#4 Dick About Town! by Dick Holder and The Police Blotter and Pound Count
"Dick About Town!" by Dick Holder
I made arrangements with the owner/entrepreneur for a tour and a write-up. Bovina, overdelightedly, wrapped her arms around me and swallowed me with her ample bosom. Though it was a warm and fragrant bosom, I thought for seconds, I was gonna die – and for nought but a story. This story.
The Gut Bucket Biker Bar and Food Court, is a one-story building comfortably nestling three commercial enterprises. The building itself is of a unique and confrontationally eclectic architectural composition. The front is a warm and welcoming ramshackle chic – the entryway to the Gut Bucket. Each side, both in creamsicle orange aluminum siding, were home to on the one side The Hot Waffle Hut; on the other side, the Catfish On A Stick Shack.
The back wall was a collage of cement blocks, bricks, block glass windows; one was silver, the other, blue; and there were more vent pipes, and louvres than would be found in a cocaine processing plant.
When making arrangements for the story, the enterpriser, assured me also that a great bowl of authentic Ramen noodles could be got in the Gut Bucket… so there’s that too.
In keeping with the the eclecticism, the entrepriser, Bovina, is really Svetlana Grushinskaya Bovinovna. While a Member of the Soviet Combined Power Lifting and Synchronized Swimming Team touring America, she defected to the Capitalist West during a layover in Beaverlick on December 24 1991, one day before the Soviet collapse. Svetlana was a born silver spoon capitalist. She wasn’t going back. Made an offer to join the WWIWICC – the World Wide Intersexual Wrestling & International Curling Confederation – to grapple in the ring as the ‘heavy’, she jumped at the opportunity that was right up her alley. Svetlana became her own agent, worked out a contract for 5% of the house, 4% of the concessions, 3% of fan/apparel sales, and 2% of the parking, and worked up her own ‘villain’ persona – the illegitimate daughter, of the illegitimate daughter, of the illegitimate daughter, of Grigori Rasputin – Rasputina.
When a ring opponent – ex Sumo wrestler – Sake Banzai – went off script in a choreographed bout and improvised a few liberties with Svetlana’s pinable parts, Rasputina hoisted The Great Sake overhead and threw him into a ring post – breaking one each; an arm and a leg. Asked to leave the WWIWICC, Svetlana told the promoters it would cost them a buyout of the remaining three years of her contract.
With two male opponents in the hospital and two more scratching itches with a coat hanger, and three of the four uncertain as to the useful integrity of their manhood, they paid her off – and a bonus if she’d retire that very day. She did.
Seeing the possibilities in everything, Svetlana, one day walks into the Gut Bucket and makes Gabby Swillingit an offer. Gabby’s not selling his living, especially not to a woman. Svetlana doubles the offer. “No” still. Final offer – Svetlana will bet the money against the Gut Bucket that she can beat Gabby in three events – arm wrestling, body presses, and manhole tossing. Gabby, built like Jabba the Hut but not as handsome, agrees. He loses all three events, removes himself from the premises with two bottles of Jose Cuervo in hand and… last heard of… was a mariachi band promoter down in Chihuahua, Mexico.
Svetlana took the Gut Bucket, subdivided it into the Hot Waffle House and then again with Catfish On A Stick. She reclaimed her real identity and was thereafter known to all, affectionately – there was NO option – as Bovina – the one woman conglomerate that was Rasputina, Inc.
Well, I wasn’t here for waffles or fish on a stick so… into the Gut Bucket.
Entering the dark cool of the Bucket, one is assaulted by ‘biker” chic. These guys got style, and its busy baroque. Like many a church, most every bit of space was employed in the service of honoring the biker gang credo and lore. Festooning the walls? Bikes! Harleys are mounted; monuments to the great Bad Ass Beavers of the gloried past – Hooch, Barnacle, Lil Beaver, Numbnuts. And also their Leathers – with ‘BABs’ stenciled in script across the backs.
