is no reason to believe that there has been a continuing sneaker conspiracy. The people of this city are safe here, as are their shell toes.”

Abruptly excusing himself from the interview, Schlopp then faded into the crowd of puzzled onlookers, with what appeared to be a uncontrollable, raging boner.

Schlopp’s thin, form-fitting khakis did little to hide this, however, appeared to be quite comfortable, with all those nearby agreeing that they matched his aging loafers “almost perfectly."

While little to no direct action is expected from government officials in the city, roving bands of vigilantes have been reported in the troubled neighborhoods, taking matters into their own hands.


Multiple pairs of shell toes hanging from a telephone wire in scenic Quincy Point.

Residents of West Quincy have placed calls into NSTAR, City Hall, Verizon, and the Adidas company itself to report incidents of people cutting down telephone poles for the precious footwear. These calls were largely ignored due to the fact that the telephone wires were cut down and disconnected, thus not enabling their ramblings to get through.

Ralph Waldo Emernem, a 42-year-old grown-ass man, was apprehended by a neighborhood watch group after setting off a small-scale nail-bomb in his backyard, which killed approximately 900 people and animals. Venting his frustration at yet another pair of his shell toes being tossed up onto a telephone wire, Mr. Emernem was heard to say that if his shoes were not taken down, cleaned properly with Foot Locker brand sneaker cleaner, and returned to him, "People will die. Starting tonight. I’m a man of my word.”

Emernem then cackled maniacally before choking on the Bic pen cap that he was chewing on. He was later resuscitated by none other than Officer Nico Haylen, although still remains sneakerless at the time of this article.

Brittany Murphy dies from “natural causes” at 32

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

Brittany Murphy, best known for spitting on her hand and rubbing it on her vagina in the Eminem vehicle, 8 Mile, was found dead yesterday morning in her Los Angeles home, Quincy officials say.

The actress, who just completed writing her book of memoirs, I’ll Never Tell: A Tell-All Tale of My Life on the Big Screen, died from what coroners say appears to be “natural causes,” but was more likely to be a drug overdose.

Murphy, who had recently signed on to star in Michael Mann’s epic Quincy crime saga, is survived by her husband, her hairstylist, and hundreds of undying fans.

There is no word yet on who Mann plans on using to replace Murphy in his upcoming film, although some have speculated that absolutely anyone could do the job.

“This is a complete shock to us all,” said Val Vickson, an unlicensed boxing promoter from Montclair who was hired as the stunt coordinator on Mann’s film. “When she showed up to our last meeting, I remarked that she would look completely healthy for a 45-year-old with a raging case of diabetes.”

Murphy caught citywide attention for her role in Cherry Falls, a powerful film dealing with murder and teen angst. Quincy residents responded positively to the many party scenes and Brittany’s portrayal of a girl caught in the grip of sleazy celluloid violence. Co-star, Michael Beihn, however, received mixed reviews from critics for his role as Murphy’s father, the town sheriff. While Beihn’s performance was spot-on, as usual, a 15-minute improvised scene in which he pins his own daughter to the floor and stares sensuously into her eyes was thought to be "just too much."

While many were surprised by the somewhat unexpected death of Murphy, others were not quite as shocked. "That girl looked like a fuckin' a bag of shit," remarked Abington ironworker Tom Turkolio, last in the news after punching a moving trolley off of the tracks. "If anything in life is guaranteed, Brittany Murphy did not die of natural causes. That girl could have been an OxyContin spokeswoman. Just look at that decrepit body and the bags under her eyes. If it wasn't for those fake tits, she'd look like any other junky you see at Father Bill's Place. Every time someone famous overdoses, the media always makes it seem like it might have been natural. It's like what they did with Heath Ledger. Everyone was trying to make it seem like that dude died because he accidentally mixed the wrong medications. But, in reality, he was just a fucking pussy who couldn't handle his pills. I know kids from Bingtown who could take down twice what he had and still claim it was a boring night."


The aftermath of Turkolio's trolley incident, for which he is still awaiting sentencing.

A candlelight vigil at the Newport Avenue Wendy’s was planned for tonight, as many who rented her direct-to-video films had made a habit of stocking up on "Biggie Sized" Triple with Chese Combos from there. Mrs. Murphy herself was also invited to attend before organizers realized their colossal mistake.

While her death remains quite hard for family, friends, and a scattering of Quincy kids to deal with, others remain hopeful that her memory will live on.

“You have to admit, she was lookin’ pretty bangin' in that flick,” reminisced Michael Beihn. “I don’t care if I was supposed to be her father in that, I still tried to work it out with her. Damn shame, it might have gone down in Cherry Falls 2.”

Beihn then casually lit up two unfiltered cigarettes before staring out an open window and cryptically adding, “Yeah, lotta things going on nowadays. But then again, there always is, isn’t there?”

