Our Town

2007-08-25T04:47:00.000-07:00

Cartoonery

This week, guest cartoonist Sarah Molten teaches our youngsters how to draw an accurate rendition of Bernini's sculpture masterpiece "The Rape of Proserpina."

Step One: Draw Pluto holding Proserpina.

Step Two: Sketch an outline of a dog. Then add two more heads to your dog.

Step Three: Capture overwhelming horror and hopelessness of Proserpina's ordeal.

Way to go!

2007-07-12T06:17:00.001-07:00

Silly Caption on a Recently Used Graphic Contest!

"Nobody does deli like Dairy and Deli."

This week's Caption Contest winner is Ms. Muriel Stanford of Oakmont Lane. Muriel wins a month's supply of canned goods, courtesy of the Dairy and Deli delicatessen. Dairy and Deli: Your One Stop Neighborhood Shop!

Congratulations, Muriel, and keep playing, America!

2007-07-12T06:08:00.000-07:00

Daily Event Calendar

- Day Camp Meet and Greet, CR Public Library, 9AM, ages 5-10

- Aquatics workout with Nancy Soloman, CRHS Gymnasium, Noon

-Exploring Cheese Culture with Bryan Swindon, 2:30, Wallace County Prison

-Dance, Dance, Dance: A Tribute to the 17th Century, 6:15, CR Municipal Dance Hall

2007-05-17T07:33:00.000-07:00

Weather or Not

WEATHER OR NOT WITH PHIL STUBBS, DISGRACED ACADEMIC!

Weather Forecast for Thursday, May 17th: MYOPIC!

2007-04-12T07:09:00.000-07:00

Police Blotter

by Nancy Pierce, Our Town Staff

A young woman was sexually attacked in the parking lot of McGill's Pub last night around 10PM. The attacker is still on the loose and police are advising young women with self-esteem problems to stay away from local strip mall bars until he is either apprehended, or we just plain ol' forget about it (spnkr384, LOL!).

2007-04-12T06:49:00.000-07:00

Dining Out

Review This!

Mr. Pizza's Good and Hot
42 Sunden Ct.
201-664-3824

$

At this "pizza joint," the only thing "hotter" than the pizzas are the "ovens" which are capable of producing heats upwards "of" 700 degrees. Plenty of toppings are "available" to "eat" but the classic cheese pizza is a "fan" favorite.

Giulio's
10 Leffen Way
(no phone)

$$$$

The "rustic cuisine" served at "this" Italian restaurant "calls" to mind "rustic cuisine" and is "rather enjoyable" in its "rusticity." Sure you may have to "take out a second mortgage" for their "rustic" ten course tasting menu but only if you're "white trash" in which case you "probably wouldn't be allowed in" in the first place.

McGill's Irish Pub
20-22 Bi-State Plaza
201-670-1000

$$

The beers are "cold" and the wings are "spicier" than the "smokin'" barmaids. "Can I buy you a drink?" is a great way to start a conversation at the "pub that has it all." "Why don't we just go back to my place? What do you mean I'm creeping you out--it's a free country, can't a guy stand in a parking lot? You've got some attitute--I think you need to be taught a lesson. C'mere--!"

2007-04-12T06:24:00.000-07:00

Masticating with Nancy Pierce

Spooning My Way to Gourmet Heaven!

by Nancy Pierce, Our Town Staff

When the weather's cold and you've just finished an exhausting journey to the limits of your pain and pleasure threshold, nothing fills the tummy better than a good old fashioned Spoon Bread.

Originally created as a way to stretch leftovers into a meal, Spoon Bread is the ultimate comfort food. And even better yet, once you master the basic recipe, you can add to it whatever you please, making it both personal AND delicious!

I like to add raisins and candied walnuts to mine (spnkr384, LOL!), but the spoon bread is great even as a side to a nice Sunday roast.

So clean up the mess on your living room tarp, and spoon up a serving of fun!

***

Nancy's Spoon Bread

3/4 cup cornmeal, stone or water ground, if possible
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup boiling water
3 tablespoons melted butter
2 large eggs
1 cup milk
2 teaspoons baking powder

Combine cornmeal and salt in a mixing bowl. Stirring constantly, gradually add boiling water, keeping smooth; stir in the melted butter. In a separate bowl, beat eggs until thicken and pale in color. Add milk and beat to combine. Add milk and egg mixture to the cornmeal mixture with baking powder. Beat with an electric hand-held mixer or whisk to blend. Turn into a generously greased 8-inch square glass baking dish. Bake at 350° for about 30 minutes, until firm. Serve with plenty of butter.

2007-04-12T05:50:00.000-07:00

Local Business

by Larry St. James, Our Town Staff

Muscle Man Muscles into Muscle Town, USA

A new gymnasium, Xtreme Basic Fitness for Men and Women, is set to open this Monday, April 16th. The first fifty Chesterfield Ridge citizens (with proper documentation of course) will receive a free logo key chain/plunger.

The gym boasts over fifty pieces of exercise machinery as well as various working toilets. Owner Tom Alford says, "This gym is going to have working toilets." Buff!

Alford's journey from Chesterfield Ridge was not a straight shot (sorry Euclid!), but rather a curvy one that swooped down and around a bit, then sort of up and right against a light tail wind. He began, he says, selling toilets door to door hoping to make enough money to one day open up his own library. "The work was hard, but dragging all those toilets around really built up my lower back and quads." The only problem as luck would have it, was that while his "core" was being built, the rest of his body was wilting.

"Yeah, fifty percent of my body weight at that point came from my lower back muscles and my enormously developed quadriceps."

But thanks to the "suitable" work of a team of carney doctors, Alford was able to make a speedy recovery and, on the advice of a former linguistics professor, decided to buff up the rest of his body. Soon he was on the road to winning various pageants and competitions based around awarding musculature (sorry, no handi-"capables" need apply). One month later, Alford had won nearly every body building award in his small, central Pennsylvania town.

The only downside of his rehabilitation was that it left his bladder no larger than a baby's fist. "I gotsta pee a lot," says Frank Alford doing a spot-on imitation of his physically superior older brother. The result is over seventy working toilets scattered throughout the new gymnasium.

From his summit, there was only one place left to go, back down to the masses that made him great. Like so many others in his position, he opened up his first gym, run out of his parents living room. While the operation was indeed amateur, Alford learned a lot about his parents' allergies to exercise machinery.

And so it was that not even two weeks after the success of his first grand opening, both of his parents fell into a deep coma, one that the two shared due to their Depression-era frugality. "I felt I needed a change at that point," says Alford. "Mom and Pop getting sick really pushed me to the limit and I knew I had to take my gift of exercise to a major city like Chesterfield Ridge."

And what of his new gym's nifty nom? "I'm illiterate," cries Alford.

Glad to have you, Mr. Alford! Make yourself at our home!

Xtreme Basic Fitness for Men and Women will be open to the general public minus their loved ones. Membership fees are $50 for two weeks, after which point one must reapply through the board of trustees. Fitness classes are five rupees, and toilet use is strictly unlimited.

2007-02-19T19:24:00.000-08:00

Cynic's Corner

An Actor Without A Role
by Eric Mills, Our Town staff

Richard Gregory has a name that you wouldn’t know, but a face you would instantly recognize. For almost fifteen years, he has been appeared in commercials for Haverford’s Hardware, a small chain that, at its peak, had six stores scattered across the suburbs of central New Jersey. Though he had no affiliation with the chain outside of the advertisements, Gregory portrayed Wilfred, the crotchety old (and increasingly older) owner who was distressed by the lengths to which his son was willing to go to slash prices and please the customer. Wilfred always lost, of course, and the customer always one, which was the tagline that accompanied the spots.

But recently, it was announced that everyone would lose, because Haverford’s was going out of business in the face of competition from Home Depot and Lowe’s, both of which have increased their presence in the area. But what would happen to Gregory, the very public face of the company? Where would he go? What would he do?

***

Mr. Gregory is quick to tell you that he is not an actor, and indeed, he doesn’t look like a traditional actor. His skin is worn and decaying, his face covered with spots. He walks with a limp, the byproduct of an old football injury. His voice wavers and cracks when he speaks. He has a way of squinting when he isn’t paying attention. He is, without a doubt, an unlikely star.

“Acting was never a plan of mine,” he told me in the bright, spacious kitchen his comfortable Gloucester Street home over a cup of coffee. “It was just something I fell into, I guess.” Gregory was a backup running back as a sophomore in high school, but the aforementioned injury on the last practice of the season ended his dreams of starting the following year. “I needed something to do with my time,” he said, so he joined the school play. It was remarkably similar to the way I had stumbled into the newspaper office at my high school after my basketball coach had made me cry and quit the team after one particularly rigorous practice. We are the same, I thought.

“It was A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Mr. Gregory remembers with some difficulty, referring to the play that made Shakespeare rich. “I played Oberon. I didn’t know what a single word of what I was saying meant, but we made other people clap and laugh, and it was a hell of a feeling.” He acted again in his final two years, and then just as quickly as he had picked it up, Gregory put acting aside. “After high school, I figured that was it. I had had a fun time with it and everything, but it’s not something I was particularly good at.” He was being modest.

***

While Mr. Gregory rose the ranks at a state government office after high school, his childhood friend Tyler Haverford inherited his father’s hardware store. The store was profitable, but Tyler thought he could do better. He scouted property and bought another location a couple towns open. Then another and another. And then, years and years later after they had parted ways, Haverford found his old friend Richard again.

“He told me he wanted to do some spots and asked if I wanted to help him out,” Gregory remembers about his friend’s visit. “I said what the hell. I figured it would be a one-time thing.” Gregory had no idea that the spots would turn him into a local star.

I watched the first spot, “Hammer Headache,” in Gregory’s basement with Richard and his wife Sandy. The camera is shaky, the audio levels are inconsistent, the framing is sloppy—but the only thing you’ll notice if you watch the commercial is Richard. He foams at the mouth when his “son” announces his deep discount on hammers. At the end of the spot, his eyes sparkle when he sees that his son’s plan has worked out after all. His performance is akin to the gentle ebb and flow of a masterful line of prosaic description. He is a natural.

I told Gregory how taken I was with his performance, but he only shrugged. “It’s embarrassing for me to watch this, to be honest,” he told me. “I can’t bear to watch myself on tape.”

***

Gregory has no ambition to pursue acting now that his regular gig has ended. “It was just a hobby,” he tells me. “I feel bad for Ron more than anything” (Ron is Tyler’s son; Tyler died in November).

To me, this sounded like a textbook case of denial. Perhaps I was feeling insecure myself, because I had just heard that our own newspaper, subscription shrinking in the face of the Internet, was experiencing financial troubles of its own. But whatever my motivation, I let him have it. “Don’t you feel like you’ve wasted your whole life and all your talents here?” I asked him. “Don’t you have any ambition? Don’t you feel like you deserve better? Don’t you ever want to flee this popsicle stand and show those stuck-up New York nobodies that you’re just as good as they are? What about your gift?”

He laughed. “Gift? Acting’s not my gift.” With a shaky sweep of his enfeebled arm, he brought my attention to his house, his two dogs, the pictures of his children, his wife. “These are all my gifts.”

He smiled and I looked directly into his eyes. I broke the stare and looked down at the floor, shaking my head. What BS. And the worst thing was, I could see he believed it himself. Decades after stumbling onstage in high school, fooling an audience full of parents and his peers into believing that he was a fairy god, Chesterfield Ridge’s own master actor had fooled himself.

2007-02-19T19:23:00.000-08:00

Community Update

It has come to our attention that So-and-So battled depression throughout the 80s and 90s, and to this day considers suicide. Act accordingly.

2007-02-18T07:34:00.000-08:00

Breaking News

ANTHROPOMORPHIZED CAT ARMY ATTACK EMINENT!
Young prophet has vision in art class

A third-grade female student at Stanley Tucci Elementary has foreseen what she calls "a kitty cat army man" and what experts believe to be a "kitty cat general or commander." The student, seven year-old Rachel Miller seems to have had a vision while attending Ms. Emelia Roth's second period art class. Ms. Roth's class had almost come to a close when Ms. Miller presented Ms. Roth with her work. Roth says that Wednesdays are "free-form day" where no limitations or requirements are placed on the children's work for that class period. Upon seeing Ms. Miller's picture, Roth asked the child what it meant. "It's a kitty cat army man" said Ms. Miller. Ms. Roth then asked where she had seen the kitty. "In my head," replied Miller. Roth then asked the children to wait for a moment and quickly headed over to Principal Joanna Beardman's office.

Says Beardman, "I was in a meeting when in bursts Emelia. The look on her face told me our worst dreams were about to come true." All of our worst dreams, it would turn out.

Eighth grade biology professor Herman Doyle warns that for "years" prophets and holy men have spoken of a kitty cat army or organization leading what he calls the "final assault in the battle between man and feline." He notes: "What's interesting is that it has long been scientific fact that cats cannot speak the human tongue due to their jaw construction and larynx. But in this small child's portrait, it does appear that this kitty cat general has the ability to speak a variety of languages, English among them."

