Gulf oil spill hits close to home for local feline

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

The Gulf of Mexico oil spill has affected many since the drilling rig explosion of April 20th, but none more than local feline Smokey San Pedro.

San Pedro, who is said to have been in a clinically depressed state for the past six weeks, was diagnosed with bipolar disorder earlier this year, a condition that has prevented him from performing normal daily tasks for quite some time.

"In his heart, there is a great sadness," said San Pedro's owner, Juanita O'Keefe-Clark, a twice-divorced mother of six. "A black cloud has cursed his soul."

Believing his decline in mental state to be stemming directly from the recent oil spill, O'Keefe-Clark began forbidding San Pedro to watch television during peak news hours. This, of course, resulted in an epic battle for supremacy, which, in turn, ended with San Pedro filing for separation from his owner of four years.

"You can't tell a cat to stop watching the news," said one neighbor.

But while some have pointed out flaws in O'Keefe-Clark's style of feline parenting, others have questioned why a cat is even allowed to file separation papers.

"It's just a cat," another neighbor said. "Who cares about it's feelings?"

When asked why the recent oil spill would affect San Pedro so deeply, Dr. Wayne Jetski, who has worked with San Pedro since January, could not say.


Dr. Wayne Jetski, who was unable to help with this story in any way.

"I honestly couldn't say," remarked Dr. Jetski. "I have an overabundance of clients, it's easy to get them confused. I also haven't been sleeping very well lately."

It was later revealed that San Pedro is Dr. Jetski's only feline patient.

City workers up to same old fucking tricks, devise plan for free prescription meds

Article by Beak Wilder / Photo courtesy of a cell phone on Wollaston Beach

City workers are up to their usual antics again, this time asking that residents drop off their household hazardous waste and unused prescription medication.

But what may appear as a helpful city service to some is nothing more than a shameless attempt for city workers to rifle through the pill collections of unsuspecting residents, setting aside the valuable painkillers for themselves.

City workers, who are known for their incessant opiate addictions, have long since been involved in the high stakes world of backroom pill popping, often partaking in the use of Percocet, Codeine, Vicodin, OxyContin, Dilaudid, Hydromorphone, Oxycodone, Hydrocodone, Morphine, and Methadone.

"There's no way all those pills are gonna be disposed of," said city worker Vance McGuard. "Those DPW boys will tear through those things like vultures."

Vance McGuard asked that his name not be mentioned in this article.

Each year, approximately 6-8 million prescription pills are dropped off to local DPW yards in the United States, about 3-4 million of which are never accounted for. At this time, there is no central data reporting agency for DPW prescription medication drop-offs, so these numbers are estimates.

"There's a lot of things going on these days," McGuard added, as he carefully washed the time release coating off his 80mg OxyContin. "A lot of things indeed."

For more information on pill addiction, look at a city worker's face.

Mik Miller running out of ideas for disturbing facial tattoos, promises to make body "more extreme"

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

Mik Miller, owner and proprietor of the Body Xtremes Tattoo and Piercing shop at 417 Hancock Street, is running out of ideas for disturbing facial tattoos.

Miller, who has a longstanding history of being the most ridiculous looking human alive, expressed hope that he would soon think of something, although appeared to be stuck in what friends and family described as a "creative stalemate."

"He's just out of ideas," claimed piercing apprentice Chuck Wellington.

Miller, who became Massachusetts' first licensed and registered body piercer in May of 1996, has a total of 3,986 tattoos, over half of which are above the neck.

"I don't even know what else he could get," Wellington added. "Just on his face alone, he already has a lobster, a crab, a scorpion, and countless spiders and insects. In the realm of disturbing images, that pretty much covers it."

While some believe Miller couldn't possibly offend the public with his display of facial recklessness any more than he already has, others tend to disagree.

"I know he can do it," one supporter remarked. "He'll think of something."

While the controversial piercing tycoon vows to maintain shock appeal in the Granite City by continuously making his body "more extreme," expert tattoo forecasters have been unable to predict the exact nature of his next tattoo. Theories on what this tattoo may be have ranged from a "dragon with gigantic testicles" to a "funky, breakdancing vulture," although none have been substantiated at this time.

Boston water ban causes local man to call it quits

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

A ruptured water main in Weston has rendered tap water undrinkable for nearly a third of Boston's residents and some of it's suburbs, affecting water service to nearly two million people in thirty cities and towns.

