Koch-heads and Phelanites battle it out in the streets, also in schools and churches

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

The Koch-heads and Phelanites took it to the streets today in an epic rematch battle for Quincy's throne.

As far as the eye could see, the flashing colors of blue and green filled the horizon, causing a touch of madness to rush through the entire city, paving its way into an eerie calm, which can only be described as the sensation one feels when in the dusk of an insane mental rampage, brought on by a poorly-blended mix of sinus medication and psychedelic shrooms.

Team Green stands for change, as they no longer wish to stand by as some barely educated midget spends every dollar he can get on flat screen televisions, luxury carpets, Bose stereo systems, and countless slices of "meat lover's" pizza.

Team Blue also stands for change. But these people are going for the change in your pocket. And they're not gonna stop until they take every hard-earned cent you have, because they are bloodthirsty, and they are about as greedy as a sex-deprived Mexican on cocaine.

Among other candidates include Jeff Brophy, the Wollaston native who "may, or may not have, forgotten to fill out all the necessary papers to officially run." Next up is Tom Turkolio, the Abington ironworker, known mainly for showing up in Quincy and telling everybody what's what. Third on the list is Sgt. Paul Turowski, a seasoned veteran of the Quincy Police Department. Last on the list is Joseph O'Malley, a postal worker who once came in third place in a chicken wing eating contest in Pembroke.

"There's a lot of energy out there," said Reid Donovan, a Montclair resident known for eating his slices of pizza upside down. "There's so much chaos, it's insane. Everybody and their mother is out today. It's like the Sidewalk Sale came back, but it ain't even the summer. People are never gonna believe me about this. See, people, they don't understand. And girlfriends, they can't understand. Your grandsons, they won't understand. And me, I ain't ever gonna understand."

It is still unclear on whether, or not, Mr. Donovan realizes he was directly quoting a Strokes song, however, it is assumed that he does, as it is also assumed that Mr. Donovan makes absolutely no mistakes.

As of now, we can just sit back and hope for the best. It doesn't matter who you voted for, just as long as you did. Deep down inside, no matter how unqualified, careless, corrupt, and grotesque Mayor Koch may be, it's everybody's right to vote for him. And as disgusting to me the thought of someone voting for him is, I would also fight for their right to do so, because that's what this country is about. And just because they started letting gays and lesbians vote when Obama took office, doesn't mean we have anything to worry about. Gays are just like the rest of us, and some of them are actually really nice people.

My name is Beak Wilder, and I voted for Bill Phelan, because I love this fucking city, and I know that he loves it, too.

Quincy man wanted for questioning in suspicious death of beloved giraffe

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

Boston Police, working with the Quincy Police Department, have released a statement today indicating a strong desire to speak with a local man over his possible connection to the death of a beloved giraffe.

Tweet, a Hollywood superstar famous for being the spokesman of the Toys ‘R’ Us corporation and most recently in Boston filming the Kevin James slopfest, The Zookeeper, was found devoid of life last Friday in his enclosure at the Franklin Park Zoo. His trainers were left in a state of shock with at least one of them, Morton "The Manimal" Kurbosh, resorting to a failed suicide attempt to cope with the void left by Tweet's untimely death.

Authorities originally ruled the death "hilarious," but where then forced to perform a more serious investigation into the actor’s demise. After three botched attempts to perform an autopsy using only plastic utensils from Wendy’s and flagged Wikipedia information, the discovery of twenty pounds of single-stuff Oreo® cookies was made. Working in conjunction with the Quincy Police Department, Boston animal control officers were dispatched to the house of a Len Nicodemo.

Nicodemo is well known as being the only person in modern history to buy single-stuff brand Oreo® cookies, even though double-stuff brand Oreo® cookies are readily available at all locations. Nicodermo, a 32-year-old pizza-kicker from Wollaston, was last in the news after dropping over $5,000 worth of Stella Artois bottles in the parking lot of Wollaston Wine & Liquor and blaming it on Michael Jackson, who unbeknownst to Nicodemo, had died a week earlier. Silent Mike K., a Charlestown street-tough who was at the scene during the epic bottle gaff, claimed that Nicodermo "definitely dropped those bottles when some hot chick walked by.”

When asked how hot the chick was, Mike K. simply refused to comment any further.

Nicodemo, nervously explaining a bag of Oreo® cookies to a nearby dog.

Nicodemo, currently battling an addiction to Alzheimer’s Disease, has been placed under house arrest until further notice. His communication to the outside world has been limited by a court order to Papa Gino’s pizza deliveries and the defunct 1-800-I-FEEL-OK hotline.

Brendan "Stremmy" Strem, a known friend of Tweet, and a man who claimed to have invented the phrase “exact change needed,” was with the actor during his final hours. "Tweet was miserable. He fell into a deep depression when the bad economy forced Toys ‘R’ Us to fire him. He tried out for multiple major film roles but was repeatedly turned down."