Ms. Miller adds that her kitty cat general is named Mr. Peebles and that, while she cannot be entirely certain, Peebles is capable of flight. "Also," adds the small wonder with a giggle, "he eats pee pee."

According to physical education instructor Mike DelFino, a being that could sustain life on a diet of its own excrementory materials would need very little food outside of what it produces naturally. From a tactical standpoint, this would make for a very dangerous enemy combatant. While soldiers on one side stopped to refuel, a kitty cat army fueled by its own urine would simply charge ahead without rest. The eating process could be streamlined even further with the use of a catheter-like straw apparatus.

While there is no way of knowing when the attack will come, the Chesterfield Ridge Police Department has been busy fortifying the town. A moat is being constructed around the town border ("It was on the agenda anyway," said Lt. Steven Ames) in an attempt to stop the supposed hydro-phobic kitten army from entering town. However, these are no guarantees that the moat will prove effective as Miller did not know whether or not the entire kitten army could fly as their leader. Nets would be necessary in order to stop an areal attack, but by the time we could confirm their flying powers, it would be too late.

Other defense elements include what one townsman calls "guns." The theory here is that a kitten army would be susceptible to metal bullets penetrating their flesh. Counterpoint, Mr. Fimble, the head of Stanley Tucci High School's Science department: "If the cats can consume their own blood as they consume urine, they will most likely recycle their plasma. Plus, there's no real way of knowing whether these kittens have hearts or not. In this case, only a shot to their tiny kitty cat sized cerebral cortex would slow them down."

***

An additional element that has gripped many in panic is Mr. Peebles' ability to walk upright. For years humans have prided themselves on being the only species to walk upright (in fact, the phrase homo erectus actually means just that). Depending on the agility of this new kitten army, humans may have competition in the upright department form here on out in running contests, such as those seen in our Olympic games.

The final and most terrifying aspect of Miller's sketch, and the one that has come under the most scrutiny, is the small item in Mr. Peebles' right hand. Is Peebles merely affecting the posture of so many a general before him by holding a cigar? Or is the item a flag, indicating his allegiance to another government, or possibly even a terrorist organization. One thing is certain: it is not a white flag of surrender.

Further, the hand itself. Closer inspection reveals that Peebles' hand resembles those of a human or a monkey, although there is no sign of an opposable thumb. This seems to suggest to experts that one of our own has been cross-breeding with Peebles and his army, either forcefully as a sex slave, or, most shockingly, as a willing participant. Ms. Miller was unavailable for further comment as she was being held in a sensory deprivation tank in the basement of her parents' home.

Many have pointed out that the kitten army could very well turn out to be a kind and peaceful race. Others suggest that perhaps the medallions are mere decoration, but these theories seem unlikely due to Mr. Peebles' lengthy, ragged tail, and his race's apparent skill with shoe making. Traditionally, civilizations gifted in leather work have tended to be the most violent. And that's just math, dear readers.

Police officials are asking that everyone remain calm. Volunteer services will be available at Our Lady of Peace around the clock for those who need counseling or escorts (sexual encounters will be limited to heavy petting).

Stay tuned to Our Town as more information becomes available.

***

GOD BLESS CHESTERFIELD RIDGE!

2007-02-13T08:03:00.000-08:00

Poetry Corner

The Sunrise

by Mary O'Connor

I enjoy watching you, the sunrise
Please do not ever leave.
The dying winter looks to you for guidance
And without
You
we would all be
in a rut

Ms. O'Connor is currently serving a life-sentence at Chesterfield Ridge's satellite prison in nearby Holdings.

2007-02-02T13:17:00.000-08:00

Evening Edition

Stupid, Goddamn Cat Ruins Bake Sale
Prompts Generally Weak Lede

Just hours before the 3rd Annual Marching Band Fundraiser Bake Sale, Senior Baker Nancy Cavendish was about to mix her fifth and final batch of oatmeal raisin scones. The first four batches turned out "like heaven" and due to high demand in past years, Ms. Cavendish decided to bake "one more for the kids." That is when her cat Milton decided to ruin things for everyone.

Says Cavendish: "I had gone to the fridge to get another stick of butter. I had to turn my back on my baking supplies for less than a minute. I thought nothing of it." And yet when she turned back around, Milton had gotten himself into the last of Ms. Cavendish's flour, and shed hair all over her beloved baking dish, a Chesterfield Ridge institution, and Cavendish family heirloom.

"I don't drive, so there was no way I could get more flour on such short notice. I have to call the agency, and they send over a volunteer. Plus, they charge me for every mile they drive me over 10 per week. It just didn't seem worth it."

By the time Ms. Cavendish got around to washing Milton, cleaning up the mess in the kitchen and burying the baking dish in the backyard, the bake sale was nearly underway. A few moments later, bake sale organizer Susan Sokalich had arrived to pick up the baked goods.

"I explained to Susan what happened and she just went off. F this and F that she said." By the time the two women sorted things out, "the scones had gone cold, and nothing's worse than a cold scone at a bake sale."

So the two women parted ways, Sokolich to the bake sale, and Cavendish to "force feed Milton every last one of the goddamn things." Yet Cavendish is quick to forgive as she says her life wouldn't be the same without Milton, messes and all.

2007-01-17T20:57:00.000-08:00

Letter from the Editor

Happy New Year, everybody! Please ignore the month-long hiatus in exchange for FREE CANDY!

REGARDS, THE EDITOR

2007-01-17T20:17:00.000-08:00

Man About Town

New Year Arrives Without Cure for Cheating Whore Wife-itus

by Larry St. James, Our Town Staff

As millions around the globe watched the great sparkling sphere drop in this metropolis or that, a once happy-go-lucky man named St. James sat around feeling sorry for himself and mulling over the choices he had made in life, waiting on a cure for the blues. That's right, Chesterfield Ridge, this New Year is all about the blues for yours truly.

You see, I'm a news man. I am proud to say it and have been ever since I covered my first Chesterfield Ridge election scandal over twelve years ago (the headline editor at the time, the late, great Al Scheft came up with "Election Erection Faux Pas Kills Ten"). Writing about the news has been my bread and butter, and as of December of 2001, my wife Samantha's as well. Up until December 24th, 2006, me, the news, and Samantha were happy. Together.

But somewhere along the way, Samantha (cough! whore!) decided that being married to a newsman wasn't quite for her anymore. When we first met in the months after 9/11, I was in the Big Apple covering another major news story: Chesterfield Ridge's very own high school marching band was competing in the 29th Annual Battle of the Beats marching band contest. Samantha, grief-stricken over the death of her husband, had taken to hanging around in local gymnasiums and YMCAs. Her husband, a very wealthy investment banker named Ted, had been killed by a bear during a routine visit to the zoo. I guess my notepad, pen, and NEWSMAN sandwich board caught the fancy of her eye. One innocent salutation led to another, and soon enough we were spooning Sbarro's into one another's mouths.

Boy, were we happy. And while Samantha's parents and in-laws were initially concerned over her involvement with another man so soon after the death of her one-time husband, my easy going smile and way with words quickly allowed them to settle into a false sense of closure. All was right in the world.

Fast forward to December 2006 when I suspected something was amiss with Samantha (or "Samanth" as I called her). She had been spending an inordinate amount of time in the bakery owned by Chesterfield Ridge fixture John Chiarello. Whenever she would return home, her hair covered in flour and yeast, she would mutter something about having a PTA meeting to attend and quickly run upstairs to wash the baked lust off of her skin. I may have had my suspicions, but I kept them to myself.

But one night as I sat typing an article about the upcoming Chesterfield Ridge dog show (can't wait!), I reached for the sandwich next to me and was reminded of the whispers floating around town: "Ya hear about St. James' wife? She's having sexual relations with the baker," or "Man, I'd love to touch Samantha St. James' heiny---if only she weren't with the bread guy." I was no fool and I would not be made a cuckold of.

I closed my laptop computer and drove over to the bakery where Samantha had said she was going for a piano lesson. But when I arrived at the bakery, the lights were off and nary a note could be heard. I burst into the back room and was greeted with the unwelcome surprise of my Samantha bent over a bread mixer, being covered in puff pastry and egg wash by, you guessed it, that damned Chiarello. When I demanded an explanation, Samantha went into a lengthy tirade about me being "emotionally unavailable" and having "no sense of what it means to be married."

That was on Christmas Eve. I have not heard from or of Samantha ever since. Worse, I have avoided eating baked goods of any kind, a dietary shift that has severely altered the way I eat sandwiches. If I am invited to a social function that is to be attended by that baker man I will certainly not RSVP by the requested date.

This is why I will spend 2007 in the seedy underbelly of Chesterfield Ridge seeking out danger, disgust, and intrigue for a column noirishly titled Man About Town. If I am to die in the course of seeking out our town's dirty laundry so be it. I have nothing left to live for.*

*Except the dog show. The part where the dogs wear bathing costumes is hilarious.

2007-01-17T20:13:00.000-08:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Stuntwoman to the Stars!

Weather Forecast for January 16th, 2007: CONTEMPTUOUS!

2006-12-10T07:18:00.000-08:00

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The holidays are almost here! Act now! GOAL!

The state took most of my FLEET, but I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve!

Merry Christmas USA!!!!!

Brown Mercedes Benz, baby! GET IN THE GAME!

2006-12-10T07:14:00.000-08:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Socially Conscious Meat Eater!

Weather Forecast for December 10th, 2006: MACERATED!

2006-12-10T07:01:00.000-08:00

Our Town Poll: Holiday Addition

What will you be celebrating this holiday season?

90% ........ Christmas...what else?

7% ......... Chanukah

2% .......... Kwanzaa

1% .......... None

He died for ALL us sinners!!!!!

If you answered "none" send us a postcard with your home address along with a list of severe allergies and you will automatically be entered to win a SPECIAL PRIZE!

GOD BLESS, Y'ALL!!!!!!!!

2006-12-04T11:46:00.000-08:00

Mayor-Elect K. Tired of Waiting for Inauguration, Seizes Power in Bloodless Mock Coup

Adorable, Little Frame Belies Deep-Seeded Hate, Rage Issues Claim Jealous Dissenters

by Larry St. James

Mayor-Elect Horace Kvscheznowski, weeks after his surprise election-night triumph, grew tired of waiting out Former Mayor Thomas Allenbach’s lame duck government and seized power for himself in a mock coup d’etat organized by supporters of Kvscheznowski at City Hall.

Said City Hall organizer Robert Thomson, “We just think the world of Horace. Just the sweetest guy. We also have to be respectful of his culture, of where he comes from. And if all he knows is leadership by violent rule, then goddamnit who am I to pop his bubble?”

“I grow tired of waiting for Mr. Allencook [sic] to step down and make way for me new power,” said Kvscheznowski in an address broadcast throughout the town. “So now I am the Mayor and I am to make the things I want to do for I am winning of Mayor!”

The coup began early Monday morning, when our cute and snuggly new mayor, aided by local goons-for-hire, kidnapped an Allenbach look-a-like, a local actor named Marc Schneider, who was on his way to “work.” He then tied “the Mayor” up, threw him in a sack and drove him to City Hall, where earlier that morning a makeshift gallows had been constructed by volunteers.

“I now want to be the Mayor now!” K announced to a small crowd, one that included Mayor Allenbach’s beautiful wife and two children, Stacey and Bradford. The family of our former Mayor had agreed to play along under the condition that the Mayor be cleared of any past wrongdoing, clearly referring to the false ads Allenbach ran regarding political opponent James Walkers’ weight.

“As a show to see how you will do what I say, I will now do away with my prisoner.” The Allenbach impersonator was then hanged, to the mock shock of everyone present. Exaggerated gasps and cartoonish screams of “Oh, no!” filled the early morning air, and a fake news crew pretended to record the events with an imaginary camera. The actor playing Mr. Allenbach seemed to die swiftly and with a sense of purpose.

Chesterfield Ridgalians are handling the new shift in power with their typical grace and self-assurance. “It will be good to get some change around here in City Hall,” said local businesswoman Sherry Crystal, standing in the shadows of the stern new statue of Mayor Kvscheznowski on Main Street. “It’s about time those fat-cat incumbents had the fear of God put into them.”

Chester Witherton, another entrepreneur-about-town expressed ambivalence. “I don’t really follow local politics,” he said. “But I like this new Horace guy. He’s so cute, ain’t he?”

The cute little Mayor wasted no time outlining the plans for the town under his leadership. “When I was in Soviet prison, I learned how the running of a state should be done to do. I will hang my political prisoners and suppress free speech and those who do no want to live in my new town will be hang as well too.” His wrinkled little face betrayed an adorable little smile. “I like being of mayor, I think. Better than being sporting writer.”

It's just one Hallmark moment after another with Mayor K.

Notice: A short memorial service for Marc Schneider will be held this Thursday at the Taco Bell on Blanford Street. Attire: Country-club casual.

2006-12-01T07:30:00.000-08:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Inventor of the McCormick Reaper!

Weather Forecast for December 4, 2006: CHUMMY!

2006-11-30T08:16:00.000-08:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Midtown Smut Peddler!

Weather Forecast for November 30th, 2006: SASSOON VIDAL!

2006-11-27T06:53:00.000-08:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Smooth-Dissolve Laxative!