Among those affected is Sal O'Day, a Germantown man who found himself in complete denial over the situation, refusing to make any changes to his daily habits.

O'Day, who lives in the basement level of his mother's Section 8 housing complex on Figurehead Lane, was last in the news after several failed attempts at picking up girls resulted in a 90-day stretch at the Dedham House of Corrections.

Figurehead Lane was named after "The Figurehead," a Cure song from the 1982 album, Pornography, a fan favorite amongst Germantown natives.

"I don't wanna hear it," said O'Day, as he chugged a tall glass of ice cold tap water, unaware of the intense bowel movements to come. "All this talk about water bans is nothing more than pure filler. In my eyes, it's time to stand up and tell these so-called newscasters to think again, because all they're doing is cashing in on some bullshit story and there is absolutely no reason for it."


The broken water main in Weston, Mass., which limited water supply to Boston.

Going on to explain how he has always felt out of step with the world, aside from Germantown and certain areas of Quincy Center, O'Day then began to take on the deep maroon shade of a ripened boysenberry.

"Someday," O'Day cryptically added. "We'll look back and laugh."

O'Day was then rushed to Quincy Medical Center, where he was pronounced "not covered" by a handful of insurance companies he claimed to be covered by.

O'Day was then shipped back to Germantown, where local, "no-questions-asked" surgeons attempted a number of controversial procedures on him, ranging from late 19th century bloodlettings to a complex series of steam experiments.

"I'm calling it quits," O'Day told reporters later that evening.

O'Day then stared out the window of his basement level bedroom and watched as countless Adidas shell toes passed, each of them belonging to yet another Quincy resident who remained unaware of the severity of the situation at hand.

"Maybe there is some truth to this story," O'Day concluded, as he plucked another mushroom from his forehead. "Wouldn't be the craziest thing I've ever heard."

Men's feet in public "still disgusting," study shows

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

A recent study performed at Quincy College shows that absolutely everyone is disgusted by having to look at men's feet in public.

The study, which was conducted by a team of highly regarded experts, was supervised by Jesus De La Tango, assistant manager of the Chipotle Mexican Grill in North Quincy, who also provided catering for the event.

Having immediately come to a unanimous decision, the study ended earlier than expected, paving way for an intense game of Parcheesi between all those involved.

Karen Swiftler, a retired veterinarian from Marina Bay, provided fart noises for the event. She recalled the study as being a "ridiculous waste of taxpayer money," as well as "relaxing and somewhat enjoyable."

Chief Excel spreadsheet manager and renowned sandal-wearer, Helium Robbards, was distraught with the results, but vowed to self-fund further studies in the hopes of achieving a different result.

“Frankly, I’m disappointed with the way things turned out,” remarked a visibly shaken Robbards. “The participants said my feet were disgusting and then pelted me with organic Mexican food. It was awful.”

Robbards then casually sulked away into the night, as his gross, open-sore-covered feet struggled to carry his dejected self.

He had learned a valuable lesson. And that lesson was that men, no matter what the circumstances may be, must never wear sandals in public.

Falling somewhere between punching an elderly woman in the face and licking a newborn baby's asshole, a man wearing sandals is one of life's most forbidden acts, causing a wretched impulse to shoot through anyone who bears witness.

Some consider it to be the ultimate sin, others aren't quite so sure.

Rainy weather washes away city's dirty little secrets, but not quite all of them

Article by Beak Wilder / Photo courtesy of a cell phone in Wollaston

High winds and incessant rainfall continued to plague the Granite City this morning, washing away its dirty little secrets, leaving behind nothing but a small handful of miscellaneous items, such as heroin needles and empty nips of cheap vodka.

Seriously, though, stop doing fucking heroin. It's getting ridiculous!

Elderly man celebrates 100th birthday by dying

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

Joe Montenegro isn't your typical elderly Italian man. In fact, he's no longer even a man. By now, he's nothing more than a rancid, rotting corpse, buried six feet underground, right where he fucking belongs.

Suffering a massive coronary while picking flowers behind Roxie's Market, Montenegro was pronounced dead at 8:37am this morning at Quincy Medical Center.

Montenegro turned 100-years-old today, finally fulfilling his lifelong dream.

Neighbors remember Montenegro as the type of guy you could count on, some even going as far as to say that he was a kind and gentle man.

