Squantum residents compete for position of great nobility and power, legendary license plate

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

Squantum residents took it to the streets in an epic battle for supremacy this weekend to see who would be given the right to use their official license plate.

The "SQNTUM" license plate, which was given to the 17th century Native American inhabitants of Squantum by English colonists in exchange for a bag of mollusks, has been given to a new resident of the peninsula each year since.

Every year, near the end of spring, residents of this tightly-knit community gather together to challenge each other in games of sport, intellect, and feats of strength.

He who survives to the end of these challenges is made the King of Squantum for a term of one year, and is given the license plate as his crown.

But with great rewards can also come vast corruption. Or so it seems.

Most recently, controversy was abound when Squantum resident Jacia Hearn was disqualified from the javelin tossing contest when it was determined that his javelin was being operated by a makeshift remote control.

In 2006, Bernard Koch, cousin of Mayor Thomas Koch, was twice disqualified from a headbutting match after judges realized that all members of the Koch bloodline have heads the size and density of an oil drum filled with Quikrete.

But when did these dirty tricks and illegal maneuvers begin?

Some say that the urge to cheat has always been there, but most believe it began in 1876, when Daniel "Swing Vote" Robittaile, a simple dockhand from Pratt Road, attempted to win the sympathy contest just by being black.

Being fairly unfamiliar with the ways of black people, the Squantum residents did the only thing they knew how to do: take him to the shoreline of Nickerson Beach and carve his right hand off, covering him with honey and leaving him for the bees.


The Squantum townspeople, tearing Robittaile apart after the alleged cheating fiasco.

"I don't know what Robittaile expected," said Teddy Crumble, great-grandson of then-judge Festus Crumble. "The sympathy contest was a major part of that year's festivities. But you had to work for it, you couldn't just milk it with something obvious. Of course they were gonna feel bad for him. He was fuckin' black!"

The legend of Daniel Robittaile has been disputed by many Quincy historians.

Going along with Squantum tradition, the winner of this year's event will not be announced outside of the peninsula, as the King of Squantum moniker is merely an unofficial title that bears no actual political power.

Dairy Freeze sign predicts yet another celebrity death, this time more vaguely than before

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

Actor Gary Coleman died earlier this afternoon, due to an intracranial hemorrhage, making yet another Dairy Freeze celebrity death prediction come true.

Dairy Freeze, who has served the Quincy community delicious ice cream and fried foods for hundreds of years, is also known for it's cryptic forecasts of death.

Just last year, in fact, Dairy Freeze foretold the exact date of death for pitchman Billy Mays. Prior to that, the popular ice cream stand had precisely predicted the deaths of actress Farrah Fawcett and singer-songwriter Michael Jackson.

According to neighborhood residents, Dairy Freeze has eluded to Coleman's death multiple times since the 1978 pilot episode of NBC's Diff'rent Strokes.

"How could they have known?" one resident asked. "It's so eerie."

But as the questions accumulate, the answers appear to be far from reach, as representatives of Dairy Freeze have so far refused to make any official comment.

As to what fuels Dairy Freeze's secret power, the world may never know.

Google Maps incident causes citywide panic

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

An incident on Google Maps has caused panic in the streets of Quincy, resulting in multiple injuries and at least three deaths.

The incident began when area man, Raddo Slawbowski, noticed that his father could be spotted doing yard work in a Google Maps screenshot of his house.

As with almost anything else in this city, the discovery of this incident led to an immediate citywide panic, eventually peaking with an explosive military attack on a remote research center in Marina Bay, which experts believe was mistaken to be Google's North American headquarters.

“It’s just too much!” screamed Slawbowski. “All I tried to do was get Google Maps directions from the UMass Amherst campus to my own house. This is what happens, technology has turned our innermost fears into reality.”

Clawing his face into bloody ribbons with his bare hands, Slawbowski gurgled a final prayer to the pagan god of wind and cursed the internet into a hellish damnation. Immediately regaining his composure, he was heard to remark, "Ah fuck, who cares,” before casually dialing Yellow Cab for a ride to Quincy Medical Center.

"Life in Quincy is different since the Google Maps Incident," remarked Allston-renowned scientist, Matty Hammers. "Before the Google Maps Incident, the people of Quincy were at peace. They felt free to sunbathe on their lawns. When they wanted to make a drug deal, they just went ahead and did it, without a care in the world. And if they wanted to sit on their front stoop and drink warm beers with nothing but a bathrobe on, that's exactly what they did. But now, after the Google Maps Incident, people know that there is an eye in the sky. Now, they have to act differently. They have to act civilized. And that's not what these people want."