Also on the wall a gallery of B&W photos – historical paeans to the biker gang in the halcyon days of the biker phenomenon of the middle of the last century – the ’50s. One, a group picture, was laureled with ribbons in gang colors – two shades of brown – chocolate and coffee. It was the BABs of 1956 – The Crazy Eighty – the Zenith of BAD ASS BEAVERS. There were only 76 of them but “Crazy Eighty’ dripped with poetic elegance. Crazy 76 had no vroom-vroom… Today, there are 16 BABs and their ol’ ladies – girlfriends, wives, and ‘significant’ others.
And what have we here? Smack dab in the middle of the Bucket?
“YOOHOO! DICK!”
The voice was thick with a charming Russian accent – Ninotchka on whey milkshakes, vitamin supplements, beet juice and steroids cocktails, Stolichnaya shots with slivovitz chasers.
“YOOHOO! DICK!”
The bartendress recognizes me, hails me over. There is a hefty bar between me and Bovina’s bosom – I feel safe. She bids me turn around for an introduction.
My back is turned. What I can’t see – Bo, hoisting herself onto the bar, and swinging … (“WHAT THE #?%& !! WAS THAT!”) a leg over my head… and… just like “snap” poor Dick’s in a scissors hold and having his hair tousled.
The thought whirrs through my mind – Rasputina-Svetlana-Bovina, had probably wrecked more men with physical affection than anger. Another thought whirrs – “Dear Dick, stick to free meals and restaurant reviews”.
“Guyz! GUYZ! MEATZ-HEADZ! … Thees is Diiick Holder – is not cutest name? Diiick? (right then, there, that kinda scared me) Diick whill be doing Gazette newz on Gut Bucket. Be nice and showing him good times… OKAYYYY!
Before I am released to the wild… Bovina tags me; grabs hold of my face… tilts my head back, and osculates yours truly breathless. It whirrs through my mind… “How many ways can this woman suffocate a man?!?”
From that moment, of hair tousling – and spine/ribcage realignment – Ol’ Dick had been… messed, caressed, tugged, hugged, nuzzled, tickled; had his arm thumped, chest thumped, belly bumped, nose tweaked, body-shook, hand-shook, and chin-chucked; I’d been high-fived, hand slapped, back-slapped, head patted, butt-patted, bear-hugged, had my hair tousled… (again and again), put in a head-lock by “Smooch” (yet another introduction to a munificent bosom) lifted overhead, called ‘little buddy” and even kissed… by Skippy. And that was all at the welcoming of just half the Bad Ass Beavers of Beaverlick – and their ol’ ladies – and Skippy was not a lady… or a woman!
The welcoming committee was made up of ‘Mucilage’, ‘Jello’, ‘Numbnuts (III) and Skippy. On the distaff side – Smooch, Creamy, and Coagulotta. More Babs showed through the evening. I believe I had made the acquaintance of all sixteen BABs and their better halves. By the way, the ‘better halves’ did not much waver from the a conspicuous paradigm – they were substantial – powerfully leggy, unmistakably chesty, amiably physical, and teasingly charming.
The talk flows with the liquor. Numbnuts (III) was grandson of the original founder and legendary BAB. The nick ‘Numbnuts’ revealed an apparently congenital condition passed generationally whereby the ’man package’ seizes up and goes numb after about 30 minutes of riding – forcing a rest stop. All three ‘Numbnuts’ spent a lot of time “catching up”.
Mucilage and Smooch are married and run the notorious looking heavily vented back room previously mentioned. They run a nano-micro craft brewery in that back room with hydroponically grown hops and a secret ingredient. The beer has to it a reputation as decently tasty and medically, holistically, ameliorative. They have standing orders from the Beaver Lodge Body Tuning & Karmic Krystal Lifecycle Spa & Wellness Center for all the HaufenhopfenBrau they can bottle. The Gut Bucket gets a cut.
Skippy was originally a go-fer, then mascot, then ‘good luck charm’ then honorary BAB, then full ass Bad Ass Beaver. He rides the sole Indian in the gang – with paisley sequined and glittered saddle bags.