Weather Forecast for November 27th, 2006: UNKEMPT!

2006-11-27T06:48:00.000-08:00

Fun Science Factz!

Teeth are named after toothpaste, and not the other way around!

This installment of Fun Science Factz has been brought to you by Alman's Maple Syrup!

2006-11-27T06:22:00.000-08:00

Police Blotter

-An unidentified man walking an unleashed dog was asked by an officer to keep his dog on a leash. Shortly after, the officer spotted the same man with his dog. The man had done as the officer asked.

-Louise Parker called in to report a burglary. She had returned home only to discover that an antique jewelry box was missing. When officers arrived, the jewelry box was quickly located under Ms. Parker's bed. The officers accused Ms. Parker of suffering from dementia and revoked her license immediately.

-A group of teens on Westminster Ln. were seen driving dangerously close to the speed limit. No police action was taken.

-Neighbors on Lakeview Rd. reported hearing gunshots at around midnight. In actuality, they were all just watching the same television program.

-Mr. Donatelli of the Chesterfield Ridge Bakery reported a robbery of one dollar and thirty-nine cents. He was told where to stick his complaint.

-A work crew painting a home on Cedar Ln. was reprimanded for leaving painting equipment on the sidewalk during their lunch break. An officer stood by and watched as they relocated their equipment.

-All's well that ends well, quipped Officer Bill Marshall over his radio. Later that day he received news that his sister-in-law had been involved in a head-on collision.

-An officer reported seeing six (6) white Subarus of the same model and year in a row on Tudor Ln. Weird, huh?

-Officer Perry Winston drove his cruiser into a USPS mailbox "just for the hell of it."

-An area man was seen drinking from a brown bag and walking unsteadily down Terrace Dr. When officers surrounded him, it turned out that the man, in fact, was not a man, but several children, one stacked upon the other, adorably disguised in a large overcoat and fedora. The clothing belonged to one of the children's fathers. However, the gin they had stolen, so they were cuffed and taken into police custody.

2006-11-27T06:19:00.000-08:00

Photo of the Day!

Here, the great pestilence descends upon us.

"Repent, children! Repent!"

2006-11-25T17:40:00.000-08:00

Celeb Watch!

Browns: "The holidays are the worst..."
Ex-parents Celebrate Holiday in Style

by Katherine Mills

While most Thanksgiving oriented Chesterfield Ridgeians settled down for a plain old turkey dinner with traditional (read: booooring!) sides like cranberry compote and stuffing, local celebs Richard and Jane Brown decided this year they would break the mold. Boasts Jane, "Ever since our little girl left us...it would just be too hard to go back to the way things were." And how!

So while bourgeois families linked hands and bowed their heads in prayer, Jane and R to the ichard picked up a ultra trendy frozen dinners (who says Thanksgiving dinner can't come with a second helping of hip irony?) and cracked open a bottle of wine that was given to them by Jane's now deceased mother on the day their ex-daughter, Samantha, was born.

Mic checked Richard, "Jane didn't feel like cooking, and hell, ever since the dealership started going south, I haven't showered, so it was just like, What's the point?" The point is, all you non-famous masses out there in newspaper land, these two cats got style! We're talking a whopping 8% by volume!

And rather than the traditional (-ly boring, that is! zoing!) homemade pumpkin pie, the Browns showed their individuality and style by dishing out on a pint of frozen custard courtesy of a Ben & Jerry care package. Comped merch? Only one of the luxuries of the rich and famous. "It's from one of the care packages I guess. We've been getting so much support from everyone...flowers, gift baskets, decorative soaps...this I think, is called Phish Food. Like the band or something." Word up, Jane!

But even the good life has its drawbacks. Says Tricky Dicky B: "At first all this stuff--it was a nice distraction. I had my business and Jane had her milliner classes. But after a while the once rich and fatty ice-cream just became too much....too rich. The taste of it just reminded us of Samantha's horrific death at the hands of a careless ice-cream truck driver." Sweet!

But the holiday madness don't stop when the clock tells it to, no way. For the very next morning Rich and Jane were spotted at a local electronics store cashing in on the major holiday savings. Richard says the "crippling debt" will give him a nice big hole to either climb out of, or at the very least, a "quiet place where I can just die alone." His very own hole? Sounds tres posh!

Later that day the Browns were seen hugging and crying over at a local graveyard. We followed them there for the inside scoop, but upon seeing our staff photographer Bernie Jenson, Richard went into (what we will assume to be) a coke-driven frenzy, swinging his arms, spitting and gnashing his teeth while saying something about some "little girl." Wethinks this celeb has a mistress! Yowza! No word on whether or not it was the grave of their deceased daughter.

Although Bernie did sustain several bruises and even a cut on his chin, if there's one thing we here at Our Town know how to do, it's sue the pants off celebrity scum like Richard and Jane Brown! Alright above-ground swimming pool! Office mates, get your swim trunks ready, because our old pal Bernie hit the jackpot! Or should we say, the jack pot hit him? Zoing!

2006-11-18T07:15:00.000-08:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Disembodied Voice of Justice!

Weather Forecast for November 18th, 2006: CONGEALED!

2006-11-12T06:19:00.000-08:00

Photo of the Day!

Here, a beflanneled Horace K supporter holds a handsome breakfast platter.

"Horace K! He's our man!"

2006-11-12T06:14:00.000-08:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Grim Specter of Death!

Weather Forecast for November 12th, 2006: CRAFTSMAN!

2006-11-12T05:39:00.000-08:00

Horace K: Mayor Man?
Funny Little Man Claims Mayoral Race, Lifelong Friendships Formed

by Larry St. James, Our Town Staff

The mood was tense at Town Hall last evening as the powers that be finally got around to counting all those pesky votes ("Next year we'll just tell everyone to write it down instead of calling us," says a Town Hall spokesman). Several of the mayoral candidates stood by, anxiously chewing on the shirt of the person standing next to them. Do-good actor Stanley Tucci was there, as was little known candidate James Lee. Although the mood was taught with anxiety, a sense of camaraderie developed amongst the candidates as they waited for a victor to be announced. Horace K told tales of his days as a Soviet prisoner "even after there was no Soviet Union!" while James Walker kept the gang in stitches with his vulgar impersonation of disgraced ex-Mayor Thomas Allenbach. "Stop it! You're killing me!" gasped Tucci supporter Ton Shalhoub.

In fact, the joking only took the passenger seat once during the long evening, and that was when a winner was finally announced: Horace Kvscheznowski, aka Horace K, Chesterfield Ridge's very own funny little man. Upon hearing the results, Kvscheznowski exclaimed, "Is it true? Having is of race to finish!" For a moment, a cloud appeared cross the faces of the once chummy group, and the bonds that had just been formed seemed to weaken. Perhaps sensing this, icy lawyer Gary Smith stood up on a chair, his 5'7" frame commanding a deathly silence. All eyes on him, it seemed certain that Smith would then go about fulfilling his promise and begin the methodological process of revealing our town's secrets. But rather than slander up a storm, Smith clapped his hands and bellowed, "Here here! Horace K! He's our man!" At this cock's crow, a mighty cheer went up and Horace was carried out of Town Hall on the shoulders of his slain enemies.

The gang, led by Smith, headed to the Chesterfield Ridge Diner where owner Stylianos Messouka was quick to fry up some hash browns and silver dollar pancakes. "A special for the mayor!" laughed Stylianos as he carried in an impressive array of eggs cooked in a variety of fashions: poached, over easy, fried, scrambled, hard boiled, and raw. At the sight of so much food in one place, Horace's eyes welled up. Calls for a speech arose among the ever-increasing crowd of supporters and Horace responded by saying, "The egg, the pancake, the juice. It is all like on breakfast table commercial! But we are eating the breakfast foodings and it is on night time!" With that triumphant declaration, another round of joyous cheering and goodwill went up.

Even spoil-sport Sherry Lipton couldn't help but join in the fun, having reportedly coughed at one point during the celebration. Quipped Sherry, "This is absurd. The man can barely speak English--how does anyone think he's going to govern a town?" Even the quiet ones have a sense of humor it seems! Or should I say, humour: Would you like some tea and scrumpets? Ooh, my name is Mary Poppins!

After several rounds of fresh squeezed orange juice ("The best in entire country!" claimed Stylianos), James Walker, considered by many to be the favorite by a long shot, raised his putter and asked for silence. "I'd just like to take a moment of silence for our good friend Jack Habishaw. He was a dreamer and those dreams, while they eventually killed him, sent such an awesome fireball into the sky, the likes of which I doubt this old man will ever see again in his lifetime." All present raised their glasses and who could help but wipe a tear from their eye?

Sensing this may be his only opportunity for escape, No. 6 smashed a police officer in the face with a skillet, leapt through a plate glass window and began running. He made it as far as the Chesterfield Ridge Library before Rover got to him, at which point James Lee was heard to remark, "Oh snap! Guess he ain't so fast after all!" After all, indeed, young Lee.

As the night winded down and the sun began to rise, the crowd escorted Kvscheznowski to his new home: the Chesterfield Ridge Mayoral Condo. Finding the door locked, Stanley Tucci flexed, tore off his shirt and attempted to kick down the door ("It's much easier in the movies," he said later). After this went on for some time, the door opened, as if by magic or specter. But it was no witch or warlock, nay, it was the disgraced wife of disgracefully disgraced Mayor Thomas Allenbach. At the sight of her, a shrill cry went up and the gang descended upon her. She was carried to the Chesterfield Ridge reservoir, seven miles from the condo, and dumped unceremoniously into the icy water.

The deed done, a changing of the guard of sorts took place and Horace was installed in his rightful throne, declaring, "It is time for nappy, yes, but sun is arriving so as to make sleep the difficult with the eyes." Rest now, oh, mayor, for who knows what challenges tomorrow may yield. For now, Horace K will sleep the sleep of a true champion.

2006-11-11T18:24:00.000-08:00

Awkward Dinners Fizzle
by Eric Mills, Our Town Staff

What began as an earnest plan to get to know the neighbors ended in a mutual silence last week at the home of Sheryl and Lucas Halberstram. The Halberstrams wed ten months ago and moved to Chesterfield Ridge shortly after. During this time Sheryl says, "we were so caught up in settling down we barely even noticed our neighbors." Making matters worse was their work schedules. Sheryl is a nurse at nearby desegregated hospital St. Martha's, while Lucas is a freelance mens' slacks designer. Neither profession allowed for much time to socialize with neighbors. Adds Lucas, "for a long time we just saw each other and our coworkers and that was it."

Until last week, the Halberstrams had no idea that, for example, Bill and Melinda Gainsfoot (28 Oak St.) were going through a "rough patch" or that John Holdman had lived alone in the house across the street ever since he inherited it from his aunt Liza. "There was just this entire world of gossip that we were theoretically a part of, but never took part in," says the couple H. That was when Sheryl had the idea to host a series of dinners in an effort to build some bridges.

The Halberstrams invited James and Susan Mesky for the inaugural meal, one that consisted of roast pork loin and green beans. Says Susan, "We had no idea that one of James' hobbies was to design mens' shirts! He and Lucas have become fast friends." With the men involved in talks of the fickle nature of their clients, the women were left to discuss plans for children and married life. It was during this time that Sheryl had second thoughts about her newly minted plan. "Susan was nice and all, don't get me wrong, but we just didn't have anything in common."
"Still," she adds, "I put a pleasant face on because Lucas really seemed to be enjoying himself." (Lucas would later admit that he was only chatting with James because he thought Sheryl was enjoying herself...jinx!).

With one dinner down and a sense of grim satisfaction, the couple decided to invite Pam and Ray Walsh over for an early Sunday dinner of roast chicken and butternut squash mash (says Lucas, "My wife gets crazy for roasted meats"). If the previous week had been a vague warning at best, dinner number two was a bright red flag. "From the moment they walked in I just knew we wouldn't get along," said flannel-loving Lucas. "Ray just kept touching things and he had this really odd tic where he would spit when he blinked. I felt embarrassed for the guy." As for Ray's wife, Sheryl summed it up best when she quipped, "She smelled like sh-t."

The evening began innocently enough with small talk accompanied by a tray of olives, bread and cheese. Conversation revolved mostly around local politics (the Walshes had voted for James Walker while the progressive Halberstrams took a chance on Stanley Tucci) and lawn maintenance whilst Ray hungrily wolfed down olives "pits and all." The plan, according to Lucas and Sheryl, was to just make it through the main course and end the evening without dessert. However by the time the two couples sat down to their roasted chicken, "we had run out of stuff to talk about," says Lucas.

It was then that Pam breached the subject of her uterus. Had the Halberstrams been a part of neighborhood gossip in the weeks and months prior to their dinner, they would have known that for Pam Walsh, no subject holds greater allure than that of her collapsed and barren uterus. Sheryl was not pleased: "I'm trying to bite through the bone on the drumstick--good for the jaw muscles--and all this woman wants to do is tell me about the consistency of her period and how she has to put ointment inside her, you know, to prevent infection. It's like, give me a break, I'm eating!"

Lucas seconds his wife's feelings: "I think this dinner really highlighted the fact that maybe me and Sheryl just aren't really a good fit for this neighborhood."