Hammers was last in the news after a fistfight with NewsRadio's Maura Tierney nearly cost him his seat on the Allston Scientist Council.


The Google Maps Incident, where Slawbowski's father can be spotted doing yard work.

"People went nuts," remarked Officer Nico Haylen, who declined to comment any further. "And that's all I can really say about that."

Haylen then stared directly into the eyes of a passing businesswoman, startling her into placing an absolutely impenetrable restraining order on him.

Haylen will face Judge Beverly Reinhold tomorrow in Quincy District Court, where he is expected to plead insanity to a series of charges, each of them stemming from his foolish behavior, horrendous work ethic, and overall lack of common decency.

"If anything, we should learn from this incident," added Hammers, as he applied his signature wax seal to a handwritten apology letter to the Tierney family. "The people of Quincy have shown that they are unable to cope with even the slightest change without resorting to rioting and mayhem. Just because one man's father can be seen doing yard work on a Google Maps screenshot, doesn't mean that we no longer have privacy. With the facts I have been presented, this appears to be nothing more than an isolated incident. But the important thing is that we remain calm. We don't want another Michael Douglas Incident on our hands. Look what happened there. Some guy just happened to pause Basic Instinct at an awkward time and ended up becoming so entranced by Michael Douglas' faith-shattering gaze, that he just loaded up his entire gun collection and started taking people out. I know how it sounds, but it happens all the time. If you don't believe me, Google it."


The Michael Douglas Incident, which led to over thirty deaths in Adams Shore.

While roaming bands of vigilantes were still being sought out by authorities, Mayor Koch’s office issued a public statement advising all computer-illiterate citizens to refrain from having their neighbors print out a copy of the controversial photograph.

Larf Chemoholic, the city's official spokesman on Google images and compulsive user of the “play now” button available on internet jukeboxes, expressed dismay at the incident, but offered advice to those who are still suffering from it’s horrifying mental image.

“Just stay calm,” stuttered Chemoholic, as he spilled half of his boiling hot cinnamon hazelnut coffee onto the bare legs of his secretary. “If there’s one thing I can assure you people, it’s that a still shot of a man wearing cut-off jean shorts doing some yard work is nothing to riot over. Stop killing each other.”


A previous press photo of Chemoholic, which was deemed inappropriate for minors.

Nervously staring up at the sky, his face obscured by shadow, as an ominously approaching asteroid loomed toward Earth, Chemoholic uttered a final comment before fleeing in a bulletproof 1996 Ford Taurus.

“This picture is the least of our problems now…”

Last man on Earth comes to horrifying realization

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

Tim Johnbone, self proclaimed "last man on Earth," discovered the terrifying truth of things after spending the better part of last Saturday wandering the streets of Quincy in a desperate attempt to survive the end of days.

Johnbone, a travel agent from North Quincy, with a $20-a-year rice pudding habit, awoke at 2:00pm to find that his house, and then, upon further inspection, entire neighborhood, had been deserted.

Being no stranger to bizarre occurrences, Johnbone immediately came to the realization that he was the sole survivor in a post-apocalyptic world.

After inspecting both Merrymount Park and the Marine Corps League Post, Johnbone felt that his suspicions had been confirmed, causing him to head north and search throughout the capital city, where he expected to find more of the same.

"I have stared into the eyes of isolation," Johnbone stated on his Twitter account. "I have been put on a path that leads to a desolate demise, but I have accepted this without a second thought or hesitation. I have looked deep into the abyss. I have searched high and low for signs---any sign---that humanity continues on, but I have found none. I have come to the cold and dark conclusion that I am alone in this world. Forgive me, God, for I have indulged myself with more of life than was given to any other man. And I shall suffer here for as long as you see fit, alone and cursed to damnation. And I shall do so without question, as I know that it is your will."


A photograph of Merrymount Park, which was taken by Johnbone on that fateful day.

"It was definitely very strange that nobody was out that day," admitted local sports fan Vern Green. "You don't really see that too often, I'll give him that. As to why this Johnbone kid would come to the conclusion that he was the last person on Earth, though, I have no idea. Maybe he's overly-dramatic, who knows? Maybe he's just not too bright. Honestly, I can't really say. I don't personally know the guy."

It was later revealed that almost all residents of the Greater Boston area were merely watching two homeless men fight behind Sozio Furniture in Neponset Circle, where Father Bill's Place regulars, John "Heroin Dude" Tucker and Tito "The Fake Indian" Guadalupe, fought an epic, drunken mixed martial arts battle.