Pausing briefly to puke into a nearby trash can, Strem continued, "His last offer was for the Cormac MacCarthy story The Road. The studio ended up going with Viggo Mortenson, though. That must have taken a real bite out of Tweetz there. He fell on hard times. Couldn’t even afford the bag of OCs I kept trying to sell him. You know it’s tough times when lower yourself to a zany animal comedy starring Kevin James and Adam Sandler."

Although it was later confirmed that Mr. Strem has never had contact with Tweet and is currently engaged in a lifetime ban from the Franklin Park Zoo, his final wish for Tweet[s remains will be honored.

Tweet will be laid to rest in the vacant overgrown lot on Hancock Street to the left of the now-defunct Flagship Cinemas.

Author's Note: My hard drive crashed, and we have found ourselves unable to deliver the newsworthy happenings of Quincy in the respectable fashion that we have become known for. Until further notice, The Quincy Scallion recommends you receive all news updates from the Quincy Animal Shelter newsletter. In the immortal words of Boston's 8th highest regarded rooftop criminal analyst, "Good day to you!"

Fat Cat threatens to close its doors after recent surge in Bertolli ready-made dinner sales

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

The Fat Cat has threatened to close its doors in the wake of a recent study, which shows that many Quincy residents have been substituting going out for meals with purchasing Bertolli ready-made dinners.

Bertolli, which is known for its ready-to-go, Italian and Mediterranean frozen pasta dishes, which are available at almost any food store---excluding Lester's Variety Store in Germantown---was brought into the public eye after allegations of abusing the use of ridiculously handsome European men in their commercials.

Charges had been filed against the company and their aggressive marketing campaign, although they have since been dropped, as no judge involved was able to to deny the aesthetically pleasing men's God-given right to sway the minds of lazy housewives who were looking to cut corners.

The study, which was conducted by Quincy's own community college billboard model, Gabriel Parsona, took place earlier this month, and was rumored to be one of the most number-crunchingly chaotic events Quincy has seen since the time a drunken Jeff Brophy tried to challenge all of City Hall to a high stakes game of blindfolded bowling.


Fat Cat owner Kyle Nealy and head chef Tommy Mancole, before Bertolli "ruined it all."

"This study was surprising for everyone involved," said Gabriel Parsons, who was last in the news after being charged on allegations of his Quincy College advertisements being "even more erotically appealing than a Bertolli commercial," only to be let out the following morning after police finally learned you actually can't charge someone with that. "The Fat Cat is the most amazing restaurant in the city. Their macaroni and cheese is better than watching Nazis get beat down with baseball bats. And their host is probably one of the coolest dudes ever. That guy is right on top of shit. And he likes his haircut like I like my women---high and tight. Bertolli is just some quick shit to throw on the stove. It's quick shit. It's nothing special. Just because you could take Amy Winehouse home for the night without actually even trying that hard, doesn't necessarily mean she's good in bed. It's the same thing with Bertolli. If you want the best there is, you go see a pro. The fact that people are buying those shitty things over going out for a great dinner is just fucking ridiculous. I'm just sayin'."

Parsona was later arrested on charges of "loudly soliciting a prostitute" on Quincy Shore Drive. He will be arraigned tomorrow morning at Quincy District Court, where it is expected he will not remember a thing.


A smooth operator, putting the moves on a well-dressed Fat Cat coed at the bar.

There is no confirmation yet as to why, exactly, Bertolli has been taking business away from local restaurants, but it is assumed to be because people in Quincy are notoriously cheap. Others, however, have theorized that most residents of the area just aren't "in the know."

"Bertolli can suck it," remarked Moranzo Llamas, of Quincy Point. "The Fat Cat is the greatest thing that's happened to Quincy Center since the time Don's Joke Shop moved three stores down onto Hancock Street. Their steaks are always cooked medium-perfect, they have the finest broccolini in town, and they serve Golden Monkey ales. Those things could rip the face off a military-trained rhinoceros. My boy Dino drank three of those things and ended up sleeping through an entire Gash Station set at the Granite Rail. And he was in the front row."

Bertolli owner, Joe Bertolli, refused to comment on this article.


Bertoli owner, Joe Bertolli, "pulling a Silent Mike K," and refusing to comment.

Author's Note: It is the opinion of the Quincy Scallion that The Fat Cat is the undebatable champion of Quincy restaurants. They offer amazing food at a price almost anyone---excluding those who live further down Palmer Street than Lester's Variety Store in Germantown--can afford. If you have not tried it yet, do yourself the favor and don't waste anymore time. It's not like they're actually going anywhere, but you're still gonna feel like a wicked dick for going so long without trying it. Once that macaroni and cheese hits yours lips, you'll be owned.

RIP PATRICK SWAYZE 1952-2009
You were a hero to many, but a heartthrob to all. You will be missed.

Local rap artist arrested after trying to prove you can spit on police station from McDonald's

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

A local rap artist was arrested earlier this evening after trying to prove that you can literally spit on the Quincy Police Department from across the street at McDonald's on 473 Southern Artery, Route 3A.