Hollywood icon Michael Mann to film "gripping Quincy crime epic" in Quincy

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

Hollywood auteur Michael Mann, director of such movies as Heat and Public Enemies, and well-known for his ability to bring larger-than-life criminals to the big screen, has finished pre-production on an as-yet-untitled film to take place in Quincy.

The movie, based on Mann’s exhaustive research into the late-1990’s rash of killings and robberies perpetrated by a man in a 9-foot rabbit costume, will begin filming this spring in the City of Presidents, and is expected to bring hundreds of dollars into local businesses like D’Angelo and New England Comics.

The events in which the movie will be based on began in 1998, on a cold spring morning in West Quincy, when an unidentified man wearing a rabbit costume entered the Brewer’s Corner Pharmacy, killing the pharmacy’s only employee and making off with an entire box of IcyHot topical heat rub.

The Brewer’s Corner Pharmacy closed it’s doors shortly after this horrific crime, never to open again, although remained there in an abandoned state until it was knocked down on Cinco de Mayo, 2005.


The Brewer's Corner Pharmacy, which was left abandoned after the brutal murder.

This sudden increase in violent crime continued on throughout the late-nineties, spreading wildly through Quincy like warts on a dick, most likely due to the criminal’s furious inability to accept the lackluster music scene that had plagued the latter half of the decade.

“The movie is expected to have a 3 ½ hour running time,” boasted Woburn-based pyrotechnician James Gravy, who has absolutely nothing to do with the film. Sitting comfortably in an 8x10 jail cell for his part in the now infamous Quincy Christmas play, Gravy added, “I would have loved to have worked on it. I’m a big fan of Mann’s and an even bigger fan of cold-blooded murders, so it would have been perfect.”

Gravy is facing a 13-year sentence for his unnecessary explosives during the Let’s Do This theatre group’s holiday presentation of Robot Cop, which left eight people mortally injured and thousands only slightly entertained.

While Mann himself has yet to travel to Quincy, his second unit camera crew has been scouting locations throughout the city for the last week. A pivotal scene in which “The Rabbit” forges an unlikely friendship with Al Capone is rumored to be filmed on the platform of Quincy Adams train station.


1999 Surveillance footage of "The Rabbit," who was never caught by police.

Capone, who is famous for being the mild-mannered, completely by-the-book owner of Al Capone’s Pizza on Summer Street in Boston, will be played by a dilapidated Ernest Borgnine.

The four minutes of dialogue, consisting mostly of “Hey, what’s up?” and “How you doing?” will be filmed using state of the art cameras designed by NASA scientists in a scheme to upstage director James Cameron’s latest film, Avatar. A roto-scoping, 4-dimensional IMAX lens with holographic thingamajigs is being flown in from the Moon. It is likely to soak up the lion’s share of the films $900 million dollar budget and use at least 30 USB cables.

Local music fan wanted for questioning in shooting

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

Local music fan and driving instructor, Chris Brown, is wanted for questioning in regards to a shooting in the Wendy's parking lot on Southern Artery, which took place late last night, after a reported 9-hour-long wait in the restaurant's notoriously mismanaged drive-thru.

The incident occurred just after midnight, where eyewitnesses say an altercation broke out between Brown and Milton fire sale coordinator, Joe "Funny Man" Wong.

The argument, which ended with Brown allegedly firing a .45 caliber handgun into Wong's abdomen, leaving Wong in critical condition at the For-Us-By-Us Asian Medical Center in North Quincy, was said to have stemmed over a
Baconator sandwich with pickles that both men claimed to have ordered.


Chris Brown, who asked that all but his sweater and collared shirt remain unseen.

Head drive-thru coordinator at the location, Chippo Pottamoose, was also questioned by police. Mr. Pottamoose, known to authorities as having an illustrious history of letting things spiral wildly out of control, was shaken by the events, and attempted to explain what he witnessed.

“The Baconator was ordered with a muffled voice, leading to mass confusion," Pottamoose commented. "This is most likely due to the fact that our drive-thru operators use Sony Walkman headphones from 1992 that are covered in grease. No one knows why, but that it certainly explains the occasional mishap.”

Pottamoose was then questioned extensively by Quincy Police over the disappearance of hundreds of boxes of recalled Sony Walkman headphones from the former Tweeter Electronics store in the mythical East Quincy.

Adding to the confusion outside, Wendy’s workers had to deal with several unruly costumers within the restaurant. “Silent” Mike K, a Charlestown native who visits Quincy exactly once every blue moon, absolutely refused to talk when asked what he would like to order. This caused the already short-handed staff to divert much needed manpower into surrounding Mike K and repeatedly demanding his order. Head fry cook Wally Ifrit was then summoned in from the fiery depths of the back grill area to try his hand, but, like all others, it was to no avail.

At the time of this article, Chris Brown remains at large. It is expected that he will turn himself in by tomorrow morning, as his driving school-issued Porsche Cayman was seized by authorities this afternoon.

There is no word yet on if Joe "Funny Man" Wong will survive his injuries, as his status remains critical at this time.