Quincy girl found dead seven days after using cursed white lighter, still no word from Bic

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

A Quincy girl was found dead in her Atlantic Street home yesterday evening, just seven days after using a cursed white Bic lighter.

Alison Loadman, 16, was found by her mother while in the middle of an Adderall-induced cleaning spell, and was said to have displayed severe signs of trauma.

Loadman, who was just cast in the lead role of North Side Story, a North Quincy High School play based on the recent shooting on Hunt Street, will be remembered by many in her school as being "really nice," and will be mourned for quite some time.

As reported by friends, Loadman had used a white Bic lighter only seven days prior to her death, and had begun to experience strange occurrences ever since.

"She was always really nice to me," claimed Gerthy Wonderspoon, an unfortunately named sophomore at Loadman's school. "But she seemed really out of sorts this past week. It was as if she knew something bad was going to happen."

Arriving on the scene a mere three hours late, police pronounced Loadman dead immediately, where she was then taken to the Lydon Funeral Home in Wollaston to be burned, as her body was declared "too disturbing" to look at.

Although foul play cannot be denied, authorities have stated that no arrests are expected to be made, as cases involving white Bic lighters are usually "far too complex" to handle, often times ending with almost everyone confused.


Alison Loadman's parents asked that this photograph not be used in today's article.

"She knew that death was coming for her," Wonderspoon cryptically added. "After she used that white Bic, things started to change. She started seeing things. Bad things. The kind of things that make you hide in the closet, only to be found later that night, all twisted and disfigured, with your eyes bulging out of the sockets like you just got squished in a vice."

Since the beginning of time, the "Curse of the White Bic" has plagued the minds of Quincy residents, causing some of them to lose their sanity altogether.

But these mythical stories of cursed Bic lighters are not the only pieces of folklore in the City of Presidents, as many other tales of spells and hexes have long since built up a backstory of occult happenings and mysterious incidents.

One of the more predominant legends in the area is the "Curse of the Black Family in Squantum," which, as legend states, involves a string of bad luck whenever there is more than one black resident at a time in that particular area of Quincy.

This, of course, has only come into effect one time, when the Carters, a black family from North Philadelphia, moved to the Squantum peninsula in 1976, causing the New England Patriots to lose the playoffs that year to the Oakland Raiders.

Darnell, Eunice, and Shé-Rhonda "Pooh Bear" Carter, before being run out of Squantum.

"It was only the second time the Patriots had ever made it that far," explained Bob Billingsworth, a wiry individual from Hospital Hill. "And we lost it all because of that one black family. I don't know how many times we have to go over this, a black family cannot live in Squantum. It upsets the balance of things. It causes hysteria. It's just not the way things go around here. It angers the gods."

It remains unclear at this time as to what gods Billingsworth was referring to.

Having been forced out of Squantum with pitchforks and torches, the Carters were said to have started a new life in the melting pot of West Quincy, where breadwinner Darnell Carter was eventually hired as a shop foreman at South Shore Bearing, only to be murdered during a routine mugging only a week later outside the Donut King on Copeland Avenue.

On the peninsula, the Carters were replaced almost immediately by the Hearn family, whose middle son, Jacia, wasted no time introducing the small, tighty-knit community to the Clash, changing the face of Squantum forever.

So far, the Bic Corporation has made no attempt to comment on this story.

Each day, hundreds of Bic lighters are purchased in the city of Quincy, a large percent of them being white. It is estimated that at least seventy-five percent of these are, at one point, used within the city limits. Unfortunately, there is no way to determine exactly how many deaths have been caused by these lighters, although experts assume this number to be in the double digits.

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.

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.

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!"

Candidates squabble during last-minute bid for votes, Tom Jones somehow involved

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

Mayor Thomas Koch and former mayor Bill Phelan almost came to blows today in the final hours of what has become one of the most ridiculous mayoral races Quincy has ever had to deal with.

From accusations of overspending, overeating, overtly lying, and improper reporting of overages, both sides of the race have made them all. Whether it be about carpets, belly size, hair color, or something that actually has something to do with the city, no mercy was shown throughout the long and grueling battle that many are glad in drawing to a close.

It was a battle that some have called "a battle that shook the world."

"That was a battle that shook the world," said Mark Doherty, a Dorchester resident who has absolutely nothing to do with the election. "I mean, I've only been to Quincy sixteen times, but, every time I was there, people would be talking about this dude 'Tommy Taxes,' and then this other dude, who I think was nicknamed 'The Red Power Ranger,' and they'd always get all worked up about it. This one time, back when my band used to play Dee Dee's, I saw this one dude spike another dude's Bud Light with thirty-seven hits of Ecstasy, just because he was a Koch supporter. That poor guy was dry humping people's faces all night long. He even ended up on YouTube."