Neal Diamondz, the Hospital Hill resident known for the hit songs, "Sayin' She's My Lady" and "Fiyah Pon Di Blunt," was apprehended at approximately 4:30PM after making a bet with a "friend" that he could actually spit the entirety of the near-five-hundred-feet distance, hitting the police station in the process.

So far, no one interviewed has admitted to being friends with the notorious hip-hop legend, nor has anyone come forward stating that they had any involvement with the aforementioned bet.

"I don't even know that kid," said Donald Gibbs, a man who claims he was merely "eating a burger" at the fast food establishment. "All I know is that he saw a cop order some food, and then the guy radioed in to one of his friends at the station to pick him up---and he just lost it. He kept running around the restaurant and yelling, 'Who the fuck needs a ride from McDonald's to the police station?' Nobody was even paying attention to him. Everybody was just trying to relax and eat dinner. I'll admit, it's a pretty short walk to demand a ride, but it's no excuse to run outside and start spitting across a busy street. He didn't even make it anywhere near the police station, either. He just kept hitting people's windshields as they were driving by. That kid really caused a scene."


Diamondz, flaunting his carefree, "fuck the world" attitude on two separate occasions.

After six nearby collisions, and one ruthlessly insane car accident, police were dispatched to the local eatery, where they found an intoxicated Diamondz still attempting to reach the police station with his launching saliva.

"That kid was a fucking animal," remarked Jaime Curbkick, son of the famed move director, Stanley Curbkick, director of 2001: A Face Oddity, Liotta, and Full Members Only Jacket. "He just kept running up to the cops and yelling, 'Dude, you can fucking spit on that place from here. Are you fucking serious, dude?' I can honestly say that it was one of the most enjoyable dinners I have ever had at McDonald's, not that that's saying much. There was really no reason why that kid had to flip out to the extent that he did, but I guess that's just a part of what makes Quincy so hilarious."

Diamondz, performing an impressive diving trick while pool-hopping at a nearby neighbor's house.

No charges have been brought forth against the rap artist yet, as authorities are still in a heated debate with him over whether, or not, you can actually spit that far.

"Nobody can spit that far," claimed Officer Nico Haylen, Quincy's favorite, and only, diabetic cop, last in the news after accidentally firing his weapon six times at a North Quincy High School football game. "The farthest I've ever been able to spit is two hundred feet. And honestly, it took about a thousand tries. If this is the kind of behavior we can expect from hip-hop kids, we should just ban that entire musical genre right here and now. We don't need any of this Tupac-and-Biggie shit going down in Quincy, that's for sure. And we certainly don't need some little punk spitting across Southern Artery during rush hour traffic. I'm glad most of the cars were able to get out of the way---I honestly am---but whoever that poor guy in the Toyota Corolla was, my heart goes out to his family. Who would have thought that such a tiny car could make such a huge explosion? They'll never identify that body."

Neal Diamondz, circa 1985, working up a nice wad of spit for the unsuspecting cameraman.

QUINCY SCALLION UPDATE!!!

The charred body of the driver of the early-nineties Toyota Corolla has been identified as Alf Nelson, a known "wrong place at the wrong time" type from Quincy. Alf is survived by his wife, Ida, as well as his four children, and nine grandchildren.

Arrangements for Mr. Nelson's service will be made at Lydon Funeral Home in Wollaston, although, as usual, it is expected that absolutely no one will attend.

Great white sharks terrorize swimmers at Black's Creek, leaving one injured, two dead

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

A group of great white sharks terrorized swimmers at Black's Creek this weekend, leaving one girl injured, and two dead.

The sharks, which scientists believe swam here along the Atlantic coast by way of Chatham, are rumored to be approximately 21-feet-long and are reportedly even bigger dickheads than the aquatic antagonist from Jaws 2.

"It was absolute mayhem," remarked Steve Shlomi, an out-of-work vacuum salesman who takes photographs during his insane amount of free time. "I witnessed two of the most vicious deaths you could ever imagine. It was horrible. Those two girls were just swimming, having a great time in the creek, and then, all of the sudden, the great beast appeared. It was massive. I could see it's fin break through the water, and I knew it was only a matter of seconds before it reached them. I grabbed my camera and just started snapping pictures of it. I didn't know what else to do. Part of me wanted to yell out to them---or maybe even help them---but an even bigger part of me was hoping that Slim from the Quincy Daily Photo blog would recognize my talents as a photographer. Anyway, those two girls didn't stand a chance. There was so much blood, so much screaming. It was so fucking intense."

Black's Creek was discovered in 1798, when John Adams snuck off to take a piss during a raging party in what is now Mount Wollaston Cemetery. It was later used to wash slaves in, eventually becoming known as "Black's Creek," until the Emancipation Proclamation in 1862.

Since then, Black's Creek has been known for being the hangout spot for several large swans, some of which are hated by locals, as they are often inclined to fly right by your face while you're walking, and seemingly have no care in the world for how you feel about it.

It wasn't until June 29th of this year that shark sightings began occurring in the creek, causing many residents of the area to begin locking their doors at night, nervous about the possibility of what may come.