Montenegro, whose last name is pronounced exactly as it appears, was a veteran of the Second World War, receiving an honorable discharge after sustaining a shrapnel injury to his left leg. An injury that would plague him until his dying day.

In the early mornings, Montenegro would take long walks on Southern Artery, waving to the morning commuters as they passed.

In the afternoons, he would eat hot dogs and stare at people from a bench.

After sunset, however, he would stay in and watch VHS porn at an ear-splitting volume, all while housing staff and orderlies struggled to get past the seven deadbolts on the door to his Brackett Street assisted living home.

"Joe was a great guy," remarked Ronaldo Sanchez, who works as a janitor in Montenegro's apartment complex. "People just weren't able to get passed his habits after dark, that's all. It was just too much for some people to handle. Sometimes, when he was in there doing his thing, he would scream at the top of his lungs. Other times, he would end up squeezing his penis so hard that he would be hospitalized for weeks. I mean, don't get me wrong, I loved the guy like a father, and I was sad to see him go, but, when it comes down to it, I'm glad he's dead."

Montenegro is survived by his two daughters, Marie and Isabella, as well as sixteen granddaughters, a mentally disabled cousin, and his barber, Roy.

Illegal aliens celebrate passing of health care reform with record-breaking Corona sales

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

Illegal aliens throughout the city are celebrating the passing of President Obama's health care reform, which will provide universal health insurance for all of America, regardless of race, sex, religion, or legal status.

This new bill will provide health insurance to even illegal immigrants, thus rendering the term "illegal" fairly meaningless.

All throughout the South Shore, the strange celebratory traditions of Mexicans can be seen, from extravagant pig roasts, to mariachi music ensembles, to parades of El Caminos with 13-inch, gold plated, wire spoke wheels.

"This is a proud day for my people," spoke Hernando Jiménez, an illegal immigrant who works part-time salting corn cobs at Murphy's Twin Shamrocks. "If I hurt myself while working under-the-table, I am covered. If I pull a muscle while masturbating to a Salma Hayek movie, I am covered. Even if I just don't feel like working one day and decide go to the emergency room and just sit there, I am covered. And the bill is up to you. It is the taxpayer who will suffer, and I who shall reap the benefits."

Jiménez then dropped his pants and began relieving himself in a nearby mailbox, wiping his dick and balls off with the American flag.

"I love this country," Jiménez added, as he disappeared in a cloud of rice and beans.

But as the dust settles and those who are most effected by this change begin to voice their opinions, it appears that opposition is far from absent.

"There's no such thing as free health care," barked Roger Snapcase, a self-proclaimed "hardworking man" from South Quincy. "At some point, somebody has to pay. And you know who it's going to be? It's gonna be the hardworking American who's been busting his ass and paying taxes his entire life with nothing to show for it. And for what, so some lazy piece of shit who doesn't even belong here can get the same benefits as me? Fuck that shit. We didn't win the war at Alamo so this shit could happen. Free health care is a bunch of bullshit. What's Obama gonna try to pull off next, world peace? Go ahead and try it, brother man. But if there's one thing I'm completely sure of, it's that world peace can't be done. It just can't exist."

It was later revealed that the Battle of the Alamo was not actually a war.

Beaten man vows to get appearance back by summer, loses all feeling in right arm

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

Christopher Plastic, an out-of-work dental assistant from Hough's Neck, may be broken, but is far from defeated, his family says.

Plastic, who was beaten within an inch of his life outside of the Hofbrau yesterday evening, shows very little signs of surviving the incident, although promised his friends and family that he would be back in full swing by summer.

"Christopher is a very strong-willed man," said Irene Jefferson, a volunteer worker at Quincy Medical Center, who has been teaching Plastic to breathe on his own again. "But physically, he is very weak, even before the beating. The doctors say that it's only a matter of days, but he seems determined to hold on longer."

Jefferson then applied a small layer of topical ointment to Plastic's right eye, to which he instantly recoiled, letting out an ear-shattering scream that could be heard throughout the entire hospital floor.

According to doctors, Plastic will never regain feeling in his right arm.

He will undergo major operations on his left arm and both of his legs throughout the weekend, although the outcome of these are uncertain at this time.

While doctors show very little hope for Plastic, he remains optimistic, even going as far as to renew his season ticket holder status at Fenway Park.

"If I had to guess, he'll probably die," his mother told reporters. "But the hope inside him will live on. Even with the odds against him, he has yet to give up that hope. He told me this morning that he would take me to the Chantey in Marina Bay for my birthday, which is in August. I know it's probably just bullshit, but, being a Leo, it was good to see that he was still thinking of me."