Also extending “hellos” – ’Trim, ‘Smurf’, ‘Baby’ (a 410 pound BAB), ’Spanx’, ‘Frijol’, and ‘Brillo’. The last, I find, works part time at Mona Zenobiya’s Toys R Us Parlour du Femme – “Speedo Waxes” BY APPOINTMENT ONLY”,
And there’s Trim, who works at Toney’s Exotic Dining and Butchering Bistro. Trim will butcher anything you bring in that’s dead, including ‘road kill’. He’s also the official Mohel at Rabbi Lev Lavarburton’s Mo Shemp Purly Revised Reform Synagogue. His card… “Infants and Convert’s – Custom Briths To Order”.
What there was in the nature of ‘dangerous’ or unsettling, at the Bucket was not one Bad Ass Beaver… but two badass dogs. Two truly imposing – English mastiffs. Both had permanent soft vibrato growls, a bit of drool, and full run of the place… and both with lurid canine impulses to sniff everything. They had all the signs of menace yet neither snarled or barked and both could and did get cuddley with patrons. Which is it that prevails again, dogs taking after their masters or the other way round? I have the notion the two are permanently upset by nothing more than being two stud mastiffs called… Thelma and Louse.
Here’s Louise – greeting Ol’ Dick.
As midnight approaches I’m set to call it a night. Still have to put this to copy, and to sleep, have it in the editor’s inbox by 7 AM or have her doggin’ me all day belching peaty scotch and blowing Macanudo smoke in my face – threatening to put me on ‘obits’ (once, IN obits).
So I’m jotting some final notes and, of a sudden, the Bucket goes stone silent. A distant, faint reverberation slowly grows louder, then distinct. Of another sudden, all hell breaks out – in tones of metal and leather slapping. There are guns all over the place. (“WHAT THE #?%& !! Is this!”) There’s gonna be a gunfight and all Dick has is a sweaty glass of white wine spritzer.
Smurf grabs hold of me and drags me outside. “I don’t have a gun!” I plead. Smurf ejects six cartridges from a model 29 hands me the empty gun… “just wave it around… like a menace to society.”
It whirrs through my mind… “Ol’ Dick can’t do ‘menacing’ – at least not an unfunny one.”
Bovina joins all the BABs outside sportin’ heavy metal, slaps in a magazine and racks one into the chamber. Bo glimmers in the moonlight, decked out magnificent. She makes Rambo look like a puss slappin’ fancy-nancy valley girl.
Dick: “WHAT THE #?%& !! IS THAT she’s hoisting?”
Smurf: “it’s a Russian military Kalashnikov Saiga-12 gauge 8 shot semi-auto shotgun – it’s Bo’s attention gettin’ gun of choice. She had some Ruskie buds of hers ship her four crates from the Russian black market… she seems to like you, she’ll give you a deal.”
Dick: “WHAT THE #?%& !! Is goin on?”
Smurf: It’s the Trogs. They’re on a “rumble ride’
Dick: Trogs?
Smurf: Rival Biker Gang – the Troglodytes, from Morebuck. We call ’em “Frogs” it pees them off somethin’ awful.
Dick : And Rumble Ride?
“RUMBLE Rides”, I learn, are call outs, challenges to rival bikers for a showdown… which never ever happen. Wanker County, in 1961, had made rumbling without a permit illegal; a permit has never been issued.
The Frogs arrive and take to circling the Gut Bucket. The second time round… Bo lets off eight shots in the air. The Trogs call it a night and rev-rumble away. The BABs will answer in kind within a week’s time – it’s a must, a ritual, deference to the past, a warm blooded memorial to the ‘Crazy Eighty’.
And what have we here? Smack dab in the middle of the Bucket?
Well, what we have is Castorius The Great, the largest beaver ever recorded in North America (4’ 4¼” – 88 lbs), commemoratively stuffed and displayed, and… exalted. And, legendarily, the last beaver ever got by Beaverlick’s original settler – Oriol Lick.
There are, presently, three initiates pledging for Bad Ass Beaver. The final test, I’m told, is to get naked and improvisationally jiggy with… Castorious The Great. Sober! Hey… how bad can it be? Imagine if the test of your affections was doing as much with Svetlana Grushinskaya Bovinovna.