Sheila Crotch-Lipp, a girl whose unfortunate last name was only further enhanced when she married Peter S. Lipp, was the first to be attacked. Occurring on Friday afternoon as she went for her daily swim, she recalls feeling a "great deal of pain," as well as an "inability to control the situation."

"All I remember is feeling a great deal of pain, which was complemented by my inability to control the situation," Crotch-Lipp said, as she lifted up her shirt to excite the entire beach with her signature blend of hot-and-wounded. "Luckily, Tom Turkolio was there, and he was able to reason with it, finally convincing it to go away. I probably would have died if it wasn't for him. I hate sharks."


Sheila Crotch-Lipp, the smokin' hot babe who doctors say "sewed up just like new."

"That shark knew how to drive a hard bargain," stated Tom Turkolio, the Abington ironworker who once popped a completely inflated basketball with his left hand. "I had to finally give it a couple of 'love taps' for it to go away. I was just glad it didn't take me under. I can only breathe for fifteen minutes underwater, as hard as that is to admit. It's a good thing I'm used to situations like this. I once had to climb down twenty-three stories just because some stupid sub place put mayonnaise on my Italian. Who the fuck puts mayonnaise on an Italian? That's insane!"

Early on Sunday, a second attack occurred, which took the lives of Diana Brubaker, 16, and Kelli Ryan, 14, both of Merrymount. Divers were then sent down to attempt to retrieve the bodies. It was believed at this time that the great white had gone off to another area of Quincy, hopefully Germantown.

"We were convinced the shark had left the creek," said Joe Schlopp, a political fall guy from City Hall, last in the news for getting absolutely out of control at an erotic gas station. "As soon as those six divers went into the water, we realized we were wrong. Well, not wrong, but---sort of wrong. It turned out there was more than one shark. A lot more of them, to be exact. It was a miscalculation on our part. Either way, we didn't retrieve any bodies. The only thing we got was one of the diver's cameras, which floated to the surface a few minutes after they submerged. There was some pretty scary things on that camera. Pretty scary, indeed."

The last photograph taken on the diver's camera, causing all involved to be presumed dead.

Mayor Koch was unavailable for comment on this situation, as he was "in line at Papa Gino's," and didn't "want to be rude." No comment was made, however, in regards to the fact that it was his fifth time back in line, resulting in approximately thirteen slices of pizza and three large cokes.

Authorities have asked all residents to refrain from ever using Black's Creek again, and have taken steps to make sure that the family members of the deceased don't try to "pull any Captain Quint shit" over the coming days.

Another Squantum yard sale fails to impress, enrages locals to brink of madness

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

Another Squantum yard sale failed to impress Quincy residents today, as it was declared "too boring" by the surrounding neighborhood, some who attended even resorting to claim it was "nothing to write home about."

John "Cannonball" Smithers, a known DUI offender from Pratt Rd., began advertising for his yard sale this past Tuesday, promising an "excellent variety of items," along with being "flexible about trades." This, however, was not exactly true, leaving many regretful attendees feeling "cheated" and "lied to," claiming the yard sale was nothing more than an "excuse for him to get ridiculously drunk and hit on everybody's wife."

"Cannonball is exactly the kind of guy you would expect if you knew his nickname before meeting him," said Elizabeth Longfur, a slippery little devil from the backbone of the peninsula. "We just kinda let him do his own thing here. But today was different. People were really excited about this yard sale. They really expected some great bargains. I think people came here with the idea that they were going to be offered interesting products at a fair price, and maybe even with a smile. Who knows, really? All I know is this: those people really beat the shit out of that guy. Cannonball took one of the biggest beatings I've ever seen, and I've seen Casino. I don't know why everybody got so out of control this time, though---he does this same yard sale every summer. It's probably because this was the first year he used colored signs to advertise it. Those things were pretty bedazzled up, too. Either way, I hope he's okay. I always liked that dude. He tried hooking up with me every time I saw him, but he was still funny. Fuckin' solid dude, y'know?"

"Cannonball" Smithers, immediately after being charley horsed by the entire neighborhood.

Against the advice of authorities and non-Squantum residents, Smithers was not admitted to Quincy Medical Center, as, much like everything else, a group of Squantum kids declared that they would "handle it."

It is assumed that, at this time, Smithers is in a great deal of pain, as he is most likely internally bleeding at the speed of an upside down two-liter of Pepsi. No charges have been brought forth at this time, and are not expected to be, as the sole police officer in Squantum also promised that he, too, would "handle it."

"I'm gonna miss that little guy," Longfur continued. "If he was here right now, he'd be reeking like wine, trying to run his fingers through my hair, and most likely pissing his fucking pants. This is Squantum-justice at it's best. And most of this wouldn't have happened if he had just tried selling something other than his Clash vinyl. Who in Squantum doesn't already have the Black Market Clash 10"? Seriously. This city is ready to fucking explode. Any day now------kaboom!!!"