By the time the chicken carcass lay naked, stripped of its meat and dignity, Sheryl and Lucas had had enough. But the Walshes were just getting warmed up. At approximately 9:45 PM, Pam and Ray made their way into the living room and promptly fell asleep. "It was unbelievable," smirks Lucas. "I was like, 'Are you kidding me?'"

Left by themselves, the Halberstrams thought that the best medicine for their nuisance neighbors was no medicine at all. The table cleared of chicken grease, and the living room swept clean of Ray's wayward olive pits, Lucas and Sheryl went upstairs, washed, and went to bed. The next morning, Ray and Pam were gone; apparently shame showed them the door.

So will the two continue to host dinners in the never-ending quest to meet their neighbors, or will they hang up their roast pan into retirement and get a subscription to Neighborhood Hermit Magazine? "I think we both just need a little time to ourselves," sighed Sheryl. Seconds Lucas, "Yeah, I mean, these pants aren't going to make themselves! Am I right? I said, am I right? Why won't you answer me?!"

2006-11-06T07:48:00.000-08:00

Photo of the Day!

Here, apples await their transformation into applesauce.

"Hey everyone, we're making apple sauce! Bring your coats!"

2006-11-06T07:42:00.000-08:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Generic Brand Produce!

Weather Forecast for November 6, 2006: SLAPSTICK!

2006-11-02T18:38:00.000-08:00

Local businessman profile

THE BUSINESSMAN: Trevor Gates
THE COMPANY: One-Stop Buttons, Manufacturing Division
THE JOB: My father started the company in 1952 to manufacture buttons for area clothiers. In 1970, a local politician ordered hundreds of campaign buttons, even though we only made buttons for shirts and sometimes pants. We decided to expand to meet his needs and we almost went bankrupt because even though they're both buttons, they're completely different things and we had to retrain half our staff and buy all kinds of different machines.
THE FUTURE: We are considering making buttons for things like control panels. The third kind of button. That's not a joke.
THE MAN BEHIND THE BUSINESS: I collect books but I usually don't get around to reading them.
THE PITCH: We're mostly business-to-business, so I don't know what to say. If anyone out there ever needs a metric ton of buttons, give us a call.

2006-11-02T05:23:00.000-08:00

Photo of the Day!

Here, Mrs. Stacy Cutlet humiliates a twelve pound turkey.

"Not so tough now, are you?"

2006-11-02T05:15:00.000-08:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Sub-Atomic Explorer!

Weather Forecast for November 2, 2006: SALLOW!

2006-11-01T20:37:00.000-08:00

Must the show go on?
by Eric Mills for Our Town Magazine

Every autumn, the leaves lose their green and fall off the trees, coating the ground like an auburn snowfall. The air turns cold and the smog hanging over the cities picks up an extra thickness, as if crackers had been added to soup. And every fall, the circus makes its annual stop in East Rutherford. The annual tradition had delighted countless children and their parents over the years, but it has upset almost as many protestors who allege that the circus' mistreatment of animals warrants shutting the show down.

I wanted to understand, how? How could something that brought such unmitigated joy to such a large number of people be cruel? Surely the debasement of animals was a small price to pay to bring humans joy. Was the circus really a place where animals were stolen from their natural habitats and abused for the amusement of yokels whose idea of high art is Thomas Kinkade prints from Wal-Mart and self-hating yuppies who sold their idealism decades ago for a high paying job in the city? Or is it something more than that?

___

I decided the first person I needed to talk to was Terrance Grimsley, the director of the New Jersey chapter of Concerned Citizens Against the Exploitation of Show Animals (CCAESA). Terrance is a short man with simian features and short black hair that forms a knot of tangled curls at the top of his head. From his small office in suburban Kenilworth, he coordinates the protests every year.

"It's a crying shame what's happening to these animals," he told me. His desk is decorated with a number of elephants, which he told me were his favorite. "They're poached from their natural habitats and thrown into cages and whipped and abused until they're trained to perform stupid stunts for our amusement. These animals have dignity, they have feelings, they have needs and they are going ignored and being exploited for profit."

I asked Grimsley what he made of the joy these animals brought others. He shook his head, obstinate. "That's no excuse," he said. "That's no reason for these wonderful creatures to be snatched from their homes or wildlife preserves where we should be keeping them so they can have the best chance of living a fulfilled life."

___

My natural inclination was to label Grimsley a spoilsport, so I went to someone who could confirm my inclinations. Paulie Underwood has been running the circus here for almost two years. He is tall with long legs and broad shoulders. He perpetually sports a confident grin as if his life is perfect and he is completely confident that nothing could ever go wrong. His attitude is contagious, especially around the clowns, animals and entertainers with whom he surrounds himself.

"The animals love it," he assured me. "To suggest otherwise is simply ludicrous. Look at how happy they are!" He pointed to a tiger, who paced in a circle inside a cage about the size of my bedroom. She grabbed at the bars with her claws, playfully, and let out a little snarl of friendliness.

I saw more of the same on the tour Underwood gave me of the facility. A great bear, playing a kind of peek-a-boo in which a trainer stood in front of its cub and obscured it from view, jumped up on two paws, delighted to see its child inexplicably disappear, swatting at the trainer genially as if to offer him a high five. A group of horses stood defecating on each other, apparently too enamored with the atmosphere of the circus to notice or care. An elephant--Terrance Grimsley's favorite animal--was touched by a trainer with some kind of stick that emitted a low buzzing followed by a sharp crackling, causing him to dance up and down, trumpeting majestically in the crisp October night.

The tour wrapped up in front of the dressing rooms. I shook Underwood's hand and was speechless. The magic of the circus was undeniable. A clown walked out of one of the dressing rooms past a trapeze artist entering the other way. "Don't mess up tonight, faggot," the trapeze artist called. The clown sulked past.

Underwood left me alone and I walked by myself back to my car. But on the way, I stopped by the elephant. It was a male, and a glorious male at that. He was sleeping, so I put my head up to its belly. I could feel the animal's power with every gigantic breath it took and I found it difficult to breathe for myself in its presence. I walked up to its comically large ear and lifted it as I had seen in so many cartoons before. "Are you happy?" I asked. A question so many of us have had to consider for ourselves. Can any of us answer? If someone had asked me, I don't know that I would have been able to give a satisfactory response.

But the elephant stirred. His great eye opened and he saw me. He leapt to his feet and sounded a great alarm with his trunk. He began stomping around wildly, in a kind of frenzy. "Look at me!" he seemed to be saying. "I want your attention! I crave your approval! I am a performer!"

___

I decided to watch the circus for myself to see if I could find any evidence of animal abuse during the show. I found a comfortable seat in the third row and sat down with a grape snow cone, ready to be dazzled. The show began with some impressive motorcycle tricks, followed by some subpar clownery that seemed to stretch on forever. The audience's energy was being sapped. By the time the acrobats took their turn, we were exhausted.

Then the tent shook and my elephant friend made his grand entrance. A buzz rippled through the stands as he moved into the center ring and stood up on his back legs on command. We cheered ecstatically. And then it seemed obvious. What living creature doesn't want to please a tent full of people? I realized that I would trade all my credentials as a reporter in an instant for the chance to be paraded around a ring by a rope with a sheet on my back so I could make these people stand and cheer and understand the sheer brute force and animal beauty of nature. This elephant was not being mistreated. It was living a dream.

After the show, I walked backstage to look for Aaron to thank him for the experience. I would never find him. Instead, I passed the dressing room where I saw an acrobat hassling the same clown I had seen the night before, blaming him for the deadness of the crowd by the time it was their turn to perform. When the acrobat was finished berating him, the clown dashed into the dressing room. Curious, I followed him through the maze of lockers and toilets. I finally caught up with him in the far corner and I stopped in my tracks. He looked up at me and I noticed his makeup was running. He was crying. The irony was unbearable and I began to tear up myself. It was then I realized that Terrance and his supporters were fighting the wrong fight. The animals of the circus had it made. It was this crying clown who had been left behind.

2006-11-01T05:17:00.000-08:00

Photo of the Day!

Two men celebrate Jesus' birth during the annual Christmas Polo Match.

"He died for our sins!"

2006-11-01T05:13:00.000-08:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Bitchin' Bass Solo

Weather Forecast for November 1, 2006: EPHEMERAL!

2006-10-31T05:44:00.000-08:00

Photo of the Day!

Here, young Jimmy Miller wields a power too great for his small frame.*

"The costume! I can't control it!"

*Jimmy was eventually shot and killed by town law-man Atticus Finch

2006-10-31T05:38:00.000-08:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Mildly Racist Bumper Sticker!

Weather Forecast for October 31st, 2006: JULIAN!

2006-10-30T04:23:00.000-08:00

Coloring Outside the Box
by Larry St. James, Our Town Staff

When Stanley Tucci Elementary art teacher James Artley walks into his classroom, he looks at it not as another day at the office, but, as the 43 year-old tells it, "a chance to plant the seed of life in each and every student via my gruesome death." He plants these seeds by asking his students to draw him as a victim of, for example, a horrible accident, or even murder.

"The first few times I had them do it they drew little happy pictures of me and some angels holding hands. But I told them, 'No, dig deeper. Go to a dark place.'" And go to a dark place they did. Over the past several months, Artley's students have collectively drawn their teacher's death in over 300 different scenarios ("No repeats allowed, extra points for creative methods like disembowelment," says he). From beheading to airline crashes, drawing and quartering to kicked to death, Artley's students certainly have risen to the challenge. Their collective efforts line the hallway outside of Mr. Artley's classroom and he says they are the pride of Stanley Tucci High, and even the town as a whole.

The assignment began as a result of a near-death experience that Artley underwent in December of last year. "I was eating soup on my patio, when a pidgeon flew into the back of my head, knocking me unconscious. My head fell forward and I passed out right in my bowl of soup. I almost drowned." Almost, but not quite. Thanks to the efforts of a good samaritan mailman, Artley was rescued and lives to tell about it. He adds that the freak accident has in no way damaged his relationship with soup. And while he never found the offending pidgeon, he did find a newfound fear of death.

Following the incident, Artley went on a leave of absence from Stanley Tucci High in order to "clear my head, air some things out." During this two month hiatus, Artley was plagued by visions of his own death, some soup related, others salad or even roast related. "It was just horrible...like death was teasing me," he says, and so he decided to face his fear head on. For the next several weeks he tempted Death in every way he could, from playing "chicken" on the rail road tracks to driving a rental car ("I'd never buy one...green's my drug") while blindfolded and drinking soup through a straw. When these stunts finally landed him in the hospital, Artley decided to return to work. When he did, what he calls his masterpiece was born.

While his colleagues initially scoffed at his admittedly unorthodox teaching methods, it was Artley's students who eventually won the faculty over through their intense dedication to their work. Says fifth grader Simon Rivera, "I really like Mr. Artley's class. Sometimes I get sad while drawing the pictures, but then he lets us have candy so it's okay." Said another prodigy, young Kaitlyn Marsh, "Mr. Artley is very nice and he cries sometimes."

So how long will Mr. Artley's project continue? "As long as there are children out there taking life for granted, I will be there to remind them that they could die at any minute due to rape, flood, falling into a meat grinder, animal attack, torpedo assault, train wreck, poison, assassination, factory mishap, surgical misadventure, gassing, suffocation, fires, falling down stairs, chemical burns, or any number of freak accidents."

And of all the hundreds of drawings, does Mr. Artley have a favorite? Standing amidst his enormous collection of macabre drawings the man thinks for a moment before a small smile creeps onto his face. "Oh, that's tough. but if I had to choose, it would be the one of me as a fetus being aborted. For starters that's just really creative, but also, it's like, 'Wow, you guys are in fifth grade, I didn't even know you knew what abortion was!'" He paused and added, "Kids grow up so fast these days."

Just don't grow up too fast, young ones, for Death is only too happy to snatch you away into his cold, lifeless grip, ushering you into a life of eternal damnation like some grotesque carnival barker! Away, Grim Specter!

2006-10-30T04:18:00.000-08:00

Photo of the Day!

A local Stanley Tucci High School student participates in the Language Barrier Work Exchange program.

"We love it!"

2006-10-30T04:14:00.000-08:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Alcohol-Fueled Christmas Fiasco!

Weather Forecast for October 30th, 2006: PARSIPPANY!

2006-10-29T17:49:00.000-08:00

$$Paid Advertisement$$

GARY SMITH FOR MAYOR

As election day approaches, it is very important that you remember I know things about you.

John Davidson of 98 Vineyard Lane wears wigs when he is at home alone. Not women's wigs. Just wigs. He just likes wigs.

Brenda Young's son Tyler ran over a homeless man in New York City and she covered it up by throwing him off a bridge.

Jeremy Wilkinson of 41 Fox Glenn Road is cheating on his wife with Maryann Vernon of 31 Bittersweet Lane, which is creepy because they look exactly alike. What Jeremy doesn't know is that Maryann has a venereal disease. And what neither of them knows is that were both adopted and they are brother and sister.

I could go on.

UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR SECRETS REVEALED, VOTE GARY SMITH FOR MAYOR! IT'S FOR YOUR OWN GOOD.