There is also no confirmation on whether, or not, Brown muttered “say goodbye” to Wong as he shot him. As more details of this "sick plot" come to light, The Quincy Scallion promises to be there to report them.

Joe "Funny Man" Wong (right), posing for a photograph with an African American male.

Authorities have asked anybody with information as to the whereabouts of Chris Brown to please contact them immediately, as he is considered to be armed and dangerous, and has been known for his strong capabilities of maintaining no regret, as he is a "rebel without a cause" who "never asked to be born."

It is the opinion of this publication that, while the Southern Artery Wendy's drive-thru may be poorly managed and excruciatingly annoying, no man should take it upon himself to attempt to take another man's life. And with that, we leave the alleged shooter this message: Settle down, Chris fuckin' Brown!

9-out-of-10 male Quincy residents not happy with size of dick, recent survey says

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

A recent survey has shown that 9-out-of-10 male Quincy residents are not happy with the size of their penis, and would increase their size by up to six inches in length, and almost twice in girth, if it were possible.

The survey, which was conducted in the mysterious brick face building across from Quincy High School, labeled "Professional Building" on its facade, was performed by asking six Stash's Pizza delivery men if they would prefer a bigger penis.

Romanzza Pizza delivery men were initially asked to take part in this survey, however, declined to participate, as the Washington Street Pizza Delivery Men Union strictly forbids any of its members to reveal the size of their penis.

"This is groundbreaking evidence," remarked Dr. Claudius Henderson, a red-faced alcoholic with absolutely nothing to lose, last in the news after thirty-two failed attempts at proving that the movie The Human Centipede is 100% medically accurate. "Through extensive medical research---but, more so, a single survey---we were able to determine that most of the male residents in Quincy would prefer a larger penis. And who could blame them, really? Have you ever tried to make sweet love to one of the wretched hatchet wounds this city has for women? It's like trying to choke a whale shark with a single piece of rice. It's just pointless."

As for what this recent survey proves, no one can be sure. Local doctors and theorists have asked that all Quincy residents, whether male or female, take pride in the fact that modern science has twice over proved that the average Quincy kid's penis is no less than one quarter inch larger than that of the average Braintree, Weymouth, or Milton kid's penis. It should be noted, however, no matter how trivial it may seem, that all Quincy kids have AIDS.

Arrival of mysterious horse and cat duo paves way for horrific mall Santa debacle, other events

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

The arrival of a mysterious horse and cat duo has paved way for a series of wacky and unexplained events in the City of Presidents, causing many Quincy residents to begin thinking that Cat Stevens may have been correct when he claimed this world was, in fact, a wild world.

The horse and cat duo arrived in Quincy yesterday afternoon, by way of the Atherton-Cod Ferry System, which brings daily commuters back to the mainland after traveling the brand new eight-lane, sixty-mile-long bridge, which connects Hough's Neck's Raccoon Island to Sandwich, Cape Cod.

The horse, who claimed to have no name, arrived on the ferry with his best friend and attorney, Elmore-Pedro, whose bloodline can be directly connected with none other than Leo-Hector, the famed feline beau, last in the news after receiving the prestigious Outstanding Quincy Citizen of the Year Award.

“I’m not sure what’s going on here,” whispered Nicholas Copernicus, a nervous wreck from the working class section of Fenno Street. An accomplished shoe shiner and part-time astronomer, Copernicus was one of the first on scene to witness the arrival of the controversial duo. “I now have to rethink some of---nay---all of what I have previously known about astronomy since this occurrence. And at least part of what I had previously known about shining shoes.”

Elmore-Pedro had no response to Copernicus’ anxious ramblings, but the horse responded with a series of insane facial expressions and throat-shredding shrieks that caused a nearby Toyota Corolla to explode dramatically.

After firefighters were able to tame the blazing inferno, the gathering crowd was told to "settle the fuck down," as those who were interested were given the opportunity to line up and have their picture taken with Ralph "Sloppy Dog" Brancaccio, the third-degree burn victim from Adams Shore, who dresses like Santa Claus every day of the year.


Ralph Brancaccio, being photographed with a child who is in paralyzing fear.

These Christmas pictures were offered to the crowd free of charge by Wings Express, the former Quincy Center chicken wing delivery service, who now dabbles in the high stakes game of seasonal photography.

While children, the elderly, and the homeless were slowly being consumed by Brancaccio’s soul-crushing gaze, others weren’t so lucky.

The horse and cat advanced towards Quincy Center later that evening. Making both friends and enemies, they managed to subdue all questions and inquiries into their actions with a devastating web of lies, produced mostly by exaggerated facial expressions and frequent blinking.

A torch-carrying mob of primitive, blue-collar citizens then began gathering outside of the abandoned site that was once the home of Taso’s Pizza, demanding that city officials step in and “do something” about the two beasts.

Mike Texas, a 2004 Dr. Pepper spokesman of the year, was the first to petition Mayor Koch’s office to forcibly remove the horse and cat from Quincy.