John Stamos sighting at Hough's Neck beach causes citywide craze, inadvertantly stabilizes current economic crisis

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

A John Stamos sighting off the coast of Hough's Neck has the city on red alert this afternoon as residents of the area are left to wonder what's next.

The media icon was spotted this morning approximately sixty feet from shore on Perry Beach by a resident of the small peninsula community as he breezed by in a kayak with what appeared to be a six-pack of Miller Lite.

"I caught something out of the corner of my eye, and there he was," explained John Galluzzo, who recalled coming face-to-face with the living legend. "I was taking a thirty-minute walk down Rock Island Road, just minding my business. I had no idea that an absolute American hero was so close to me. He was cutting through the water like the dorsal fin of a massive great white shark. He paddled with such grace, such perfection. He was like a machine. At first, I didn't think he noticed me, but then I remembered that John Stamos has amazing peripheral vision. I watched as he passed me, and then immediately went to the Hofbrau and bought everybody there three rounds of drinks."

Having had three rounds of drinks purchased for them, the patrons at the Hofbrau then found themselves with more money in their pockets than they had expected.

Patty Campbell, a freelance photographer from Adams Shore, used this extra money to purchase a motel room for the night, which ended up becoming one of the better parties of the summer.


Patty Campbell, bouncing around like a rabid AIDS victim at the Presidents' City Inn

"All these people started coming in and buying rooms," explained Ron Ketchup, the daytime manager of the less-than-wholesome establishment. "Everybody started buying chips and sodas, and some of them even tipped me for ice. It was great. I went right to Wal-Mart and bought an 80GB iPod Nano. I've wanted one of those things for so long. Next, I'm buying a computer. Those things are insane."

With the sudden rise in department store sales, many retail employees found themselves overwhelmed by the large, demanding crowds, resulting in many of them going out for a few cold beers, as well. As residents piled into bars, the buzz of Stamos' presence lingered, causing many people to hear downright lies about the television actor's reason for being here.

"I was told he was filming a movie about William Rosenberg, the founder of Dunkin' Donuts," said Chip Williams, a maintenance man at Ocean State Job Lot, who, after receiving word of Stamos' visit, spent the entire afternoon drinking at the Chantey. "I've been drinking Miller Lites all day long, it's great. That's what people are saying he was drinking. Who could blame him? Miller Lite makes an excellent product. It's a fine pilsner beer. I was so excited, I gave my bartender a twenty dollar tip."

Having been bombarded by excessive tips, Chantey owner John Turner called his financial advisor and invested over three thousand dollars in Ford Motor Company, just before market close.

"I had so much money on me," he recalled. "I couldn't even imagine ever spending that much. I just figured it would be best to invest it in an American car company. Ford makes a pretty decent product. It's not the best, but it's decent. Either way, there was so much money flying around in all the excitement today that over half of my friends have paid their mortgages off. It all happened so quick. We got word that Stamos was in the area, and then, before I knew it, this recession was over, and John Stamos was still fucking gorgeous. Everybody wins today, except the homeless, of course."

No matter what bar people went to throughout the day, lines stretched out the door and down the street. As far as the eye could see, Quincy residents tried to keep their cool, all of them secretly craving the delicious taste of premium draft beer. Many area natives took to drinking nips while waiting, some of them even passing out old before ever even reaching the bar.

John Stamos, making sure an intoxicated party animal makes it to bed for the night.

Theories as to why the beloved actor was in town for the day include a possible party at Labrecque Field, the Friday lunch special at the Boars Nest, and a secret meeting with mayor candidate Tom Turkolio.

"I couldn't believe he was in Quincy," said Matty Southside, the self-proclaimed "Donnie Wahlberg of South Quincy," last in the news yesterday after his wife gave birth to his new baby son and heir to the Bradford Park throne, Jonathan David Southside. "My wife and I went out and bought a flat screen to watch the news coverage of it, but there wasn't any. It's no problem, though. We needed a new TV anyway, and the guy I bought it from went out and bought a shitload of house supplies with the commission he made. Then, the lady he bought the house supplies off ended up tossing me and my wife a few bucks. As it turns out, she was friends with my wife back in the day, and had owed her a hundred bucks. What goes around, comes around, I guess. It's a wacky chain reaction, and it's all because of that hilarious dude. I fucking love John Stamos. Uncle Jesse gave up his entire youth to help his brother-in-law and nieces. If that's not dedication, I don't know what is. And the fact that I'm talking about his character on Full House like he was a real person just proves how good Stamos is. He's always so convincing, no matter what the role. Best actor in the world, hands fucking down."

But not all fared well in the ensuing chaos, as Rhonda Whittaker, a hideous, crack-addicted menace from Germantown, was found dead in a dumpster behind the DB Mart on Sea Street.

Whittaker's body was identified by a very specific tattoo on the "tramp stamp" area of her back, as all of her teeth had been removed. As with other murders in recent past, a Dunkin' Donuts Great One cup was found in the general vicinity of the body, leading authorities to think about possibly taking a more proactive stance on catching this malicious killer who has evaded police for months.