2006-10-29T05:46:00.000-08:00

Photo of the Day!

The terrorists gain a foothold.

"Unbreak my heart/say you'll love me again!"

2006-10-29T05:40:00.000-08:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Clean Shaven Luddite!

Weather Forecast for October 29th, 2006: MERCIFUL!

2006-10-29T05:27:00.000-08:00

Celeb Sighting!

Richard and Jane Brown spotted canoodling at local field!

It was reported earlier yesterday that megaceleb couple were spotted "holding one another" and "sobbing" at local St. Mark's Cemetary. No word on whether or not it was the same cemetary where their daughter is buried.

2006-10-27T17:33:00.000-07:00

Photo of the Day!

Here, Fighting Tuccimen forward Johnny Buldesky works on his legacy at the behest of his father, coach James Buldesky.

"I am not a faggot! I am not a faggot! I am not a faggot!"

2006-10-27T17:29:00.000-07:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Ultra-Lux Thread Count!

Weather Forecast for October 27th, 2006: EUROCHIC!

2006-10-26T04:46:00.000-07:00

Photo of the Day!

Here, the staff of Stanley Tucci elementary gathers at the home of English department supervisor Tom Norton for a Holiday party.

"I don't care if the janitor bought it himself, I don't want it!"

2006-10-26T04:44:00.000-07:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Daredevil Flyboy!

Weather Forecast for October 26th, 2006: DURABLE!

2006-10-25T09:13:00.000-07:00

Local News

Scandal Rips Through Election, Startling Revelatory Revelation Revealed!

by Larry St. James, Our Town Staff

Last week Mayoral Candidate James Walker received an unpleasant surprise in the pages of this very periodical from none other than...himself? A full page color ad in last Wednesday's Our Town ran in which a photograph of James Walker appeared above an endorsement for incumbent Mayor Thomas Allenbach. The advertisement read:
Hi everyone, it's me, James Walker and, uh, I eat so much and am so stupid! Today I eated fifty hamburgers! How can you expect me to govern effectively when I have zero self control?

Following this brief statement was a bit of grammatically incorrect praise for Mayor Allenbach. It was an odd sight to be sure, but nobody thought anything of it. Except for James Walker himself.

"I was outraged and embarrassed. I immediately tried calling the newspaper office, but someone had conveniently severed by telephone wires. Why would I take out such an article? Who would do this?"

Who indeed. Early this morning we received a tip from an anonymous reader who pointed us in the direction of the original advertisement. Looking towards the bottom left hand corner of the Faux-Walker advertisement one can just barely detect, in the faintest of inks, "Paid for by the Campaign to Re-elect Thomas Allenbach."

Said Walker of the revelation, "That [expletive deleted]."

Why would Mayor Allenbach exercise such a lack of caution in what has been an otherwise tightly run administration? Mr. Allenbach was unavailable for comment, but many speculate that perhaps he was just tired. "When you have a legacy like his, what is it now, ten terms, you simply get bored after a while," said local school teacher Donald Ross. He added, "Maybe this was his way of saying goodbye."

Whatever his reasoning, Mr. Allenbach has burned every bridge in town with this act of false advertising. We contacted 8 year old Amanda Wells, the president of Chesterfield Ridge non-profit organization People For the Ethical Use of Advertising in Newspapers, Daily or Otherwise, otherwise known as PFTEUOAIN,DOO for her take on the scandal. In a pretty hand-written letter, Ms. Wells commented, "The whole thing stinks. P.U.!" She added, "XOXOXOXO."

Two weeks ago it seemed fairly certain that the election would come down to Walker and Allenbach, with an outside chance of Tony Shalhoub making a late run, but now with the events of the past week, the race is once again anyone's for the taking.

Anyone except Thomas Allenbach.

2006-10-25T09:09:00.000-07:00

Photo of the Day!

Here, a local boy constructs a memorial for the fallen.

"I miss you, Ball."

2006-10-25T09:05:00.000-07:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Ailing Spruce Variety!

Weather Forecast for October 25th, 2006: COURAGEOUS!

2006-10-24T13:32:00.000-07:00

Local boy makes good
by Eric Mills, Our Town staff

Everyone who attended high school with Gaius Charles knew he was going to make his mark in the world.

"He would walk into a room and everyone would just stop what they were doing and watch him," says Justin Drew, a former classmate of Charles. Drew takes a moment to take a breath and remember Charles as he stirs a cup of coffee in the New York City restaurant where we met (Sarge's, delicious meatball grinder, check it out). The nostalgia is palpable, most likely because Drew never made anything particularly special of himself.

"He was a hell of a kid."

Gaius Charles' long road to the top led him through Chesterfield Ridge, and though he only stayed for five months before his parents deemed the area "hostile to minorities," Charles left an indellible mark on all those he met, at least in other places where he stayed longer.

Like Drew, Joann Peroff knew Charles from their high school days in New York City. "His smile could light up a room," she told me. I noticed her fingers were quivering, as if she were being overpowered with lust that had gone unrequited and unexamined for years. "His eyes were so deep. They could cut right through you." Mixed metaphor aside, she is clearly overwhelmed. I give her a moment to herself.

Charles has made a name for himself on the new NBC show Friday Night Lights, in which he plays a spicy young football player named Brian "Smash" Williams. The role has earned Charles much acclaim and his name is now on the lips of as many Hollywood insiders as Chesterfield Ridgalians who remember him as a suspicious young man who moved out of their lives as quickly as he moved in.

"He lived right here." Chesterfield Ridge town historian Brendan Goldsmith has taken me to the home in which Charles grew up for five months during his formative years. It is a modest ranch whose most prominent feature is its flowing green lawn. A breeze kicks across the street and the grass seems to flicker and ripple. "He was only in school for a month, because the family moved here right when summer vacation was starting and they moved soon after the school year ended."

Goldsmith rambles on, but I'm not listening. I walk across the crisp green lawn. I look at the house and I am overcome. For the first time, I truly feel the power of this town and the opportunities it provided Charles and will provide so many after him. Perhaps right here, on this spot, he tossed a football around with siblings he may or may not have or have had during his short stay in our town. Maybe inside he played Dress-Up and his parents, as they are wont to do, worried that their son was a homosexual. But really, he was training for his greatest triumph, years down the road. Thousands of miles from Hollywood, Chesterfield Ridge raised a future star.

Goldsmith is now leaning against his van. I leave him behind and walk up to the front door. I knock. No one answers at first and I am struck with the appropriateness of the metaphor. For Gaius Charles, Chesterfield Ridge was just one stop of many he would make on the road to success. Perhaps he barely remembers the place. It was so many years ago. Is there no room in Charles' new world of fame and cocaine and easy women for the simple world of Chesterfield Ridge that helped make him into the star he is today?

But then, someone answers the door. It is no one famous. But maybe, someday, among the ghosts and odors and flakes of dead skin the Charles family left behind, a new star will be born. And Chesterfield Ridge will have done it again.

2006-10-24T09:22:00.000-07:00

Photo of the Day!

A Chesterfield Ridgeian readies his van for Kidnapping Day 2005.

"Well, the ramp's greased up, but the restraints need tightening."

2006-10-24T09:19:00.000-07:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Pre-Industrial Era Penny Pincher!

Weather Forecast for October 24th, 2006: MULTI-ETHNIC!

2006-10-22T03:44:00.000-07:00

Travel

Why Leave?

Planning a winter vacay? Our Travel columnist Kalifa Tauber says, "Why leave?"

As I write this, many of you are planning your winter get aways: the Bahamas, Europe, the American Southwest, the gold-laden California. And while most opt for fancy white sand beaches or crumbling architectural relics, I say to you this: Why not good, old Chesterfield Ridge?

For starters, it's a very easy trip. We've all done it, the air travel, if only to say, "Hey, friend, I've been in a plane before!" We've grimmaced as we wait in countless demeaning lines, having our persons searched and X-rayed and stamped. Why, some of us have even been detained and denied entry on board said aircraft (I'm looking at you, Horace!). Who needs that? To get to any of Chesterfield Ridge's various bed and breakfasts (okay, one and a half, LOL!), all one needs to do is just hop on a bicycle and scoot on over! Or for a more personal feel, how about replicating the authentic Chesterfield Ridge experience and staying in the homes of one of our natives? Many of them speak English (and if they don't they can get the hell out!) and almost all of them will have some sort of food preparation thing going on. Maybe one night they might feel a little silly and have breakfast for dinner, but then again, when in Chesterfield Ridge, do as the Chesterfield Ridgians do.

For another thing, Chesterfield Ridge is very safe, unlike the majority of places that are not Chesterfield Ridge. World War I, The Crusades, the War of 1812, The French Revolution, World War II, The Middle East....any of these ring a bell? That's right, I'm talking about WAR here (what is it good for, LOL!) and it only exists outside of our borders. In fact, it's a near scientific fact that there has never been a war in or around Chesterfield Ridge, unless you consider the Civil War, but that was a very long time ago and I doubt that anyone really cares if some general used a bunch of Chesterfield Ridge houses as meeting places, or if some guy was hanged on the spot that is now our post office. Big deal. But hey, if that's your thing, all the better! Go on a historical tour of downtown Chesterfield Ridge by following the History Trail, that revered purple line painted all throughout town, zigging and zagging its way through several decades of note-worthiness! I hear a new Future Trail is in the works for the new Historic District.

Now wait a minute, Kalifa, you're thinking to yourself, what you're saying is pretty convincing, but what about things like culture and language? You just can't get that around Chesterfield Ridge. Wrong you are, good sir! Have you never been to the Free Chesterfield Ridge library? I browsed their recently updated website and came up with a handful of best-sellers. Ever hear of The DaVinci Code? Yeah? Well they have it in paperback AND in hardcover. Why, if you were to go to all the places author Dan Brown writes about in one trip, it would cost well over $40,000 and take years! The DaVinci Code saves you a whole lot of time and money. And as for that Mona Lisa, it's all here, folks, every inch of the famously famous painting is covered in great detail. There's also this wild bit about Jesus having a baby! Try finding that on a beach in Martinique!

As for language, there are more nannies and day laborers here than you could ever need! Among them, they speak French, German, Spanish, Portuguese, and broken Portuguese! Talk about a language fiesta! Okay!

Another great thing about Chesterfield Ridge is that it's familiar. What a hassel it is wandering around some new place with a map and a fanny pack, stumbling your way through unfamiliar alleys and side streets! Who needs that? But here in Chesterfield Ridge it's: Oh Maple St.? Of course, just turn down Chestnut and make a right onto Spruce. Easy as pie! Oh, where should we eat tonight? I dunno, how about Judi's Tavern? Sure, that sounds good, their shephard's pie is great! How easy is that? So easy. Besides, there's McDonald's in most places you'd go anyway, so just get a Big Mac and pretend that you paid for it with a foreign currency (that especially works with senior citizens).

And I didn't want to mention it, but what about terrorism? Do you really want to run the risk of running into some Sultan with a bomb strapped to his head? What's worse is, they're everywhere! From Madrid to London to New York, it's a scary world out there. Except...that's right, right here in Chesterfield Ridge, where the closest you'll get to terror is the sinking feeling you get when you realize you've run a stop sign!

So this winter, why chase the sun down its well worn path? Instead, get nice and cozy in your cottage or home, or whatever you call it, and get to know your own town a little better! Okay!

2006-10-22T03:41:00.000-07:00

Photo of the Day!
Here, a sketch from the late Jack Habishaw's recently published journals.

"Dear Diary: I give you, hat!"

2006-10-22T03:38:00.000-07:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Transparent Sentiment!

Weather Forecast for October 22nd, 2006: SMITTEN!

2006-10-20T06:24:00.000-07:00

Photo of the Day!

Here, a beagle puppy rummages through the "Tee-Ball Disaster" 2004.

"Hey everyone, a dog!"

2006-10-20T06:14:00.000-07:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Unfotunately Nomenclatured Pope!

Weather Forecast for October 20th, 2006: OCEANIC!

2006-10-20T05:26:00.001-07:00

Ou-To Op-Ed

My Son is a Terrific Writer
by Katherine Mills, Our Town Staff

I've been in this crazy game we call journalism for a long time now. I've covered weddings and park dedications, bake sales and even preschooler fashion shows, but if there's one thing I've learned, it is this: my son Eric is a terrific writer. Yes, I know what you're thinking: That's just the crazy talk of a doting mother. But before you judge me as some loon, hear me out. I think you'll agree that Eric is doing a great job.

First, let me point out how difficult it is being a newbie (that's newspaper talk for someone who is new to the staff and has not been there very long) at a big paper like Our Town. While all the big stories go to the grizzled, hard-living paper veterans (such as Larry St. James' excellent piece on that stop sign installation a few weeks back), the newbies (newspaper talk for a "newbie") get the tough, gritty stories that no one dare cover. For example, my son Eric's piece on a local couple's argument in the park? The stuff of terrifying dreams, that. In order to cover this story, Eric had to put himself in harm's way and believe me when I tell you, he received more than his fair share of rude looks from the female arguer. Yowza!