There is no word yet on whether, or not, Doherty's face was dry humped on that fateful night at Dee Dee's Lounge, although expert facial characteristic analyst, Claude Jonestown, believes it was.

"That kid's face definitely got fucked at Dee Dee's," claimed Jonestown, as he awkwardly soothed his nipples with a cranberry-scented moist towelette. "You can tell by the way his right eyeball would rapidly spin in circles every time he talked about that night. Either that or he was on a bunch of shit. Who knows?"

Mayoral candidate Bill "The Red Power Ranger" Phelan and gang, walking a dog to the polls

The confrontation between candidates began at the Dunkin' Donuts on Quincy Shore Drive in the early afternoon, when Koch and Phelan ended up grabbing for the same Great One regular, causing an instant rush of tension to fill the sea-scented air.

Mayor Koch, hungry for the support of his registered voters, then reportedly reached for a nearby cruller and began devouring it in a most hideous manner, screaming, "I win! I'm the mayor! I control everything! It's my turn! I'm takin' it out on you! The world is mine, and no one can take it from me!"

It was at this point that former mayor Bill Phelan began taunting the incumbent, immediately challenging him to a series of wind sprints, quarry jump stunts, and marksmanship games.

"That's when the entire place just started screaming," claimed Silent Mike K., an otherwise quiet individual who was just unable to hold the excitement inside for once. "People were flipping out like it was the Super Bowl. They wanted to see Tommy and Bill go at it, it was clear. They wanted to see a fight. And then that weird thing happened, and nobody in the place even knew what to do, because it was just too weird. And sudden."

What reports say is, at this moment, Darlene Grapefruit, a mother of twelve from Squantum, dropped to the ground and began convulsing like an epileptic freak.

Aside from her exact name, amount of children, and location of residence, all that was known about this woman is that her husband, Ricky Grapefruit, had just gone to a Tom Jones concert seven days prior. And when Darlene Grapefruit's legs spread open, and everyone in the Dunkin' Donuts dropped to their knees in horror, it only further proved the theory that, if you go to a Tom Jones concert, seven days later, Tom Jones crawls out of your wife.

I actually have this exact poster in my room. I'm not even kidding, either.

With complete silence in the establishment, Tom Jones then performed "Sex Bomb" to the confused, yet oddly intrigued, patrons. Whether fat or skinny, no female was exempt from being smothered by the sight of his slippery glances and gyrating hips. It was the kind of thing you picture when you imagine a Sozio Furniture salesman doused in Clubman® brand after shave lotion, as he is unleashed into a crowd only moments after drinking his third consecutive bottle of Stoli Razberi. It was a really disgusting scene.

"It was fucking gross," exclaimed Michael "Mid-Div" Triangle, last in the news after a failed attempt at trying to convince somebody that the Beatles sucked. "Tom Jones was just dancing around and being wicked gross, and he was still covered in bodily fluid. It was horrible. He was fingering people's wives. He was fingering people's teenage daughter's. He even fingered my chicken parm flatbread. I don't even know what happened to Koch and Phelan through this. I think they just snuck out the back door and took off. They left us to deal with Tom Jones. Tom Jones became our responsibility. It was just too much for us to bear---so we burned him---we burned him and that whole building down to the ground. It was exactly what anyone else would have done if they were in our situation. I'm completely sure of that."

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.

City stunned as Dairy Freeze sign mysteriously predicts celebrity deaths

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

The entire city of Quincy was left stunned as a mysterious sign outside a local Dairy Freeze on Adams Street has once again accurately predicted a celebrity death. The sign, which has predicted the exact date of Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, and now celebrity pitchman Billy Mays’ deaths, has shocked all who have witnessed it’s awesome power.

Adding to the eerie nature of things, staff of the business claim that no one has admitted to placing letters on the sign, which has been unused since 1993. Apparently, the managers of the Dairy Freeze suspended employees from using the sign after a late night prank advertising “Butt Cream Sundaes” and “Hot Fudge Cancer” for “$5,000.00 Dollars” brought in numerous complaints. Since then, the sign has been left bare until recent events.

“It’s definitely spooky,” remarked day manager Tommy VonGatton, “I don’t really feel safe working here anymore. I mean, I guess the Hollywood community should feel even less safe than I do, considering the fact that they’re the ones dropping like flies, but I still don’t like it.”

When questioned as to whether Mr. VonGatton had any idea who was putting up the mysterious messages on the sign, he stated that none of his employees were to blame. “No, there is no one doing it," he added. "I have watched all the security tapes and the letters just appear at midnight every night. It’s completely fucked up.”