Rhonda Whittaker, either just before, or just after, blowing a dude. Either way...ugh!!!

There is no word yet on what John Stamos' purpose was in Quincy, nor has there been any word on how long he will be staying. Authorities have urged all citizens to appreciate what little time they had with him, and to remain calm during his stay.

All residents who encounter John Stamos over the weekend have been asked to please call Joe Schlopp of City Hall at 617-376-1990, as Mr. Schlopp reportedly has a "bone to pick with Stamos over ending Full House with that stupid double-episode about Michelle getting amnesia."

"I hated Michelle," Schlopp said. "She was better than DJ, but Stephanie was the best. Jodie Sweetin had to be one of the funniest little girls around back then. What happened to her anyway? I heard she got fake breasts and it all just went downhill from there. Oh well. You win some, you lose some. And when John Stamos is a guest of your city for the weekend, you win. And that's good enough for me."

Chinatown's Crown Royal Bakery to offer $10 round trip bus from Wollaston to South Quincy

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

The Crown Royal Bakery, a neighborhood favorite offering everything from coffee and breakfast to birthday cakes and squid lo mein, has announced plans to offer the people of Quincy a low cost round trip bus ride from Wollaston to South Quincy.

The Crown Royal's Chinatown location has run the Fung Wah Bus from Boston to New York City for a number of years now, and its expansion to the heavily commuted "Wolly – South Quincy" route was inevitable. With plans to run buses from the Crown Royal Bakery on Brook Street in Wollaston starting at 6:15AM, every fifteen minutes until 11:15PM, starting this Saturday, the newly named "Fung Yah Dood" will carry passengers to and fro with the brutal luxury and swift speed that only a color-blind bus driver with limited knowledge of Massachusetts state driving laws can deliver.

"This is unbelievable!" gasped Charles DuMar, a Newport Ave. resident currently facing charges of igniting half of California in flames in an attempt to impress a Labrador retriever. "I hate having to take a complicated series of walks, cab rides, and trains to get to South Quincy. I have to go down there for work every other Saturday, so this will make things so much easier. And it’s only $10! That’s unbeatable! I fucking love the Chinese."


Charles DuMar and his Labrador at Redwood Creek, just before setting a fiery blaze.

Harry Fong, a local jacket salesman who rocketed to fame in the mid-nineties by using his disgusting mouth-breathing techniques to provide the Grammy-nominated sound effects to the movie Twister, was equally impressed.

"This is great news. A wise philosopher once said that 'time is money up in this world,' and I could not agree more. I do not like to waste time, nor do I like to waste money. I often travel down to South Quincy for its assortment of fine dining and cheap fabrics. You wouldn't believe how much time and money I have wasted in the last twenty years going on these trips. I would be away from my wife for days on end. I once spent over $9,000 on a single cab ride. Well, in truth, there was no ATM machines working and we had to drive around for a while. Also, I dropped like $8,900 in cash down a sewer, and I spent at least $80 on scratch tickets, but you get the picture."

The Fung Yah Dood is also teaming up with Wendy’s to offer a mid-trip rest stop and meal. The bus will take a ten minute break at the Southern Artery location to let passengers stretch their legs and grab a quite bite to eat. Those who fail to get back on board in due time will be left to fend for themselves.

While the service is being received with overwhelmingly positive reviews, there are those who feel that there is more than meets the eye to the bus ride. Carlos DeJacquel, a shifty-eyed son-of-a-bitch who runs the Peter Pan Travel agency in North Quincy was shocked about the news.

"This is illegal. There are no two ways about it. The lowest you could possibly charge for this trip is $15 round trip. They are obviously not paying the $5 inter-borough tax to cross over into South Quincy. Where's the mayor’s office on this one? That’s politicians for you. Run an illegal bus all over the city, skirt past taxes, have drivers that don’t speak or read English flying through stop signs, endangering the lives of passengers and all those on the road, and what happens? You get front-page advertisements praising your company."


Carlos DeJacquel at age nine, staring into the camera with his shifty eyes.

DeJacquel, stopping briefly to relieve himself against the side of a Toyota Corolla, went on to ask, "And what do I get? A six-year jail sentence. All I did was sell a few measly pounds of heroin in a school zone. Those kids didn’t even know what it was, for Heaven's sake. I swear, there is just no justice in this town."

Passing of one-time New England Mafia underboss paves way for hilarious race for throne

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

With the passing of one-time New England Mafia underboss, Gennaro "Jerry" Angiulo, many gangs within the South Shore organized crime world have set forth in a race to take control of his criminal activities in Quincy, each of them claiming rightful occupancy to an empire that has been plagued with constant calamity and blundering mishaps since the early 1950s.

Angiulo died this past Saturday at Massachusetts General Hospital of renal failure due to a kidney disease. He was 90-years-old.