And how about Eric's heart-warming story about little Mark Tedesco and his hardcourt triumph over big big brother Steve? That story was really neat because even though Eric is himself not a sports man (his father always called him "Mary" as a joke!), he still managed to effectively put the reader in the middle of a fierce sports battle. The article also got me thinking about those two boys and their deceased mother. For example, I know that if someone has no parents, that makes them an orphan, but what if they have just one parent? Does that make them half an orphan? Once again, my son Eric has made us think about something.

Then there is Eric's grammar. Without question, my son's syntax is without reproach. From a very early age we knew that Eric was not mentally disabled due to his canny ability to read and write at an average level. Well nearly thirty years later, Eric is still constructing perfectly adequate sentences. Observe this excerpt from a recently published piece:

He continued, "Yeah he may have been a little intense for some people, what with the hot air ballooning around the globe, and the parachuting his nephews and nieces to school, and the backyard safari and all that stuff. But when you get right down to it, Jack Habishaw was the rare individual who really attacks life with both hands. Not many people can say that. Also, he really loved soup."

Just look how well he quotes his source; the comma is in the exact right place, the period is inside the quotation marks...just priceless. And maybe he does let the quote go on a little long, but it was about a man dying! Why won't you allow the grieving to grieve?!

When Eric was a child, he would do this adorable thing where he would urinate himself and then go, "Uh-oh!" I swear to you he could have been in commercials. But everytime I brought it up to Eric's father, he would just comment on how acting was for girlies and that he had to go play basketball and couldn't talk about it now. Sigh.

When Eric was sixteen he was cast in the high school musical in a comic adaptation of Wozzeck as a principal lead. I have never been so proud of my little boy. Unless you count the time he wrote that article about that slut Sherry Lipton and how she lacks sass (a remarkable feat for a woman of the night).

So what can we expect from Eric Mills in the future? Maybe a Pulitzer like that Louis Lane girl in the Superman movie. Or perhaps a Nobel prize. One thing that is definite: Eric Mills has very strong writing skills for someone with his level of education. As I wrote in his high school yearbook: "Eric, from the day you were born, I knew you would perform slightly higher than your peers and grow to average height." Nothing is wrong with being 5'5".

2006-10-19T21:04:00.000-07:00

MLB PLAYOFFS PREDICTIONS
with SportsMan Horace Kvscheznowski

I was assign to make my Play-Off predictions many weeks ago but I have been busy running for mayor of Chesterfield Ridge and I also had to study the game because I did not know what BaseBall was. So I did my research and now I am ready to make my predictions.

AMERICAN LEAGUE DIVISIONAL SERIES
Oakland Athletics vs. Minnesota Twins
Horace's Take: In Ukraine, we have a myth about the Double-Man. It is said that certain villages, if they do not pay their proper respects to the dead, the next baby born during the Gloaming hours will become a Double-Man. This man will be like angel during the day and like devil at night and one will not remember the actions of the other. And during the Gloaming hours, both can be seen together. If this is like baseball team, then this is serious disadvantage if one man does not remember what the other man has done before him.
Quick Pick: A's in three.

Detroit Tigers vs. New York Yankees
Horace's Take: When I was in prison many years ago, they bring in many animals for us to be bitten by. We have bats and hummingbirds and honeybees and once there was panther, but no tiger. The reason being the Siberian tiger is a gentle creature unless she is provoked by many many rocks or if one steals her cubs, which are valuable sources of single-serving of delicious meat and fur for boots.
Quick Pick: Tigers in four.

NATIONAL LEAGUE DIVISION SERIES
Los Angeles Dodgers vs. New York Mets
Horace's Take: When I was alone in prison for many years because they forget to let my out of my cell and I have to eat my comatose but still-breathing cellmate to survive cold Grozny winters, I make rhymes with myself to entertain me and to keep my sanity in hold. There was one who went "Выберите пакет. Крысы и дети, крысы и дети. Выберите пакет. Выберите жесткий диск" which translates about to "Marry me, marry me, I would bet, that you would get!"
Quick Pick: Mets in three.

St. Louis Cardinals vs. San Diego Padres
Horace's Take: When I was a child, I live next to the fattest man I ever see in my entire life. He would eat all day and eat all night and we would all call him "Mr. Eat!" He did not like that nickname and would cried and cried a great deal over it. He also was killed by Soviets for being an enemy of the state. I say this because the Padres have a very fat ball-thrower, but he is not nearly as fat as Mr. Eat.
Quick Pick: Cardinals in four.

AMERICAN LEAGUE CHAMPIONSHIP SERIES
Detroit Tigers vs. Oakland Athletics
Horace's Take: Can a tiger eat a whole elephant by himself? I say yes and my friend Yvrigny say no, so we look for a way to settle our dispute. But we could find none and then I was in jail the next year.
Quick Pick: Tigers in four.

NATIONAL LEAGUE CHAMPIONSHIP SERIES
St. Louis Cardinals vs. New York Mets
Horace's Take: There was a bird who would visit outside of my window every day when I was in jail and everyone else was free but for me. He would sing to me in the morning and sing me to sleep at night. He would visit me every day and I name him "Немного большой красный некий Альберт." He loved me so much that when the winter come, he did not fly south and freezed.
Quick Pick: Cardinals in seven.

WORLD SERIES
St. Louis Cardinals vs. Detroit Tigers
Horace's Take: The National League is an embarrassment.
Quick Pick: Tigers in four.

2006-10-19T13:58:00.000-07:00

$$Paid Advertisement$$

VOTE FOR JAMES WALKER, NOT AN IMPOSTER!

It has come to my attention than an IMPOSTER recently took out an ad claiming that I, James Walker, was a "stupid fatty." Well, I'd just like to assure all of you, at the great personal expense of this advertisement, that I had nothing to do with said ad.

Frankly, the attempts of this IMPOSTER amount to nothing more than a smear campaign and it just makes me ill.

So come this November 2nd, why not join hands with your fellow man, thank God for his blessings, and vote for me, James Walker, a solid 15 handicap.

Oh, and as for that IMPOSTER, needn't you worry citizens and friends, we'll catch him.

JAMES WALKER: THE REAL DEAL

2006-10-19T13:54:00.000-07:00

Photo of the Day!

Here, recently fired DJ Dan "spins" records for a prison release party.

"Stop yelling at me, Mother!"

2006-10-19T13:50:00.000-07:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Bullet Train to the Heavens!

Weather Forecast for October 19th, 2006: ISAIAH!

2006-10-18T14:23:00.000-07:00

BREAKING NEWS!

Walker Declares Himself "Big Stupid Fatty," Endorses Allenbach!

In a shocking move, mayoral candidate James Walker has chosen to endorse hated opponent Thomas Allenbach citing his secret obesity and apparent lack of reading comprehension as reasons.

Neither Mayor Allenbach nor James Walker were available for comment.

Keep your keister tuned in for more.

2006-10-18T14:14:00.000-07:00

$$Paid Advertisement$$

I'm So Fat and Stupid!

Hi everyone, it's me, James Walker and, uh, I eat so much and am so stupid! Today I eated fifty hamburgers! How can you expect me to govern effectively when I have zero self control?

Durrrr!

Vote to re-elect Thomas Allenbach instead!

Thomas Allenbach: He's More Gooder Than, Me, James Walker Are!

Paid for by the campaign to re-elect Thomas Allenbach

2006-10-18T14:11:00.000-07:00

Our Town Poll

When is the Election?

97%: When you vote for people who you think should be mayor.
3%: November 2th.

2006-10-18T07:53:00.000-07:00

Science

Why Come it Get Dark? Why Come?
by Albert Ray, Our Town Science Man

Let us paint a scenario. You are sitting on your porch, enjoying the afternoon, when all of the sudden, it is as though someone turned off the light switch. "What's going on here?" you ask of no one in particular. You stumble around blindly, battling the cold, until finally you make your way inside and snap on your own electric lights.

Odd? Hardly. It's called night time and it's happening earlier every day.

The way it works is simple: the Sun rotates around the Earth every day. When the Sun is over good ol' Chesterfield Ridge, it is day time. When the Sun is not, it is night time. Everytime the Sun finishes one revolution around the Earth, we call that a day.

Now the Earth, being the stoic and all-powerful being that it is, could very easily follow the Sun around the universe, pointing out its flaws and moral weaknesses ("Chasin' skirt again, eh, helios?") but it doesn't out of respect for the Sun's dignity (or what's left of it). Skirt chaser though he may be, old Helios has been a good friend to the Earth, and there have even been times where the Sun taught the Earth a thing or two.

So instead, the Earth sits around translating the works of Homer into Mandarin (for the Earth is very learned) and prefecting his various quiche recipes. Cue Old Man Winter, who is now coming down the road with his staff and old nasty cart full of bits of trash. Old Man Winter is a miserable old man and can't stand people having fun. So he chases after the Sun, trying to squash summer time. Every year the Sun starts out pretty well, but as is the case with the Sun, he spends all of his energy early on, neglecting foresight and hindsight, and in the end, Old Man Winter catches him, thus ushering in what we call winter time.

As a result, the days get darker earlier and Old Man Winter, having finally accomplished his yearly goal once again, contemplates suicide in a little cabin on the outskirts of the forest. In the end Old Man Winter decides not to off himself, curses his own name as a coward, and falls asleep with a bottle in his hand.

What the Earth doesn't know is that every so often, Old Man Winter will call him up on the telephone. At first it just rings, but then the Earth answers. Old Man Winter begins to speak but can't, so great is his admiration and respect for the Earth. So Old Man Winter just sits quietly while the Earth goes, "Hello? Hello?" before finally hanging up.

So why doesn't the Earth just snap Old Man Winter's neck and be done with it? It's not that he couldn't (because he most definitely could), it's just that the Earth feels pity on Old Man Winter. Also, the Earth, being very wise (and very handsome) decides that the worst punishment for a sorry old loon like Old Man Winter is for him to live out the rest of his days in solitude. This is not to say that the Earth is without compassion. The Earth takes part in many charitable organizations and even once tried to call up Old Man Winter to invite him to a Winter Soiree, but just as Earth dialed Old Man Winter (OMW would be shocked and touched to learn that Earth knows his number by memory), Old Man Winter dialed Earth and the lines got crossed and neither side ended up connecting.

Hope that helps!

2006-10-18T07:34:00.000-07:00

Local News in Brief

***
Local Woman Smells Something Great

It was reported yesterday that while out on a stroll, Mrs. Allison Mayfair "smelled something great" in the air. The unidentified smell is reported to have been "a bakery-like" smell. Witnesses on the scene suggested that perhaps the smell was the result of a commercial bakery preparing flake pastry or bread. No one was seriously injured.

***

Nap Time Delayed Thirty Minutes

Local sitter Ashley Williams allowed local tot Johnny Maier an additional 30 minutes of play time in the backyard due to the "magnificent" weather. Johnny's naptime is typically scheduled for 3PM. No word on whether or not Johnny's mother granted the delay or how the 3:30 nap time will affect Johnny's performance today.

***
New Cheddar to Replace Other Cheddar

The Chesterfield Ridge deli will be stocking Boar's Head cheddar due to an unspecified "accident" at the Dairy's Finest factory in nearby Trentsville. Boar's Head cheddar, says the manufacturer, is "really f**king good."

***

Shopping Plaza Clock Temporarily Down

The large clock in the shopping plaza will be disabled during a routine battery change and will thusly be inaccurate from noon until noon-thirty.

2006-10-18T07:16:00.000-07:00

Photo of the Day!

Here, a mason jar.

"Look everyone! A mason jar!"

2006-10-18T07:12:00.000-07:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Canonized Greek!

Weather Forecast for October 18th, 2006: SOLIPSISTIC!

2006-10-17T19:39:00.000-07:00

Our Town Presents Your Guide to the Cox Digital Cable Additional Channels

Some of you compulsive channel surfers may have noticed that flipping through the 200s took a little longer than usual this weekend. That's because Cox added a slew of new channels to their lineup! Here's your guide to making the most of the new choices.

213: TECHNO-TIME
DESCRIPTION: Get your gadget on with greatest coverage of all the latest techno-toys!
FOR: Working class papas will drool over the gizmos they can never have! The rich can order the things they will never use!
UNFORTUNATELY: A disturbing lack of nerd babes. Not a fine rack to be found among the bunch unless you count "HelpFiles" host Larry DeStefano.

249: BUON GIORNIO!
DESCRIPTION: Get a taste of the old country, with imported Italian soaps, talk shows and soccer games. (Little hint--they call soccer "football!")
FOR: Immigrants, Italian students.
UNFORTUNATELY: The grease factor is through the roof.

253: TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER
DESCRIPTION: Old science fiction movies and television shows all day and all night (except for 1-7 AM, where you can order some of the finest kitchen and home fitness equipment on the market today!)
FOR: Losers, geeks tired of Techno-Time, nerds.
UNFORTUNATELY: The station was recently bought out by Viacom and there is talk of retooling it as a station centered around crops.

269: FASHIONABLE HOME DESIGNS
DESCRIPTION: See the latest in architecture, interior design and construction by touring some of the most fashionable houses in the northeast and west (no Midwest coverage for obvious reasons)
FOR: Families in bland cookie-cutter suburban wastelands (looking at you, Maple Street!) who want to live vicariously through those with taste.
UNFORTUNATELY: Though she comes across perfectly nice on TV, you just know leading personality Meredith Ireland is a raging b-i-t-c-h in real life, pardon our French.