“I twittered him, ked," said Texas. "I twittered him all day. That mayor better get off his pizza-eatin’ ass and get some cops out here. Shoot that horse like he was a Milton firefighter (oh snap!) and toss that cat into the ocean. People are trying to drink in this town, we don’t need this shit!”


Mike Texas, circa 2004, back when he was living the American dream.

It was at this time that the entire crowd grew immediately silent, as a sharp looking, tinted-as-fuck, powder blue Dodge Aries K pulled up and the horse and cat duo hopped in the backseat, never to be seen again.

Smoking the tires for no less than a solid hour, the Dodge Aries K then headed north, darting between each car it passed with the precision and aptness of a perfectly-designed vibrator. Some say that the car just kept on going, possibly as far as Boston. Others say it may have reached as far as Methuen, where the duo and their unknown driver may have gone to visit the home of Elmore-Pedro's distant cousin, bronze medal Olympic judo competitor, Jimmy Pedro.

But no matter what people speculate, or what theories some may have, no one can truly be sure, because in a world where a horse and cat can get along and ride the ferry together, nothing is what it seems.

Quincy enlists help of mysterious detective agency to solve local ghost story scam

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

A mysterious detective team was enlisted by City Hall to help solve a local ghost story involving the abandoned Tide Mill on Southern Artery the other day, which led to the arrest of an evil real estate developer.

The detective agency, known on the street as "The South Shore Gang," has been in operation since late-2006, and has been said to have solved dozens of mysteries in the Quincy area since their inception.

First in the gang is Beak Wilder, a socially prominent know-how with a knack for noticing details, and an appreciation for divide-and-conquer clue searching tactics. Shouting, "Let's split up, gang" in his signature loud and abrasive voice, Beak's capacity for keen detective work is surpassed by very few.

Next is Beak's wife, Heather Wilder, an equally socially prominent detective, known for her good looks, so-so detective skills, and her ability to get into the most dangerous situation possible, as quickly as possible. Heather once got into a confrontation at Hennessy's in Faneuil Hall that made The Bride fighting O-Ren Ishii and the Crazy 88 in Kill Bill: Vol. 1 look like an Atlantic Middle School fist fight.

Third on the roster is Audrey Baloney, Boston's eighth highest regarded rooftop criminal analyst, who joined the team in an effort to solve mysteries no matter what elevation they occur at. Audrey is known for her sharp insight during investigations, especially while investigating any of the multiple forms of rooftop crime.

Fourth on the list is Shawnie Brando, a scruffy loner type who is known for performing his detective duties away from the majority of group. Shawnie reportedly took on the job as a way to impress what he referred to as the "reinvigorated Seattle grunge scene," although decided to stick with the group when it was determined that grunge rock was, in fact, a dead art.

Last on the team is Neal Diamondz, a part-time rap star who dresses like a Great Dane, allowing him to get in close and find clues while remaining unnoticed by those around him. Neal is a businessman at heart, who understands that "time is money up in this world." And it is with this thinking that compels Neal to solve each case as quickly, and as thoroughly, as possible.

It was this team that Mayor Koch called in to solve the "Mystery of the Tide Mill Ghost," which has plagued Quincy for years, causing real estate prices in the surrounding areas to drop significantly, triggering mayoral aide Joe Schlopp to think that "something may be amiss."


Barbara Cuetown, a former employee of the old Tide Mill, which is now abandoned.

Upon arriving at the mayor's office, The South Shore Gang were presented with several large meat lover's pizzas. These, as many Quincy residents know, are a favorite of the mayor's, and were mostly consumed by him, while The South Shore Gang received the necessary instructions and back-story needed to solve the case.

As legend states, the Mystery of the Tide Mill Ghost began in 2005, when local old-timer, Alf Nelson, attempted to spend the night there after what he described as "the most insane domestic dispute Quincy has ever seen."

Three hours into his stay, Alf Nelson reportedly began hearing strange noises from inside the mill, as well as seeing moving shadows in the rooms across from him.

Immediately reporting these sightings to authorities using his Nextel i870 cell phone, Mr. Nelson then collapsed from a ghost-induced heart attack, or possibly old age.

Since then, multiple accounts of ghost sightings have been reported, each of them causing residents of the area to begin moving from their homes, all of them claiming to be "all fucking set" with dealing with "any type of ghost shit."


The South Shore Gang, hard at work in their top secret headquarters on Beale Street.
Left to right: Audrey Baloney, Heather Wilder, and Beak Wilder.

After taking the case and agreeing on a reported $100-per-hour, plus expenses, The South Shore Gang wasted no time getting to the bottom of The Mystery of the Tide Mill. Right off the bat, Beak Wilder sensed that something wasn't right about these ghost stories, although Shawnie Brando remained unsurprisingly nervous.

"Let's split up, gang," shouted Beak Wilder, as he took to the second floor with both Heather and Audrey at his side.