Part of the Providence-based Patriarca crime family, sometimes referred to as "The Office," the Boston faction of La Cosa Nostra has been overwhelmed with untimely deaths and lengthy prison sentences since the 1960s. Most notably, this is due to the fact that James "Whitey" Bulger, head of Boston’s Winter Hill Gang, had been a longtime FBI informant, using this power to manipulate scenarios in his favor, shifting the balance of power to the Irish gangs.

"You never rat to the feds---never---no matter what," said Silent Mike K., a man who once allegedly witnessed a Charlestown native beat another man over the head with a lead pipe for a record-breaking thirty-seven hours and refused to comment about it. "No further comments."

Silent Mike K. was later seen at Jenny’s Pizza in Charlestown, refusing to comment any further when asked if he would "like mayonnaise on his Italian sub."


An unhappy law enforcement official, holding up a shirt he confiscated from Silent Mike K.

One of the most prominent gangs in the area that has declared control of the South Shore’s underworld is the Spicy Boys, a gang of miscreants, led by Patrick "The Metronome" Crenshaw.

The Spicy Boys were last in the news after a failed attempt to use their influence in the Teamsters union to keep Dee Dee’s Lounge in Wollaston open for business.


The Spicy Boys, getting ready for an insane brawl on a Wollaston rooftop.

Clad in red sneakers and red t-shirts, the Spicy Boys have long been considered one of the most prominent gangs of Wollaston Center, basing their operations at Tony’s Pizza on Hancock Street.

"Any criminal activities in the South Shore should rightfully go to the Spicy Boys," claimed Crenshaw, who plays drums in his spare time with various rock acts throughout the area. "Everything south of Boston and north of Braintree is ours. Anybody who thinks otherwise is gonna get a fucking blast-beat to the head. I haven’t been eating shitty slices from Tony’s Pizza for the past ten years just so I could be told I can’t get what’s mine."


Patrick Crenshaw, plotting his next move while waiting for a slice at Tony's Pizza.

Another splinter group of the South Shore crime syndicate is the Super Happy Fun Gang, led by James "Jimmy the Destroyer" Flynn, who was last in the public eye after being indicted for running bootlegged Slapshot demos through abandoned MBTA subway tunnels in Boston.

Wearing out-of-fashion clothing with the logos of since-defunct brand names and sports teams, the Wollaston Beach-based Super Happy Fun Gang has always had a reputation for their love of irony. This can best be explained by the time when chief enforcer, R. Dick Bowski, tortured rival gang member, Joseph "The Minuteman" Grapucci, for exactly one minute.

"Patrick Crenshaw doesn’t know what he’s talking about," said Flynn. "All of Gennaro Angiulo’s interests south of Boston should go to us. The Super Happy Fun Gang has ties to Providence that the Spicy Boys could never even hope to achieve. My band used to play the Living Room in Providence Center all the time. We’re the ones who put the South Shore back on the map, and we’re the ones who are going to reap the benefits of that. Take my word for it. It’s happening today. You people always wanna run your mouth like it won’t come back to haunt you. Well, I’ll tell you this much: you give us lip, we give you pain. End of story."


Jimmy Flynn, proving his love for the Boston area by posing in front of a WBCN banner.

Last, but not least, on the list in the race for power in South Shore’s criminal underworld are the Roots Rock All-Stars, a group of Americana-style musicians and street thugs, led by the infamous "Gorgeous" George Camaro, a social misfit with nothing to lose.

Dressed in the drab clothing of a group of traveling troubadours, Camaro and his gang have been able to evade the attention of authorities for quite some time, making little attempt to be known in the public eye, often being confused for being normal, everyday people.

"Jimmy Flynn is a fucking dipshit," Camaro said. "If there’s any gang out there that deserves the right to run the South Shore, it’s the Roots Rock All-Stars. All these other gangs are just acting like they’re hard, but they don’t know what it’s like to run a criminal enterprise. The harder they come, the harder they fall. And anybody who opposes us can learn that the hard way."


George Camaro (far right), rocking people's socks off with the cold, hard blues.

"This is gonna be one of the bloodiest battles ever," predicted Mike Triangle, an all-around nice guy from the Mount Wollaston section of Quincy. "I've already seen three people get slapped over this. Right in the fucking face, too. I haven't seen anything this brutal since the time White Trash Rob from Blood for Blood hosted Wheel of Fortune for a week while Pat Sajak was recuperating from a vasectomy. I don't care how much a vowel costs, the shit that dude was saying to Vanna White was fucking priceless!"

There is still no confirmation as to which South Shore gang will prevail in this battle for power, nor is there any word on whether, or not, either of the three realize that Gennaro Angiulo had not actually been in control of the Boston area’s organized crime world since the late-1980s, as he was convicted of racketeering charges and had been sent to federal prison for over twenty years.

But no matter what the outcome, one thing can be sure: in the coming days, there will be blood. And those who are left standing will have to come to terms with the fact that there is no open seat for the taking. More on this developing story will be made available as it unfolds.

The Ink Spot gets alcohol license approved

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

The Ink Spot, a major player in the city of Quincy’s cutthroat world of stationary suppliers, had its alcohol license fully approved by a unanimous vote last night.