The bizarre messages began appearing last year but were not taken seriously by management until the recent spate of celebrity deaths. Former employee and recent Quincy College dropout, Fletch McCarthy, worked at the Dairy Freeze last year and claims to be the first person to notice the odd messages.

“Yeah, it was nuts,” explained McCarthy between slugs of lukewarm Sam Adams Boston Lager. “I went out to crush some ales in the parking lot on my break and saw that there was shit written on the sign. Nobody is supposed to put anything up there. It’s the first thing they taught me in the training course. Well, right after they told me to put my beers away, but c’mon dude, that’s just childish. This kids tryin’ to serve some cold delights over here.”

McCarthy then paused to fire a box of empty bottles over a nearby fence before resuming his story. “The sign said something about ‘One Free Small Sundae When You Purchase a Large Ice Blizzard,' but then, below that, it said ‘Heath Ledger WILL Die on January 21, 2008.’ I mean, I thought that was kinda weird, but the small sundae thing made sense considering that was the special deal that week, so I just left it alone. I didn't really think much of it at the time."

While the prediction regarding Ledger’s death struck some as strange, it was not taken seriously, as it was one day off from the actor’s actual date of death. But not long after, things began to change, and the sign grew more and more accurate. Passersby began gathering around it and slowly, but surely, the sign became a tourist hotspot. Japanese-American tourists from as far away as Hingham could be seen taking pictures with the now infamous landmark. Many celebrities, including notorious shitbag Robin Williams, nervously wrote into Dairy Freeze’s upper management in the hopes that the sign might be taken down. When reached for comment, franchise owner “Dairy” Don Freeze explained that they would like to bow to the pressure from the Hollywood community, but the sign has been “one hundred percent accurate in advertising up-to-the-minute ice cream specials, thus making it the most competent worker Dairy Freeze has ever had”, and has even been the source of added revenue for the business.

“We’re going to miss Mr. Mays and his loud-as-hell sales pitches,” sighed Freeze. "But that doesn’t mean the ice-cream-loving public should miss out on the ridiculously low priced ‘Hurricane Blueberry Blizzard Shake’ that is being served this week! There's no better way to start off the summer.”

For now, the entire entertainment industry must hold it’s breath and await further morbid predictions from the sign, while the entire ice-cream-loving world awaits with equal anticipation for the newest deals and specials on delicious summer treats.

Authorities demand to know which Quincy kid used a fucking white lighter

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

Authorities are looking for a man in his mid-twenties who has been said to have been carrying a white Bic lighter, going against the unspoken code of ethics that binds all Quincy residents.

The "Curse of the White Lighter," which has plagued this city with much unneeded fear and countless tragedies over the years, can be traced back nearly thirty-five years, when Joe "Quincy Face" McClusky purchased a white lighter from behind the bar at The Sag in North Quincy. According to local folklore, McClusky awoke the following morning to find himself at the Ritz Motel, handcuffed to a dead hooker.

"Joe McClusky is the first documented case of the curse," said Paul McGranite, a wealthy investor, and author of You're Fuckin' Done, Kid: Curse of the White Lighter. "And the worst part is, they never did find the key to those handcuffs. He had to carry that dead hooker around with him for the rest of his life. It was as if he was suffering for the sins of everyone in Quincy, and the dead hooker was his cross to bear. And, after a while, he began to feel love for that hooker. But he was so far gone by then that nobody ever saw him much."

Since then, countless documented events relating to white lighters have formed the perfect pattern to describe a full blown curse. Most recently, an unnamed man was spotted using a white Bic lighter at a barbecue in North Quincy, resulting in one of the largest mustard mishaps ever recorded.

"That guy was a dick," screamed Moranzo Llamas, a day laborer from Quincy, known for his unrelenting thirst for a good time. "I look over at him at this party, and I can see that he's using a white Bic. Everybody in Quincy knows that you can't use a white lighter, it's the longest running curse in the city. And he wasn't just lighting a cigarette, either, he was just flicking it, over and over agan, it was pointless. The next thing I know, the guy walks by me and trips, knocking my hot dog off my plate and onto my favorite shirt. It's this awesome button-up shirt I got that has a bunch of marlins on it, and now I'm gonna have to figure out how to clean an eight inch mustard stain. That dude can eat my fucking ass. He broke the rules."

No further information is known about this mysterious man, as no partygoer would publicly admit to knowing him. Until his whereabouts and intentions are known, authorities have asked all residents to remain calm, and have pleaded with local businesses to stop selling these godforsaken lighters.