Sticking to the lower level of the mill, Brando and Diamondz began searching for clues, each of them secretly fearing the fact that they may stumble upon a sign that these legendary Quincy ghost stories were real.

Falling into a trap door, Brando and Diamondz then found themselves traveling down an old coal chute into a secret underground mineshaft, where they were then chased through a maze of tunnels by what appeared to be an undead spectre.

Realizing they had lost track of the rest of the gang, Baloney and the Wilders took to the Mystery Beater, a 1994 Lexus ES 300, which is filled with gadgets, detective equipment, and beer cans, to call on reinforcements.


The Mystery Beater, parked awkwardly on somebody else's lawn on Putnam Street.

Calling upon their old friend, Mark "Scrappy-Dood" Doherty, Baloney and the Wilders went back into the Tide Mill to retrieve the remainder of their gang.

No matter what ghoulish noise or sight surrounded them, the gang continued on without fear, aside from Brando and Diamondz, that is, who basically just ran like little bitches and screamed.

Arriving just in time, Scrappy-Dood Doherty entered the mineshaft, eager to assist his friends in need. Also dressed like a Great Dane, except significantly smaller than Diamondz, Scrappy-Dood was able to dive head-first into the leg of the so-called spectre, biting it's knee cap with the durable and accurately sized teeth of his impressively realistic costume.


An artist's depiction of Mark "Scrappy-Dood" Doherty when in costume.

Tackling the ghost to the ground, The South Shore Gang then began unleashing a most furious beat down upon it, all while Thin Lizzy's "The Boys are Back in Town" mysteriously played through the abandoned mill's Bose speaker system.

After a few vicious kicks to the teeth, the gang realized that what they were fighting was merely a human disguised as a ghost. Taking off it's mask and exposing corrupt real estate developer Partiana Tarter, the gang immediately alerted authorities, informing them of the hoax, and demanding payment for their services.

Partiana Tarter, who has been said to work for real estate mogul Sandy Pants, former beneficiary of the Maurice the Pants Man dynasty, was then taken in for questioning, where she was charged with multiple counts of faking ghost stories, implementing real estate scams, faulty business practices, fucking around inside abandoned mills, and stealing ideas from cartoons.

"I'm just glad that The South Shore Gang was here to stop this madness," remarked Neal Diamondz, as he casually sipped on a Presidente margarita at Acapulcos in Quincy Center. "Due to our diligent efforts, we were able to determine that Partiana Tarter had been creating a back-story about ghost hauntings in the Tide Mill, in an effort to lower property values in the area, and then buy out all the businesses and homes in that area. It's our understanding that she had the intentions of building Quincy's largest high-end condominium complex in this section of Quincy, reaping the benefits between her and Sandy Pants, and leaving those who used to live in that area to fend for themselves in the seedy underbelly of Quincy Point, or possibly even West Quincy. All I can say is, it's a damn good thing I was dressed like a dog for this. If I hadn't been, we may have never been able to get as close as we did."

Partiana Tarter's mugshot, taken by Officer Nico Haylen just after her arrest.

"I could have been the richest woman in Quincy," claimed an obviously defeated Tarter, even after being explained several times that she had the right to remain silent. "I was going to build the largest real estate development this city has ever seen, and the profits would have been all mine. I was going to have a plumber install a pinot grigio faucet in every room of my brand new mansion, and I would have hired a personal McDonald's Bacon Angus Third Pounder chef to work for me, so that I could have one any time I wanted. My plan was flawless and perfectly crafted. With the money I would have gotten from this, I could have purchased all of Squantum. And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it wasn't for those goddamn kids!"

Fat Cat host arrested for inciting mosh pit after being accused of being "too accommodating"

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

Beloved Fat Cat host, Jeff Hostman, was arrested last night after a riot broke out, which reportedly stemmed from several patrons accusing him of being "too accommodating."

Hostman was last in the news after breathing life back into a dying Sully's patron while retrieving local bad girl, Heather Wilder, and her husband, who asked that his name not be mentioned in this article, for their dinner reservation.

"It was crazy," remarked Johnny Manchego, the Fat Cat's head macaroni taster. "Some guy came up to me and started yelling at me about how Jeff was too accommodating, and how he should be a little less helpful, like the waitresses at McKay's in South Quincy. And then a few other customers started complaining to me about the same thing. As to why they were complaining to me, I'm not sure. All I do is taste macaroni. But, either way, Jeff overheard them, and that was about all she wrote. He went over to the iPod and created the sickest Madball playlist I could ever imagine and just started tearing shit up."

Making his way through the crowd of unsuspecting patrons, Hostman devastated all those who crossed his path with a vicious blend of "windmill" and "picking-up-change" dance moves.

Hearing the familiar sound of Madball's "Face to Face," regulars from Sully's Lounge began to make their way over to the Fat Cat, most of them for the first time ever.