The Council of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms & Wing Dings, which needs a majority vote to approve any city business’ right to serve alcohol, tobacco, firearms or chicken "wing ding" dinners, voted in favor of the Ink Spot’s proposal to serve highly intoxicating drinks to the public.

This was the first attempt by the Ink Spot to obtain such a license and was met by intense celebrations at the Wollaston-based warehouse headquarters, which included launching empty beer bottles at the passing MBTA Red Line trains, as well as burning 25-foot-tall effigies of sports legend Bo Jackson.

Head CEO Peter “Paper” Kutz was so pleased with the board’s decision, he responded by executing an impressive reenactment of the "van surf" scene from the popular Teen Wolf movie. Unfortunately, he was instantly injured and diagnosed as "paralyzed for life" while performing his third backflip when the driverless van crashed into the nearby St. Ann’s Catholic School.

Not all were pleased with the city's decision, though. Rival companies Kopy Kop and Turner McWeirdo's House of Pencils & Shit® had both previously applied for the same license, but were promptly denied. This has led some to accuse the Ink Spot’s upper management of illegal campaign donations and gift-giving to members of the Council. An accusation the Ink Spot firmly denies.


A satisfied Ink Spot customer, inspecting his new business card.

Competition between the three businesses has risen over time to a level which was recently described by an industry insider as “absolute madness.” With each coming year, the companies’ Machiavellian tactics and risky, untested strategies bring them all closer to outright war. In 2007 alone, there were thirty thousand business complaints filed in City Hall, by and against each of the businesses. Lesser supply chains that attempted to dabble in the realm of paper were quickly snuffed out by “The Big Three,” using miles of legal red tape, vicious libel attacks in the local news, and at least one confirmed case of a crucifixion.

Local gas station admits to having "questionable intentions," promises "intense orgasms"

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

The Hess gas station in North Quincy closed its doors today, giving way to a the Kum & Go gas station, which markets itself as a "one-stop shop for all of your fueling and sexual needs."

Offering everything from gasoline, diesel fuel, blowjobs, dildo machines, threesomes, and semi-synthetic motor oil, Kum & Go has raised many questions from residents of the neighborhood, some of them even claiming that allowing such self-indulgent behavior to take place will leave little room for control.

"Crude and indecent acts like this should only be allowed in places where it can be contained," remarked Dr. Hendricks Mathers, author of Sex Before Mariage?! and Open Heart Surgery 101: The Unauthorized Autobiography of Dr. Hendricks Mathers. "Places like this should only exist in Amesterdam and Las Vegas. But if it has to be in Quincy, at least make it Germantown.

Following the ribbon cutting ceremony, Mayor Thomas Koch announced an 8.9% "sex tax" on all sexual acts obtained at the new establishment, including, but not limited to, use of industrial strength sex machines, lubricants, fingering, fisting, fucking, face fucking, and/or tweaking of the nipples.

While residents showed obvious signs of opposing the sex tax, Mayor Koch dismissively waved at the crowd and suggested that they "settle down and just be happy about the fair price of the gas." This, along with the fact that City Hall aide, Joe Schlopp, had already been in the Kum & Go for over an hour, caused much of the crowd to angrily pile into the establishment and relieve their tensions in a most unsavory manner.

"That was the single most satisfying gas station trip I have ever had," said Bonnie Gumdroppe, an aspiring school teacher and stripper from Adams Shore. "I like my guys a little rough around the edges, you know what I'm saying? I told the manager there that I wanted a real gritty dude, and he brings out this West Quincy kid. The kid looked like he was banged up on at least three "eighties." He was a total mess. But he sure knew how to light my ass on fire, I'll tell you that much. He took me out back and fuckin' nailed that shit. That was some 'smack it, flip it, rub it down' type shit. He was smackin' my titties around like they were fuckin' Milton kids. And I haven't had an orgasm like that in years. It was explosive. Literally. The last time I felt something that good, I was looking upward at the bottom side of bleachers. Good times."


Bonnie Gumdroppe, "shaved, enraged, and ready to go."

The Kum & Go gas station will remain open pending further review from multiple concerned parties in the South Shore, and is available for all of your fueling and sexual needs, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. They are currently offering unleaded gasoline at a record-breaking dollar and fifty-five cents per gallon, and are offering fair and reasonable rates to even the strangest of requests, no matter how disturbing they may be.

"We only ask one question here," explained Tommy McDoggett, franchise owner of the North Quincy Kum & Go branch. "We ask 'How can I make you blast one today?' But that's it. We offer a good service, and we ain't goin' nowhere. It's worth the price we charge, no matter how much your mayor is taxing you. The gas is just to get you here. It's just a fuckin' illusion. Once you get here and see the bitches and dudes we got up in here, you won't be goin' nowhere quick. 'Come for the gas...stay for the ass,' as we say it. This shit's outta fuckin' control, kid!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Quincy Marriot Hotel closes indefinitely after bizzare triple-overbooking fiasco

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


Officer Haylen's official 2009 Quincy Police Department photo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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