Recent scientific study shows mayor still fat

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

A recent study conducted by experts shows the excess baggage wrapped around Mayor Thomas Koch's body is going nowhere fast.

The study, which entailed a dozen scientists looking directly at the mayor's face for as long as they could, took approximately thirty-five seconds, and ended with all twelve participants resigning from any future dealings with the city.

As for what these recent findings mean for our city, no one can be sure.

"There was nothing scientific about this study," complained Dr. Juan "Bleeding Gums" Fernando. "All I did was look at some dude and confirm that he was fat. It really wasn't that hard. And the fact that his dress shirt was custom-made from an old Papa Gino's tablecloth didn't help. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that the blazer he was wearing was made out of potato skins from Grumpy White's, but, I would hope that's not true. That would just be too bizarre."

Dr. Fernando later confirmed that the word "too" should, in fact, be italicized.

"Look, I'm not trying to tell the people of Quincy how to vote," Dr. Fernando added. "But maybe a guy whose cologne is just watered-down marinara sauce spliced with a dash of catsup isn't the right man to be running an entire city. Especially one with a $226 million dollar budget. I mean, just look at the guy. He's about as tall as my 6-year-old daughter, he's built like a Chevy Astro van, and, to be quite frank, he looks like he has the sexual integrity of Ed Gein."

While several residents spoke in favor of the mayor, most others did not, some of the more pathetic ones going as far as to make fun of him on their blogs.

"Mayor Koch is a disgrace to this beautiful city," remarked Dino Bland, a wealthy investor from an undisclosed section of Quincy. "Men hate him because he nags like a woman. And women hate him because they are repulsed by his small shoe size. No matter how hard he tries, the man just can't seem to catch a break, yet still he leads. Like the plump, little boy-king he is, he looks down upon us, sitting in his snake-skin high-chair, judging us like the politicians of old. Empty your pockets, Quincy. The boy-king is hungry. Oh yes, he is very hungry, indeed."

To learn more about Dr. Juan Fernando, please visit the World Wide Web.

Unfortunate typo causes Quincy volunteers to send AIDS to Haiti

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

An unfortunate error in a city document has resulted in eighty jars of the deadly AIDS virus to be shipped to the ravaged island of Haiti.

Joe Schlopp, former assistant to the mayor’s assistant, and now former editor of the city of Quincy’s Volunteer Pamphlet, has issued an apology for the mistake, which he blames on a complete lack of doing his job.

“Got a little sidetracked there, didn’t I?” responded Schlopp. “I was just kickin’ it at my office, getting into some serious Gmail chat conversations, when I realized that the Volunteer Pamphlet was due. I know, I’m supposed to proofread that thing, but, let’s face it, it’s fucking boring as shit.”

Schlopp then leaned back further in his 1997 pleather desk chair and added, “It’s all politics these days, isn’t it?”

AIDS, which was made popular after Freddie Mercury's predictable death in 1991, has long since been a fan favorite among the more talked-about diseases.

"This is a monumental mistake," remarked Catherine Butterspoon, a concerned citizen, who just so happens to own 51% of Tropical Airways, Haiti's cleanest and most trustworthy airline. "Even for a city like Quincy, this looks bad. There's no way to pawn this one off on someone else. If there was, Schlopp and the rest of those City Hall hacks would have already tried. A lot of innocent people are going down because of this. I really hope people learn their lesson this time."

To make up for the mistake, businesses from all over the city have banded together.

After carefully studying a flyer pleading for “More Help for Haiti," Gerald Ultraround, owner of The Smoke Shop in Wollaston, decided to donate two cartoons of Camel Light cigarettes and seven packages of Red Man® chewing tobacco.

Due to popular demand, the Cathay Pacific restaurant recalled it’s shipment of subpar crab rangoons and pork fried rice.

Andre, owner of Andre’s Market in Wollaston, opened his heart and donated five scratch tickets with a possible value of over ten million dollars.

“What can I say?” marveled Andre at his own generosity. "I immediately wrote it off for taxes. That’s right, that's ten million in taxes that I’m getting back. Plus, those tickets are only refundable in Massachusetts, so, even if someone wins, they have to come up here to cash it in. I know that I was responsible for donating 79 of the 80 jars of AIDS, but I’ve got plenty to go around. I’ve had that shit for years, no biggie.”