"I love New York hardcore music," remarked Cole Sanka, a man who once tried to hook up with his own cousin a record-breaking sixteen times before finally being slapped. "I'm not really into all that fancy food they have over at the Fat Cat, though. You give me a room temperature Bud Light and a ham and cheese on Wonder bread, and I'm good to go. I don't know about you, but I'm not about to waste valuable drinking money on a rib eye steak when Sully's has a baked stuffed clam special for two bucks. Irregardless, when I heard that Madball song blasting through those speakers, I ran right over and straight up stage dove off the front set of tables and just started crowd surfing my way to the bathroom."


Cole Sanka, crowd surfing his way to the bathroom, where he eventually passed out.

Authorities were then dispatched to the Fat Cat, where reports of an unauthorized Madball show were pouring in at record speeds.

Officer Nico Haylen was the first to respond. "I was down the street at Tully's," he said. "Just making sure things were going smoothly. I had already unloaded three rounds from my police-issued 9mm, and I knew that I was already gonna be filling out paperwork for weeks. So, needless to say, I was not in the mood to fuck around. Then, I get this report of a Madball show happening up the street, so I figure I'll check it out real quick and relieve some tension. You can imagine how pissed I was when I found out it was just Madball playing on an iPod. I grabbed the first dude I could and took his head clean off with my own personal 8" barrel Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum Model 686 Silhouette, and then I just joined the crowd."

After three more songs and twelve police officers who also chose to live by the "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" way of thinking, authorities were eventually able to subdue the crowd. Hostman was arrested and charged with inciting a mosh pit, using outdated hardcore dance moves, and being too accommodating.


Jeff Hostman, lookin' a little rougher than usual after the sick-as-fuck mosh pit.

"My client has done nothing wrong," barked Sol Shrewdman, Hostman's on-call attorney, last in the news after convincing a judge to close down the Jury Room, as they technically had no jury members on their staff. "My client is a man of the people. What other restaurant in Quincy will allow you to drink beers in one of the sketchiest bars in the city while you wait to be seated, and then actually walk over to get you when your table is ready? If anything, my client should be filing a suit against the people who accused him of being too accommodating. The people of this city should consider themselves lucky to have a host like Jeff Hostman."

Fat Cat owner Kyle Nealy was unavailable for comment on this article, as he reportedly passed out cold after completing a mind-numbing seven hundred and thirty consecutive work days with no break.

As usual, the Fat Cat will be offering free rib eye steaks to anyone who wears a Madball shirt in their establishment, however, have asked that all patrons please refrain from hardcore dancing until they have completed construction for their lower level hardcore club, The Fat Cat After Dark.

Bitter cold causes many local residents to stay home, even homeless

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

Bitter cold has driven away almost all residents and shoppers in the center of Quincy, even those in the beloved homeless community, causing many people in the area to stay at home, even if they don’t happen to have one.

Quincy’s homeless population, last in the news after getting caught having sex in the small parking lot next to Fratelli’s Bakery on Broad Street, has long since been the subject of public praise and overall acceptance.

But as temperatures drop and winter makes its presence known, where do these lovable vagrants go?

Even the Thomas Crane Public Library, which has been a constant breeding ground for loitering, panhandling, and public masturbation, suffered a major blow yesterday, as the front yard was seen without a single homeless person for the first time since the Great Blizzard of 1978.

“It was cold as fuck out there yesterday,” complained Mark Doherty, a Dorchester drifter who frequently lingers near the bus stops out front. “I couldn’t even jerk off on the lawn because of the cold, piercing winds. They were so fierce, and so brutal, that I was unable to achieve an erection. I had to resort to just whipping it out and slapping it around like it was the lead guitarist of Fall Out Boy. And eventually, I just gave up. It’s days like this that make me really wish I had a home.”


Mark Doherty, loitering on a concert stage in the hopes of receiving a free meal.

Wanted on charges of performing lewd acts in public and indecent exposure, Mark Doherty then disappeared into the misty horizon, where he still remains at large. Authorities believe he may be hiding out somewhere deep in the bowels in Weymouth, as they currently have no extradition treaty with Quincy.

“I don’t know what it is about this crazy weather,” said Matty Southside, a South Quincy man who gets almost all of his pick-up lines from episodes of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. “Homeless people don’t really seem to like it too much. Sucks for them, because they really don’t have any other option. Aside from maybe getting a job and putting their life back on track, that is, but that’s no fun. I wonder where they all go, though. Maybe they go to Olindy’s, who knows? You kinda miss those silly little bastards once they’re gone, though. Whether they’re kicking around a hacky sack or just hacking up a lung on the side of the road, they’re a staple in this community. And you can never take that away from them. You can take away their homes, their money, and their ability to keep warm throughout the day---you can even take away their shoes, if catch ‘em when they’re sleeping---but you can never take away their respect. Not in this fucking town!”