280: FREEKY TV
DESCRIPTION: All the latest in rap and hip hop music, urban fashion and other gritty trends, YO! WORD UP!
FOR: Aspiring thugs/sluts, "wiggers."
UNFORTUNATELY: Poisons youth. Our advice is to place this one in between your Playboy TV, Showtime and VH1 on your "BLOCK ALL PROGRAMS" list.

2006-10-16T08:29:00.000-07:00

Exclusive Celebrity Follow-Up Interview!

Still-Grieving Browns: The Hurt Won't Go Away!
Adds Richard Brown: Neither Will Our Low, Low Prices!

Katherine Mills' ground-breaking interview last week with newly-minted celebs Richard and Jane Brown was really terrific. Just dynamite. We sent her back into the Brown's darkened home for round two. Wassup, Browns? -The Editor

Our Town: Richard, Jane, thank you so much for letting me back into your home.
Richard Brown: You're welcome Katherine.
OT: Thanks.
RB: You're welcome.
OT: Okay.
Jane Brown: The reason we agreed to invite you back is to announce a charity we are starting in town that will act as a resource--
OT: So, what's your favorite winter get-away?
JB: --will act as a resource for grieving families--
RB: Well we just love Marinique. We bought a time share at a Condotel.
OT: A condotel?
RB: It's a condo unit that is owned by someone else, but you rent it out during certain weeks of the year. Same company that designed Mayor Allenbach's unit in town. Vaulted ceilings. The works. Infinity pool. Beautiful.
JB: Richard...
RB: Jane thinks I'm burying myself in work and credit card purchases to, I dunno, avoid grieving. But I say she's nutso!
OT: Uh-huh. So, what's been your most luxurious purchase to date?
RB: Well I work hard and I like to play hard. I just bought a jet ski for our beach house. I have the need for speed!
OT: Top Gun.
RB: Exactly right.
JB: Richard...please.
OT: So, what's your number one home make-over fantasy?
JB: If this is why you came here, I don't know if we should continue.
RB: Personally, I'd love to get that new 103-inch plasma screen from Panasonic. Oh, and definitely a game room--you know, ivory pool table with black felt, surround sound stereo where I could play my old records as loud as I want. And a stripper pole like my man Big Boi has!
JB: Richard, that's enough. Ms. Mills, if you don't mind...
OT: Who's your number one celeb crush?
RB: Cybil Shepherd. She's sexy.
JB: What?
RB: Get off my back, woman.
OT: Classic Brown banter. Great stuff, guys.
JB: This is not banter! Our family is falling apart...I...I just want my little girl back!
OT: Are you going to cry?
JB: I don't know what I'm doing anymore...
OT: Because if you're going to cry just wait and I'll call our photographer.
JB: Please...
OT: Are you upset?
JB: Just get out!
OT: Richard, tell her to chill out.
RB: Honey, I'm thirsty. I'd like a glass of water. With lemon. Dick Brown drinks lemon water. Write that down.
OT: Perrier or still water?
RB: Honey do we have--what was it called?
OT: Perrier.
RB: Do we have Perrier?
JB: No.
RB: What is that anyway?
OT: Sparkling water.
RB: Like seltzer?
OT: Kind of. Smaller bubbles. Like champagne.
RB: Oh now you're speaking my language. Honey, tell her how much I like champagne.
JB: He gets black out drunk a lot.
OT: Bling bling!
RB: Bling bling! Honey she said that! My grief sale is still on you know... I put in an ad last week.
OT: Yeah I saw it. Pretty good. Who does your design?
RB: I do it all on MS Word. Pretty sweet huh?
JB: Sammy? Sammy, where are you sweetie? It's mommy!
OT: What is she doing?
RB: Oh, she does this almost every day. It's like she still thinks Sammy...still...
OT: Go on.
RB: Still thinks Sammy is...alive...
JB: [sobbing] Sammy's dead!
RB: [sobbing] My little girl!
OT: Damn.

2006-10-16T07:26:00.000-07:00

Local News

"Risque" Business on Display at Art Gallery
by Katherine Mills Our Town Staff

Everyone loves a good piece of art. They decorate our hallways and bathrooms, spruce up our porches around the holidays, and generally speaking are very pretty. But sometimes, as anyone who has seen Roman statues can tell you, art can turn raunchy and ugly. Such is the case at the Herb and Zelda Sokoloff Art Gallery, where they have chosen to display a series of what they call "abstract nudes" by the local artist, and threateningly ethnic, Zamora Kirsch.

The offending pieces of "art" (all titled "Untitled" followed by a number) pander to the lowest common denominator: drug addicts, pornography junkies, and infants. Throughout 20 different pieces, "Ms." Kirsch's self portraits depict her in various stages of erotic undress and the result is terribly upsetting to one's sense of decency. The most offensive of all is one of Madame Kirsch's earliest works, "Untitled No. 2". In it, a vague female form hugs her knees, her back to the viewer, hiding what we can only assume to be a shameful pair of breasts. The woman is characteristically nude, but what sets the offending portrait above the rest is that a vetical sliver of black can be detected toward the, well, base of the woman, a feature we can safely interpret as the woman's rear end.

The public, to their credit, has responded swiftly and powerfully, threatening police action and going as far to put their homes on the market, a kind of economic hostage crisis. There have been death threats, bomb scares, and even an attempt to poison the Sokoloffs using bullets dipped in bacteria.

Says chief of police Timothy Moorhouse, "I worked Chicago in the 60s, New York City in the 70s, and I've never seen anything like this. In twenty years living and working here, this is the first time we've had to look into purchasing riot gear."

And when asked how the fire department planned on battling the daily fire bombings, Fire Marshall Mike Kalomesko said, "We're just going to let it burn."

The Sokoloffs could not be reached for comment for this story as friends say the couple, fearing for their lives, have gone into hiding. It is rumored that they are seeking asylum in Eastern Europe, where is is reported that Mr. Sokoloff has family.

The filth gallery, Chesterfield Ridge's one and only, opened its doors to the public just over a year ago and was initially perceived as a success. The owners, socialites Herb and Zelda Sokoloff, have lived in Chesterfield Ridge for over thirty years and decided to start the gallery as a response to what they call "an alarming lack of culture" in town. The gallery struggled early on to book shows and find local artists, and had to set their sights a little lower than they had once intended to, resulting in exhibitions such as one featuring a Stanley Tucci elementary third grade class' "Turkey Hands."

But the Sokoloffs perservered and continued spreading the word over expensive luncheons and benefit dinners and after a time, artists from the region began popping up, clammering for their chance to get a show at the Sokoloff's little gallery on Broadway.

Now though, the public says maybe they made a mistake in allowing art to come to Chesterfield Ridge. Says local stay-at-home Linda Stockton, "At first it was cute, you know, you had the coffee shop putting books and magazines on the tables, a few of the restaurants had jazz bands play here and there. But now with this, it's like I don't even know what happened to my town. It's just not Christian. Now check out this Malotov action!"

Said another citizen, who asked to remain anonymous, "Ever since that art gallery opened everything's gone haywire: the days are getting shorter, the weather's been noticeably colder, and I even saw white flakes falling from the sky." He added, "God must be pretty angry with us."

Indeed, Chesterfield Ridge's once luxurious musk is smelling a little ranker to those who take enough care to notice. Skateboarding villains have been seen around the shopping plaza, and ever since the assault began on the Sokoloff's gallery, arson fires have been rampant on Broadway.

The events of the past few weeks have many questioning the Sokoloff's intentions in the first place. "Culture is dead in Chesterfield Ridge? Really?" said Bob Carr, local restaurateur. "Apparently the Sokoloffs have never been to the annual Stanley Tucci Thanksgiving Day pagent. What are they hiding anyway?"

And what does the artist herself have to say about all this? In an email to Our Town, she may or may not have written, "I'm a big stupid face. I poop in my pants." Disgusting.

At a press conference last Thursday in front of the Mayoral Condo, Thomas Allenbach told the press, "I lie awake at night wondering what causes someone to act out in such a gruesome and sublimely erotic manner?" He adjusted his Native American head dress and added, "Is anyone else kinda turned on right now?"

For now the only answers we have will come in the form of the smouldering remains of the Sokoloff's former Smut Factory and the comfort that comes from urinating on the sordid remains of "Untitled" numbers one through twenty.

2006-10-13T17:07:00.000-07:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Spiritual Advisor to the Stars!

Weather for October 13, 2006: FULCRUM!

2006-10-13T16:56:00.000-07:00

Photo of the Day!

Frank Oppenheimer, with wife Lynda, imitates fourth grade teacher Rebecca Bank's claim that their son has a "serious learning disability".

"The best was the part about him mistaking "b's" for "d's! Imagine that! Haha!"

2006-10-12T11:44:00.000-07:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, World-Renowned Possum Wrangler

Forecast for October 12, 2006: CHOLERA!

2006-10-12T11:31:00.000-07:00

Photo of the Day!

A child learns not to trespass in the old abandoned rum distillery...the hard way

"That's not molasses...THAT'S NOT MOLASSES!..."

2006-10-11T19:15:00.000-07:00

Child Watch

Ice Cream: Frozen Custard Treat or Ice Cold Killer?
by Larry St. James, Our Town Staff

The death of 18 year old Samantha "Sammy" Brown last week raised a lot of questions about the way we live, but perhaps the spotlight o' truth's most important focal point has been that frozen treat we call ice cream. To phrase it simply: is ice cream killing our children? I know, I'm thinking a little outside the box here, but look at it this way: if ice cream had never been invented, there would be no ice cream trucks to drive around, and no ice cream trucks means that Sammy Brown is at home right now in her favorite pair of PJs drawing pictures of ponies and calling boys on the phone and Mr. Richard Brown isn't sleeping on the couch in his dealership during his Grief Sale (and if she's alive right now, then my writing this article is just hurtful to her and her family).

See what I'm saying?

On the other hand, perhaps Sammy Brown's tragic death was the best thing that ever happened to us, for it helped us realize the hidden danger sleeping in our freezers. Let's get to know old "friend" (or should I say "FOE") ice cream a little better shall we? I have here in my hand one pint of a rich, creamy premium brand of ice cream. It feels good in my hand. It feels cold. It is luring me in with its song. It is a marriage of vanilla and caramel. I dip a spoon into the custard lake and it feels like greeting an old friend. An old friend who killed a young girl that is. Let's slow things down just a moment and look over here... What's that you say? TWENTY GRAMS OF FAT PER SERVING? Servings per container? Eight.

Now I don't know about you, but most people I know lack even one iota of self control, and yet I'm expected to believe that there exists someone out there who could eat just one eighth of a pint of this delicious custard? Looks like young Sammy isn't ice cream's only target.

Moving right along, how about ice cream's military record, hm? During the end stages of the second World War as Hitler holed up in his bunker with a few associates and a litter of kittens, the only thing that sustained the fuhrer was, you guessed it, ice cream. Mint chocolate chip. That's right. Ice cream: nazi.

What else don't we know about ice cream? Well, let me answer that question with a question: What else don't we know about ice cream? Apparently a lot.

For example, didja know that ice cream was born out of beastiality? It's true. The man responsible for this custardy creation, Gloutern Svensen, was thirty nine in 1639 and living on the coast of Norway in a small town whose name is now lost. From audio and video records of the age, we are able to piece together his Godless tale. Apparently Svensen, a goat farmer and cheese herder, was not getting any younger, a fact his nagging mother constantly reminded him of, and so when his last straw broke, he of hot temper and muscular gluts, grabbed his mother by the scruff of her neck and declared: "I shall marry the next being I see!" Some say what happened next was planned out all along, a plot hatched to spite mother dearest, while 0thers say the same thing, only in different languages.

Svensen stormed out of his home, really more of a cottage than a hut as one surviving witness tells it, and ran smack into, yessiree, a goat. Well young Svensen grabbed the goat by its hind legs, took one final look at his cheese laden home, and raced up to the top of the nearest mountain, Mount Kinderberg. Three months later Svensen arrived at the summit of the mountain (aside from being incredibly tall, Mount Kinderberg lay almost twenty miles from Svensen's house--Svensen would later be quoted as saying, "I really should have thought it out a little more...dragging the goat twenty miles really jeopardized our relationship.").

Once on the summit, Svensen handed the goat a flag featuring a graphic he had designed during his senior year at Manhattan's F.I.T. (almost three centuries before the school was founded!) and watched as his new wife planted the flag, claiming this summit their honeymoon suite. Over the next few days the pair fornicated in an unending stream of obscenity, the likes of which have not been seen since.

With the honeymoon over and their marriage thusly consummated, the pair set off back to the small farm. There were some awkward conversations and lots of gambling. For several days they made their way down the twisty mountain path in an uneventful fashion, and it wasn't until the fifth day that things went from generally okay to really awful. Without warning (unless you count the snow clouds, swirling winds and Valind's threats of "A real badass Nor'easter"), it started snowing. Heavy. Blankets of snow. It was so cold, the snowflakes went to Macy's for down coats! Rimshot! Then there was an avalanche or something and Svensen and his goat wife got stuck and stuff.