Finally, a ragtag bunch of Quincy residents have banded together at local tycoon Hannibal LeMarsupial’s home recording studio to sing a benefit song with all proceeds going to a Best Buy gift card for Haiti.


Hannibal LeMarsupial, talking shit to a fellow business partner during a quick recording break.

Dubbing themselves “AC/QUINCY," the supergroup, consisting of homeless derelicts, 21-year-old rapists, crooked cops, drug-addicted thieves, and soccer moms, spent the better part of last night rewriting lyrics for AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” and dedicating it to the earthquake victims.

Heroin addiction revealed to be less glamorous than made out to be in Velvet Underground hits

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

Heroin addiction was revealed to be significantly less glamorous than it has been made out to be in the hit songs of the Velvet Underground, a recent study shows.

The study, which was conducted by experts, shows that heroin addiction is, in fact, only half as glamorous as previously thought, making it only twice as glamorous as crack addiction, as opposed to four times as glamorous, as originally believed.

"This a groundbreaking moment in the field of useless science," said Dr. Wayne Jetski, who asked that his name not be mentioned in this article. "With everyday that passes, more useless information is gathered. Sometimes we do something with it, other times we don't. There is literally a whirlwind of information out there, just waiting to be used in studies, such as this. Through various acts of research, we have determined that there is almost nothing glamorous about being addicted to heroin, which, as many of you know, is considered by some to be the romance drug. For many years, bands such as the Velvet Underground and Depeche Mode have given their fans a false hope that, if only they did heroin, everything would be okay. This is actually nothing more than a half-truth. Everything will be okay---that much is most definitely true---but only at first. After a while, the stuff really ends up taking a toll on you. It's pretty ugly stuff, believe it or not. At least that's what I hear."


Dr. Jetski, the one-time recipient of the Merrymount Association's "Excellent Doctor" award.

Excusing himself for a moment to "take a shot of insulin," Dr. Jetski casually closed his office door, where, moments later, the Velvet Underground's "Venus in Furs" could be heard playing through his brand new Bose iPod docking station.

In a strange turn of events, Dr. Jetski was found dead only minutes later by what his fellow colleagues described as "natural causes."

Local idiot to perform daring acts on rooftop

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

Controversy is abound throughout Quincy Point today, as William Sardonowicz, a carpenter's assistant from Sumner Street, has announced his intentions of flying from the rooftop of the Quincy Point Fire Station to the Pizza Hut parking lot below.

Sardonowicz, who may, or may not, be mentally retarded, has never before completed such a bold and daring act, although expresses great hopes that he will succeed in his attempts, which will be taking place this Saturday.

While most residents of the area couldn't care less about Sardonowicz, others have expressed concern, some of them even claiming he has autism.

"William Sardonowicz is autistic," commented Dr. Stanley Rubberstein, who claims to have a professional relationship with Sardonowicz. "His friends and family have referred to him as 'Autistic Bill' ever since the first grade. Trust me, he is a patient of mine. In fact, he is my only patient. Taking care of William is a full-time job, which requires many assistants. Whether he is capable of making a decision on his own is not up for debate. Don't let him do this."

Autistic Bill, posing for a Quincy Police mugshot after a January 2008 arrest for lewdness.

An amateur stuntman at best, having never actually performed any previous stunts whatsoever, Sardonowicz hopes to clear a distance of approximately 25-feet before landing, using nothing but a makeshift flying device, which consists of rope, duct tape, two mismatched ceiling fans, and an old bedroom door.

"I think he's gonna make it," remarked Jerry McPlough, a spicy little pickle from Curtis Avenue, last in the news after getting slapped a record nineteen times in one night by girls at Cagney's. "Autistic Bill can do anything he puts his mind to. He's one of the bravest people Quincy has ever seen. If I had to guess, I'd say that Autistic Bill just keeps on going, even past Pizza Hut, maybe even as far as Lube Lab. It will be an honor to watch that little guy soaring through the air, free as bird, with nothing between him and the ground but an autistic head full of dreams."

Autistic Bill is expected to perform his daring act tomorrow at noon, on the rooftop of the Quincy Point Fire Station, where he will reportedly attempt to fly all the way to the Pizza Hut parking lot, stopping in after for a hot slice of cheese.

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.