Local schoolboys tossed aside as mysterious heartthrob emerges at Quincy High School

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

The male students of Quincy High School took a major hit this week, as a mysterious stranger emerged, adorned in the torn jeans and open flannels of an early-nineties grunge fan, and with a stare so piercing it could sink deep into the heart of even the most androgynous girl.

Advancing through the halls at the cool speed of a turtle, reeking of Noxzema and last night’s fuck, Jordan Catalano paved way to the student registry, ready and willing to call Quincy his new home.

The arrival of Jordan Catalano, of course, did not come without protest, as many of the school’s eye-catching regulars are now complaining about what appears to be hard times to come.


Jordan Catalano, pulling his signature "I couldn't care less" move on an unsuspecting girl.

“I just can’t catch a break since this kid showed up,” grumbled Billy McPhillips, the head quarterback of the Quincy High School Presidents, who was voted “Most Attractive” in his junior year yearbook. “I used to get more ass than a proctologist until this Catalano guy came to Quincy. Now I’m getting handies in West Quincy for thirty bucks a pop. This is fucking bullshit.”

With the muscular arms of a professional athlete, built for those crowd-pleasing 30-yard touchdown passes, as well as the occasional, vigorous, late-night fingering in the backseat of his father’s Mustang, McPhillips then began banging on tables, visibly shaken by his recent decline.

“I just can’t take it anymore,” he screamed, as he darted off into the distance to settle the score. "You haven't heard the last from Billy McPhillips! You can count on that."


Billy McPhillips, obviously displeased about his new-found rival.

Flooded with patients, the nurses at the high school also complained about Catalano’s presence, claiming over half of the school’s female population have been receiving fluids through an intravenous drip, as the pure sight of Catalano alone had caused them all to lose their natural bodily fluids by way of their panties.

“These girls are all dried up,” claimed nurse Julie Bummings, an all-around wacky medical expert, last in the news after allegations of reusing postage stamps nearly caused her to resign. “This kid is just too good looking. I got girls walking around here with about as much moisture in ‘em as a salted cashew. Somebody put a fucking mask on that kid, already!”

When asked to comment about his sudden arrival, Catalano merely looked downwards and put his hands in his pockets, all while Imperial Teen’s “Yoo Hoo” played mysteriously from the school’s brand new Bose speaker system.

Billy McPhillips was found dead shortly after he was interviewed by what appeared to be a most vicious, self-inflicted punch to the face.

In compliance with his very specific Last Will and Testament, he will be buried at sea, at the exact coordinates 42.2667°N 70.9578°W, as his love for the Hough’s Neck section of Quincy was surpassed by no other.

Snowy conditions cause mass hysteria among New Englanders, cancellation of Suicide Girls burlesque show at Sly Fox Tavern

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

A burlesque show by the Portland, Oregan-based Suicide Girls was postponed today after thousands of Quincy residents, yet again, proved that they are unable to handle driving in snow.

The Suicide Girls, who are best known for dancing around topless, began operations in late-2001, as a way to express their overbearing sexuality and "daddy issues" on stage, and eventually, as their popularity grew, the World Wide Web.

The event, which was schedule to take place this evening at the Sly Fox Tavern in West Quincy, was cancelled last-minute, as over ninety percent of the residents in the area had already totalled their cars, only further proving the fact that no New Englander can ever remember how to drive during those crazy times in which rain freezes and then falls to the ground.


The Suicide Girls, dancing around like a pile of sluts at a party with plenty of Adderall.

"I don't understand what the fucking problem is," said Kevin Stickowski, a seasoned veteran of the car dealership world, and author of the self-help book, Kid, Are You Fuckin' Serious?: Get'cho Act Togetha, Kid! "We live in New England. What's the big fucking deal? Every single winter, it's the same old story. Everyone drives around at about ten miles per hour, and then they still crash their cars. Why can't anybody just get used to the fact that it's gonna snow? And now look at what happened. West Quincy lost what was probably their only chance to see a pair of titties that weren't literally touching the ground. Fucking bullshit!"

Of all the car accidents reported, one of the worst was on Chickatawbut Road, where a smooth looking foreign automobile crashed into seven moving cars. This, as eyewitnesses say, caused one of the biggest pileups Chickatawbut has ever seen since the time Orlando Bloom casually cruised by a group of young gay boys, causing them to all pile on top of each other and fuck each other's faces.


The major eight-car pileup on Chickatawbut Road, in all of its disastrous glory.

"There's just something about New England drivers that science will never be able to explain," said Matty Hammers, a top-notch scientist, and self-proclaimed "Avon Barksdale of Quincy," last in the news after several failed attempts to make beer-and-then-liquor not make you sicker. "It just seems like this happens every year. Nobody knows what to do when it snows, so they just kinda glide across the roads until they hit something. It's almost funny, if you think about it. Until people die, that is. And then it's just hilarious. Unless, of course, the person who dies is a good kid. Then it just sucks. But the odds of that happening in this town are pretty fucking slim. There's a lot of expendable people in this city. Just sayin'."