Hours passed, and then days. Next thing they knew, the man and goat were celebrating their one year anniversary, an event that, with the exception of the whole being-frozen-in-a-block-of-ice thing, was considered a pleasant affair by all in attendance. One day, after years of being frozen together, Svensen turned to his goat and said, "My darling, it's been years since I've eaten anything and we've had naught to drink but snow water. I'd give anything for a drop of your sweet milk." The goat being a good wife obliged, and turned up a teet. Svensen licked his chops and went in for a nice long drink, yet when he began to suckle, he was greeted not by milk, but by a rich, creamy stream of vanilla ice cream with something called cookie dough in it. Svensen spat it out and demanded an exclamation of his goat friend/lover, but it was too late: the goat wife had died. Her final gift to the world was ice cream (incidentally, her first was the concept of frozen matter).

Always the opportunist, Svensen cut the goat's frozen teet off with a surgical knife (now known as a scalpel, then known as a scelpal), pulled the ice block's emergency release cord, and off he went. It took him only a few days to sell the magical dessert to a local pastry man, and thus ice cream was born from the frozen ashes of smut.

So next time you eat ice cream, think of Samantha's cold, lifeless body, her torso almost fully detached from her legs, and know that with every serving of this cold, lifeless treat, you bury this child further and further into the cold, lifeless ground.

2006-10-11T08:08:00.000-07:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Partially Certified CPR Instructor!

Weather Forecast for October 11th, 2006: BICUSPID!

2006-10-11T07:40:00.000-07:00

Photo of the Day

Whoops! Seems like somebody ordered the wrong sign for Stonecreek Park's handicapped spot

"You can stand up now, Mrs. Johanson. False alarm."

2006-10-10T08:54:00.000-07:00

Photo of the Day

Morning commuters board for another day of work in Chesterfield Ridge

"Call her your cousin from out of town and it's a tax write-off!"

2006-10-10T08:29:00.000-07:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Ire of the former Soviet Union!

Weather Forecast for October 10th, 2006: CAVALCADE!

2006-10-09T20:24:00.000-07:00

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Happy Birthday to Tony Shalhoub!

Me and Tony on his show Monk.

On this day in 1953, Tony Shalhoub was born in Green Bay, Wisconsin and the world has never been the same.

Tony, keep slayin' 'em, pal!

Your friend, Stanley Tucci

TUCCI IN 2007!

"A vote for Primo is a vote for Secondo!"

2006-10-09T07:18:00.000-07:00

Photo of the Day!

A pleasant autumn afternoon at the Chesterfield Ridge Cemetary.

"We bury our own!"

2006-10-09T07:16:00.000-07:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Engaging Talk Show Personality!

Weather Forecast for October 9th, 2006: FOYER!

2006-10-08T19:24:00.000-07:00

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ALLENBACH IN TWO-THOUSAND AND SEVEN

Dignity, Compassion, Furrowed Brow

Hiya everybody, it's me, beloved town mascot Monty, here with a STARTLING REVELATION...

As you all know, the events surrounding my death were foggy to say the least. After all, Thomas Allenbach says he ran over me with his beautiful Lincoln Navigator by accident, and that he swears it was an accident, but that's just a dirty lie. Accident. What is Mayor Allenbach hiding? Hiding.

I'll tell you what: James Walker killed me with his golf putter. My friendly, kind, and handsome master, Thomas Allenbach, was just doing his civic duty and COVERING UP for his fellow man. He knew that the town would take it easier if they thought it was just a mayoral mishap, rather than the violent outburst of a 14 handicap madman.

So there you have it: James Walker beat a dog to death with a golf club. It's on.

TIMOTHY ALLENBACH: I HAVE NEVER SLAUGHTERED AN ANIMAL WITH A PIECE OF SPORTING EQUIPMENT!

2006-10-08T19:08:00.000-07:00

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James Walker in 2007!

Hi friends, dear old James Walker here with a "Corrections and Apologies" section of my own...

First off, I want to acknowledge how absolutely out of line I was at the public debate last week. It was late, and well past my bed time. I am very old. Can you find any pity for an old man? If so, there's still time for donations (rim shot!)

But seriously folks, I do extend my deepest apology to the fifteen or so citizens who were in attendance during the latter portions of the event. I think that overall, the quality and intelligence of the general discussions outweigh the crude gesticulating that went on as the night came to a close. I hope we can put that past us and together, vote for me.

As stated above, I would also like to address a few corrections of my own. First off, my daughter's criminal past is not as severe as my opponents make it out to be and whatever her mishaps, she cannot take sole blame for them as she comes from a long line of working class sludge, a puddle of primordial ooze that I was only just lucky enough to crawl out of.

Second, the reason I was (minutes) late to the debate was NOT because I pooped my pants. I won't dignify that wild accusation by responding any further. 100% false.

Finally, yes, I did slightly exaggerate my golf handicap early on in my campaign, but I have since fired the dope who encouraged me to change it in the first place and hope to God that wherever he is, he is suffering. I am a 14 handicap, dear citizens, not a 13, and guess what? I'm damn proud of it.

Aren't fresh starts wonderful?

Let's make November 2007 brand new, shall we?

***

James Walker: If You Don't Vote for Me and I Die Shortly After, You'll Feel Terrible

2006-10-08T06:17:00.000-07:00

Photo of the Day!

Mayor Allenbach's breakfast is prepared and ready to be served.

"Needs more pork!"

2006-10-08T06:14:00.000-07:00

Weather or Not with Phil Stubbs, Questionable at Best!

Weather Forecast for October 8th, 2006: SQUIGGY!

2006-10-08T06:04:00.000-07:00

Investigative Reporting with Carl Monday: The Trapper Stealer, Part 1

by Carl Monday, Investigative Reporter

Let's take a look back to October 1st, 2006. It's a beautiful Sunday; children are running to and fro in the crisp outdoors, leaves are being raked, and Jean Feldman is stealing your money.

What?

That's right, the sweet woman that makes the best cupcakes in the county every year for the Stanley Tucci High School Bakesale Fundraiser has less then charitable intentions. After receiving an anonymous tip (from her ex-husband on Maple St.), I investigated the book keeping of one Jean Feldman. I was not prepared for what I uncovered.

It seems the $58.42 raised at last Sunday's Bakesale did not go to bettering the education of the students of Stanley Tucci High School. Rather, Mrs. Feldman, through a scheme that owes a debt to the plot of Superman III, laundered the money to purchase a fancy new Trapper Keeper for her son Robert "Bobby" Feldman Jr. I followed Bobby day and night for the better part of a week before finally confronting him about his ill-gotten gains in the middle of his American History class. That's an investigative reporting trick: always get 'em when they least expect it. It also works in battle. He began stammering, his eyes darting back and forth between my own eyes and those of his classmates, and claimed "he" had no idea where his mother got the money to buy his new expensive all-in-one organizer. I tried to push him harder, but at that point I was escorted out of the school by two unarmed school security guards (whom I now suspect were actually paid by Mrs. Feldman). Does anyone else smell cover up?

Not satisfied, I staked outside the Feldman's house, awaiting the return of the the young Feldman. Once Bobby was dropped off from school in his driveway by the mother of his crush Tina (driving a sassy white 1996 LeBaron), my newsteam and I sprung into action, and this time I wasn't about to let a few of Feldman's enforcers strong arm me from uncovering the truth. Dodging a punch to the head, I was able to get a statement from the young Feldman before he ran into the house,"[Expletive deleted] you, news man! Leave me alone or I'm calling the cops!"

Go ahead Trapper Keeper Bobby, call your police. Just know that it won't deter Carl Monday.

Come back on Tuesday for part 2 of my investigative report on the Wife Swapping Ring of Chesterfield Ridge. I'm going in. Deep.

Monday out.

2006-10-07T18:44:00.000-07:00

Kitten Korner

Breaking Kitten Knews!

A 4 hour standoff between local fire authorities and a tabby kitten ended in tears, tears of joy that is. Mrs. Kent of Baker's Circle phoned 911 last night at approximately 8:14PM to report that Caesar, her 2 year-old tabby, had climbed up into to oak tree outside her kitchen.

Fire authorities tried everything from cheese to warm milk, and even dead mice in an attempt to woo the cat back onto the ground. Finally, at 12:08AM local time, Caesar fell asleep amidst the sirens and children's sobs, and fell out of the tree into the trampoline waiting below. Mother and kitten are doing well.

Still no update on the names of the Johansson calico litter.

2006-10-07T09:07:00.000-07:00

And Then There Were Eight
Mayoral Millionaire Candidate Killed in Freak Tunneling Accident
by Eric Mills, Our Town Staff

Early this morning, neighbors of mayoral candidate Jack Habishaw were awoken by what one resident called "a huge boom." The boom, they would soon find out, was an explosion caused by a malfunction in Mr. Habishaw's much ballyhood tunneling machine. An explosion that took his life.

The 42 year old venture capitalist made his fortune through investing in various startup companies, from the local (Daisy's Dairy Shack) to the national (Larry's Price Club), and only recently had he turned his sights on politics.

After reading an article in this very paper, one that outlined a plan for a subterranean luxury community, Mr. Habishaw decided that he would put his money where his mouth was, and go for one last adventure before retiring.

Says his friend and sometimes business partner Larry Scheft, "Jackie was the kind of guy who took risks in life, the kind of friend who believed that nobody won unless everybody won. He was just a gracious guy and his heart was as big as his yacht."

The accident marks the week's second tragedy, following the hit-and-run killing of local saint Sammy Brown. It also is the second time in as many days that the pool of mayoral candidates has been reduced, with Tony Shalhoub dropping out to support his friend Stanley Tucci in what some are calling a cheap publicity stunt, and others a "fantastic networking opportunity."

For the past several weeks, Mr. Habishaw had been holed up in his gated home furiously working to complete his tunneling machine, a key element in the creation of said subterranean country, in time before the November election. Says Scheft, "He wanted to do it as a gift to the community...once he started working on it and realized that the plan actually might work, he stopped caring about winning the election, and focused more on giving the citizens of Chesterfield Ridge this beautiful gift. He really cared."

He continued, "Yeah he may have been a little intense for some people, what with the hot air ballooning around the globe, and the parachuting his nephews and nieces to school, and the backyard safari and all that stuff. But when you get right down to it, Jack Habishaw was the rare individual who really attacks life with both hands. Not many people can say that. Also, he really loved soup."

***

With his plans coming along better than he had expected, reports tell us that early this morning Habishaw decided to give his machine a test run. Sometime around 4AM, neighbors heard "machine sounds and digging noises" followed shortly by "an explosion." Police on the scene say that Mr. Habishaw died immediately and that efforts to revive him were hopeless.

Experts say that the designs for his tunneling machine were flawed from the get-go. Local science man Daryl Krenshaw had a chance to review the plans before they were carted off to the family vault and says that, "even a layman could tell that there was no way this machine would work. First of all the materials he used were not compatible to say the least: he had somehow obtained various military weaponry, most of it rusted and useless and taped, yes taped, them to the side of the machine.

"Then he had a few missiles drilled onto the side of the thing, not to mention the giant drill up front. All this, combined with the fact that the gas tanks were also on the outside of the machine makes for one very flamable device. I'm just amazed more people weren't injured. And don't even get me started on the plan itself...tunnel to the Earth's core? What was he thinking?"

The machine was modeled after a Ninja Turtles lunch box Mr. Habishaw had seen while strolling the aisles of one of the price clubs he helped create. According to his personal journal, it was at this moment that Mr. Habishaw, who had been quite taken with the ideas of the Our Town article, was struck with inspiration.

To quote his journal, "I had been mulling over the article for the better part of a week: was it possible to create a world without poor people? Or better yet, create a world where poor people weren't allowed? I had been looking into contained blasting devices that would be able to dig down on their own before detonating and creating hollowed spaces under the earth's surface, but it all seemed too risky. When I came upon the lunch box, I had a Eureka! moment, put two and two together, and the project in its current incarnation was born."

Pouring over the journal with friends and family at a private service, Mr. Scheft turned the page, wiped a tear from his eye and laughed. "That's Jackie Boy for ya."

The family has not yet made a decision regarding what to do with his vast estate, but friends close to the source say that it will most likely be "grossly extravagant."

2006-10-07T08:56:00.000-07:00

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STANLEY TUCCI IN 2007!

A Message From Tony Shalhoub

Best Friends!

Hi folks, it's me, your good friend Tony Shalhoub. Yep, that's me with my good friend and Big Night co-star Stanley Tucci in a scene from my hit show, Monk.

I know many of you are disappointed that I have withdrawn from the race in order to support my good friend and fellow actor Stanley Tucci, but just think of it this way: a vote for Stanley Tucci is a vote for your good pal Tony.

Thanks, and God Bless.
*********************

"A vote for Secondo is a vote for Primo..."

Stanley Tucci in 2007

2006-10-07T08:40:00.000-07:00

Photo of the Day for October 7th, 2006!

Mayor Allenbach dressed as the Easter Bunny at his annual Yom Kipur Easter Egg Hunt.

"Don't move."