City Hall prepares for controversial investment plan as illegal Quincy pharmaceutical laboratory introduces 800mg OxyContin

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

An illegal pharmaceutical laboratory in Quincy introduced the brand new 800mg OxyContin today to mixed reviews, raising eyebrows from the city's conservative Republican side, which, based on the 2008 census, represents approximately 0.000009% of the population.

The laboratory, which is located in the basement level of the DB Mart in Adams Shore, is currently under investigation for faulty business practices, slave labor, duplication and distribution of snuff films, and unauthorized drug manufacturing, and was previously expected to go out of business by their next electric bill.

The 800mg OxyContin, which is rumored to be so powerful that it makes even Lady Gaga sound good, will be introduced to the market by Cinco de Mayo, 2010, and will most likely only be prescribed to those who have broken every single bone in their body, although it is considered to do significantly better in the black market, as it will be readily available in almost all neighborhoods and schools.

Detractors of the pill claim that it will not only devastate the city, but will also leave taxpayers with an enormous bill, as it has been speculated that Mayor Thomas Koch will drain nearly all of the city's available funds and invest them in this soon-to-be-flourishing underground drug trade.

"OxyContin is big business," remarked political scapegoat Joe Schlopp, last in the news after being caught sleeping through an entire three-hour business meeting with his left testicle hanging out of his pants. "The city needs to invest where there is money to be made, and right now, that's in high potency opiates."

Schlopp then failed to answer the following nineteen questions, as he drifted off into what appeared to be a deep and peaceful slumber, which was later discovered to be a near-fatal overdose.


The OxyContin 800 in all of its glory, ready to make even the largest of dudes nod the fuck out.

"I think investing in OxyContin could be wonderful for this city," said Shawnathan Brandis, a limousine driver from West Quincy, who rates an impressive 6-out-of-10 on the sex appeal scale. "Everybody I know loves OxyContin. It makes you feel great, it's a great way to pick up chicks, and it has virtually no side effects. And now that it's ten times stronger, it's gonna be ten times better. And that's more than just the opinion of one man. That's plain and simple math, my friend. And it doesn't get much more accurate than math."

Suddenly collapsing on the ground like a bag of bricks, Brandis was then brought to Quincy Medical Center, where he was pronounced dead immediately.

Although most in the city are in favor of the mayor's investment proposal, others have taken it upon themselves to protest the idea, some of them resorting to painting their faces the deep purple color of a recently-overdosed drug abuser and laying motionless in front of City Hall. This, of course, has led to multiple arrests, a handful of citations, and at least one case of somebody literally shitting himself. The latter of which would later be deemed unrelated, as it was discovered to be Alec "Alley Boy" Harris, a man known in Quincy for his constant, troublesome battle with irritable bowel syndrome.

"The city was going to shit with 80mg OxyContins, nevermind 800mg!" barked Partiana Tarter, the self-proclaimed "Bridget Fonda of Quincy," last in the media's eye for ending up at JJ Foley's a record twenty-eight nights in a row. "OxyContin is bad enough as it is. The last thing this city needs is more drug-related deaths. I don't even have to ask how people died anymore in this city. I automatically assume it's either a drug overdose or another erotic asphyxiation mishap. The people of this city are about to go down quicker than a Germantown slut on Ecstasy. I don't even understand. This is just another one of the mayor's bullshit games so he can pocket more money and get a functional disco ball installed in his office."

City Hall gets much-needed break from ridicule due to local reporter's collapse into insanity

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

City Hall was awarded a much-needed break from ridicule this week, as a local reporter from an undisclosed media source apparently lost his fucking mind and began kicking and screaming like a little fucking girl.

Although the reporter wishes for his identity to remain anonymous at this time, eyewitness accounts place him as being in his early thirties, approximately 6'4", with "extremely large ears" and "that look someone has when they have absolutely nothing going in their favor."

Taking advantage of this unofficial "anything goes" pass, Mayor Koch stayed entirely clear from the watchful eye of the media for an entire business day. Some have speculated that he spent the day golfing at Quarry Hills, others say driving around aimlessly in the hopes of finding out that one of the two McDonald's in Quincy has a ball pit, while the rest were left to assume that he was smashing pumpkins on Hospital Hill. Although, more realistically, it is assumed that he spent the entire day eating pizza in his office.

Shanté Vanderbilt, a well-known black from the outskirts of Germantown, however, had a different story to tell.