When asked if they would ever attempt a return to the City of Presidents, the Suicide Girls declined to answer, as they were too busy whipping their tits out and somehow attributing it to an act of misplaced feminism.


Another Suicide Girl, this one exposing her breasts to an easily distracted world.
THIS IMAGE WAS CENSORED, AS IT IS THE QUINCY SCALLION'S BELIEF THAT
BIG TITS SHOULD NEVER OVERCOME AN OBVIOUSLY UNATTRACTIVE FACE.

As of now, authorities have asked that all timid folks and all-around meat whistles remain at home and refrain from using public roads, as it has been known to cause mass hysteria and mind-bending accidents.

As it remains unclear if the ever-so-respectable Suicide Girls will ever return, it is recommended that any Quincy resident who is in dire need of seeing tits go to Club 58, preferably with a gigantic bag of low quality cocaine.

It is this reporter's belief that no man should ever pay dime-one to see a pair of washed-up punk rock, goth, and/or indie boobs, as there are boobs everywhere you look, and you can actually see them, if you only tried. And I would rather a half-hour lunch with Kathleen Hanna over sex with every single one of those bummin' Suicide Girls, or whatever the fuck they call themselves.

Anyone can be born with a pair of tits and run around acting like they're Betty Page with tattoos, but it takes a truly iconic individual to develop a personality that interests others. And that, my friends, is a fact. Well, it's probably more of an opinion, but it's my opinion, which is basically a fact. See ya fuckin' later, kid.

Handicapped theatre group’s Christmas play receives piss-poor reviews, zero funding

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

Let’s Do This, a city-funded theatre group comprised of physically handicapped, mentally retarded, and all-around ridiculous people staged their Christmas play, Robot Cop, on Saturday night, resulting in unanimously bad reviews from all in attendance and a cancellation of their 2010 funding from Mayor Koch’s office.

The 3½ hour production was held on a shoddily built stage resting awkwardly against parked cars on Hancock Street outside of City Hall.

Selected randomly from a list of Quincy based performance groups, Let’s Do This began their production at 8:00PM, with the understanding that it was to end only a half hour later, in accordance with city laws concerning amateur theatre.

The gathering audience began to notice something was amiss almost immediately as a wheelchair bound actor shot out from behind the main stage curtain on fire, launching into the crowd and dying immediately.

The curtain then rose for a moment, briefly revealing a hideously painted backdrop that some assumed was meant to be a futuristic, post-apocalyptic city, with the words “North Pole” scrawled on a banner, before falling back down and remaining closed for approximately ten minutes.

Muffled screams were then heard, which were then rapidly drowned out by the sound of Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” blaring at an ear-shattering volume from the stage speakers.

While the curtain remained closed, hundreds of multi-colored balloons ascended from behind the stage carrying a 20-square-foot tapestry of former Hollywood scoundrel, Raul Julia, into the night sky. Bored silence rippled through the crowd as the balloons drifted off into the distance.


The giant tapestry, currently believed to be floating forebodingly near Super Stop & Shop.

James Gravy, a Woburn-based pyrotechnical expert, then detonated a large amount of his personal 4th of July fireworks stash dangerously close to the front row, scarring many children and dogs, and causing local Christmas enthusiast, Alf Nelson, to keel over and die.

Reviews came pouring into the Mayor’s Arts & Entertainment hotline almost immediately following the event.

“That was insanity,” growled Babu Porkchop, a salt miner from lower Merrymount. “It appeared to me that they were trying to recreate the movie Robocop, but they got absolutely none of the Christmas spirit of the original. I mean, Robot Cop? Really? Are they fucking serious about that shit? C’mon!”

“Easily the worst Christmas play I’ve ever seen,” replied Brendan “The Rifleman” Stremmi, a single dad, currently squatting in a Wollaston backyard. “I took my kids here to see some culture, not see a bunch of deranged clowns shit their pants and cough up blood. I could have taken them to IHOP for that.”

Austin LeTruth, a key player in the Voyager Space Shuttle disaster, agreed with the negative feedback. “The costumes were terrible. That mute guy kept forgetting his lines. And for forty-five minutes, nothing happened except a guy wearing a cape drinking a carton of rancid milk.”

Pausing briefly to bust out a distortion-heavy guitar solo, LeTruth added “If this is the best Quincy can do for Christmas, then I’m moving to Rwanda.”

Seconds after LeTruth’s private jet darted off towards the dark continent, the mayor’s office issued a formal apology and announced it will sever all ties with the Let’s Do This entertainment group.

“They're finished,” bellowed Mayor Koch. “I’m deeply sorry to all the families who were in attendance. I promise you this won’t happen again.”


Mayor Koch, ready to collapse after a reported thirteen slices of meatball pizza.

Mayor Koch’s speech was later revealed to be recycled word-for-word from last year's Christmas apology speech, which was issued after numerous endangered silverback gorillas were dropped headfirst from a harrier jet over Quincy Center into a vat of melted rubber.