"I was up on the top level of some parking garage in Crown Colony," she stated. "And I saw that mayor get out of a huge milk truck and just start burning down all the Phelan signs. Now, at first, it was funny. I'll admit that much. But those campaign signs went up pretty quick. The wooden planks took a bit longer, if you catch my drift. Pretty soon, there was just an entire road filled with burning crosses, and the mayor straight up panicked. I haven't seen a politician run that fast since I told Dukakis I was pregnant. That little man was about as fast as West Quincy talks."


Shanté Vanderbilt, reenacting the grisly "burning crosses incident" from her prospective.

All through the city, the rumors of burning crosses gushed through each neighborhood with rapid speed, causing a sense of uneasiness to fill the air, which can only be compared to the crippling awkwardness you feel when your penis has become completely limp, and you know that there isn't a chance in the world that you will be able to please that girl beneath you, but you keep going anyway.

Hours later, a benefit for Bill Phelan was held at Bradford Park, arraigned by local heartthrob, Matty Southside. Legendary attendees included Long Jonson, a man who needs no introduction, Timothy Morton, a world class drummer, known for never leaving the house without at least one gallon of gas, and Joe Schlopp, Mayor Koch's ever-faithful assistant, who was basically there because cake was being served.


The "Phelan For Mayor" cake, just before being "torn the fuck up" by Joe Schlopp.

"It was a great party," said Matty Southside, as he casually threw a neighborhood kid's immaculately clean Adidas shell toes over some telephone cables. "It was good to see all the knuckleheads out and about. Plus, I love Bradford Park. I used to beat the shit out of Beakey here way back in the day. You think that kid's ears are huge now, you should have seen them back then. Fuck that kid. Why's that kid getting all depressed and having a midlife crisis for anyway?"

At this point, Matty Southside was forcefully dragged off into the distance by the Scallion's own Brunk Edwards, who, for the sake of maintaining anonymity, would not offer any explanation on.

"No comment," said Silent Mike K., a Charlestown native who may, or may not, have been at the festivities.

Silent Mike K. was last in the news after spending over three years in Guantanamo Bay without ever once giving up and telling authorities what "FSU" stands for.


Another pro-Phelan accessory, this one having nothing to do with the story.

As to why this apparently "puss 'n boots" reporter has been going crazy and acting like a little bitch lately, no one is for sure. Some believe it to be because life is full of nothing but misery and pain, filled to the fucking brim with people who will lie to you, crush you, and make you eat dirt. Others believe it may be because Phelan came short in the primary. But what this reporter knows is that, no matter how many out there are against you, the few that you have on your side count, and that should at least be enough reason to get up and try. No matter how bad it may seem, there is always someone out there that is worth living for. Unless you're entirely out of friends that is, because, if that's the case, just get in the fucking bathtub and open those wrists up until they're smiling wider than you have in the past three years.

Oh, I don't know. Whatever. I don't even know what I'm saying right now. Later, kids.

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

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

Senator Edward “Teddy” Kennedy died yesterday at his home in Hyannis Port, just two weeks after his sister, Eunice Kennedy Shriver, passed away from an undisclosed ailment.

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Known party animal calls into work with thinly-veiled excuse of having broken dick

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

Timmy "Smooth Nuggets" Taylor, 26, a known party animal and mediocre mechanic from Quincy Point, was unable to make it into work today, making the outrageous claim that his dick broke during a late-night sexual encounter with a Weymouth girl.

Taylor, who has a long history of calling in sick to work, claims that his penis was bent in a most excruciating manner while engaged in an intensely vigorous sexual position, which was invented in Quincy Point, known as the "Pointside Joint Ride."

"I don't believe a word out of this kid's mouth," claimed Johnny Lumpkin, Taylor's immediate supervisor. "It's just pretty ironic that this happened right after one of the biggest party weekends of the year. I just don't even know what to believe with this kid anymore. We're talking about a kid who claimed he had to leave work to drive his sister to get an abortion, just to be caught on the front page of the Boston Herald at the Phantom Gourmet BBQ Beach Party. Sorry, but I just can't believe somebody like that. There's no way around it, the kid's kind of a maggot."

Other excuses in Taylor's three-year span at the local service department include temporary blindness, short-term paralysis, post-9/11 dementia, and a sudden, unexplainable fear of working for a living.

"People like this Taylor kid are usually lying," remarked Dink Lightning, an aspiring architect and notorious hater of the Scallion from Cambridge, who was interviewed for the sole reason of "Dink" being her first name. "I don't even know why anybody would actually even consider believing this bullshit. This is not a story. Whoever is writing this article is probably way too stoned to actually think of anything newsworthy. Nobody wants to hear about this shit."

Taylor was admitted into Quincy Medical Center this morning at 3:32AM with what he described as a "broken dick" and "balls the size of cantaloupes." He was discharged later this morning and has since been unheard from, aside from one single phone call, in which he described the fateful events to coworker, Lucretia Lutts.

"I took the call right before we opened up," stated Lutts. "It was probably the sixteenth call that had come in, too. Everybody was banging in sick today, it was fucking retarded. Timmy just kept going on and on about his dick being broken, claiming some Weymouth chick made it bend in some horrible direction. And the whole time, I'm just wondering what he was doing with a Weymouth chick. See, Weymouth chicks have a thing that we like to call 'Weymouth Face,' which is basically just a really disgusting face. So disgusting, in fact, that you can just tell right off the bat that it's from Weymouth. Seriously, I'm not making it up, it's an actual thing. You could probably even Google it."

According to Taylor's story, he had met up with a group of Weymouth girls on the 4th of July at Avalon Beach, arranging a later "get-together" at his friend Cranka's house. It was at that point that Taylor claims to have initiated drunken sex with a girl in the group named Tina (or possibly Deidre). It wasn't until halfway through the intercourse, when he noticed that her pubic hair was shaved into a "W," that he knew he was in store for some dark and painful times.

"That bitch broke my dick," barked Taylor, as he soothed his gentleman zone with a bag of ice he had purchased from the Tedeschi's on Washington Street. "I know nobody fucking believes me, I can see that much, but I'm gonna bring all the ER papers into my work to prove it. I just gotta get copies of them first. It was so windy when I got discharged---no lie---and they blew right outta my hands. I think they went in the direction of 'Stoney Woods,' right by the Neighborhood Club. I couldn't exactly go chasing them, y'know? I can barely even fucking walk."

According to the flimsily recorded statistics of chief Scallion correspondent, Brunk Edwards, hundreds and hundreds of Quincy residents called in sick to work today, which, according to his even flimsier research, was most likely due to the 4th of July holiday. Whether there is truth to Taylor's claims, or not, only the promise of copied ER discharge slips will tell.

Taylor is scheduled to work tomorrow at 7:00AM, although is expected to pull yet another "no show," causing him far more flack than he bargained for. More on this developing story will be made available as it unravels.

Quincy gynecologist makes bold business move

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

A local gynecologist has stirred up quite a bit of controversy over the weekend with his decision to put up a 'HOT CHICKS ONLY' sign on the front door of his business. Dr. Juan "Bleeding Gums" Fernando, owner of Juan's Famous OB/GYN & BBQ Rib Shack, was more than happy to shed some light on his side of the story.

"I think it's a misunderstanding," he explained. "If a fat chick wants to buy some ribs off me, I'm totally fine with that. My barbecue rib shack would go out of business if I didn't cater to fat chicks. I'm a businessman, I'm not stupid. The sign was for the OB/GYN side of the business. I probably should have been more clear on that."

Dr. Fernando was almost assaulted yesterday as he attempted to leave his business and meet up with a few friends for a night of drinking. Authorities were dispatched to the scene, where they found a large group of rather disgusting looking women, all protesting the doctor's decision to refuse service to those with a more unsavory appearance. The doctor was then taken into police protection for the night, causing him to miss what was described as "the best fucking party ever."

"I'm not saying it's right," said Officer Gruff McGraw, a known badass. "But I understand. Who am I to tell this guy how to run his business?"

Steroids approved for Quincy little leaguers by unanimous vote

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

In anticipation of Major League Baseball eventually giving up and accepting steroids as part of the game, Quincy little league officials have decided to set the example and be the first in the nation to approve the use of performance enhancing drugs.

Last night's game was the first to feature the added health hazard in which Quincy lost 14-2 to Roxbury. Many Quincy children spent the night in the hospital after their bodies failed to adjust to the drastic training regimen set forth by former KGB bodybuilder and KILL$QUAD member, YoYo Stah, who apparently did not take into account the size difference between the young children and a full grown adult.

The part time white collar rapper and multiple convicted felon had no comment at the time of this article. Parents and teachers, however, remain optimistic that the children will survive and be healthy enough to play Hingham next week.