Final Note:
Svetlana Grushinskaya Bovinovna is a BAB and Lodge Mother to the BABs. She rides her own tricked out Harley Low Rider in Periwinkle Blue with discreet specks of violet… to match her eyes.
And that’s how it rolls at the Gut Bucket Roadhouse Biker Bar and Food Court. It’s worth the visit. ’Til next time and the next place…
The Gut Bucket Biker Bar and Food Court, is a one-story building comfortably nestling three commercial enterprises. The building itself is of a unique and confrontationally eclectic architectural composition. The front is a warm and welcoming ramshackle chic – the entryway to the Gut Bucket. Each side, both in creamsicle orange aluminum siding, were home to on the one side The Hot Waffle Hut; on the other side, the Catfish On A Stick Shack.
The back wall was a collage of cement blocks, bricks, block glass windows; one was silver, the other, blue; and there were more vent pipes, and louvres than would be found in a cocaine processing plant.
When making arrangements for the story, the enterpriser, assured me also that a great bowl of authentic Ramen noodles could be got in the Gut Bucket… so there’s that too.
In keeping with the the eclecticism, the entrepriser, Bovina, is really Svetlana Grushinskaya Bovinovna. While a Member of the Soviet Combined Power Lifting and Synchronized Swimming Team touring America, she defected to the Capitalist West during a layover in Beaverlick on December 24 1991, one day before the Soviet collapse. Svetlana was a born silver spoon capitalist. She wasn’t going back. Made an offer to join the WWIWICC – the World Wide Intersexual Wrestling & International Curling Confederation – to grapple in the ring as the ‘heavy’, she jumped at the opportunity that was right up her alley. Svetlana became her own agent, worked out a contract for 5% of the house, 4% of the concessions, 3% of fan/apparel sales, and 2% of the parking, and worked up her own ‘villain’ persona – the illegitimate daughter, of the illegitimate daughter, of the illegitimate daughter, of Grigori Rasputin – Rasputina.
When a ring opponent – ex Sumo wrestler – Sake Banzai – went off script in a choreographed bout and improvised a few liberties with Svetlana’s pinable parts, Rasputina hoisted The Great Sake overhead and threw him into a ring post – breaking one each; an arm and a leg. Asked to leave the WWIWICC, Svetlana told the promoters it would cost them a buyout of the remaining three years of her contract.
With two male opponents in the hospital and two more scratching itches with a coat hanger, and three of the four uncertain as to the useful integrity of their manhood, they paid her off – and a bonus if she’d retire that very day. She did.
Seeing the possibilities in everything, Svetlana, one day walks into the Gut Bucket and makes Gabby Swillingit an offer. Gabby’s not selling his living, especially not to a woman. Svetlana doubles the offer. “No” still. Final offer – Svetlana will bet the money against the Gut Bucket that she can beat Gabby in three events – arm wrestling, body presses, and manhole tossing. Gabby, built like Jabba the Hut but not as handsome, agrees. He loses all three events, removes himself from the premises with two bottles of Jose Cuervo in hand and… last heard of… was a mariachi band promoter down in Chihuahua, Mexico.
Svetlana took the Gut Bucket, subdivided it into the Hot Waffle House and then again with Catfish On A Stick. She reclaimed her real identity and was thereafter known to all, affectionately – there was NO option – as Bovina – the one woman conglomerate that was Rasputina, Inc.
Well, I wasn’t here for waffles or fish on a stick so… into the Gut Bucket.
Entering the dark cool of the Bucket, one is assaulted by ‘biker” chic. These guys got style, and its busy baroque. Like many a church, most every bit of space was employed in the service of honoring the biker gang credo and lore. Festooning the walls? Bikes! Harleys are mounted; monuments to the great Bad Ass Beavers of the gloried past – Hooch, Barnacle, Lil Beaver, Numbnuts. And also their Leathers – with ‘BABs’ stenciled in script across the backs.
Also on the wall a gallery of B&W photos – historical paeans to the biker gang in the halcyon days of the biker phenomenon of the middle of the last century – the ’50s. One, a group picture, was laureled with ribbons in gang colors – two shades of brown – chocolate and coffee. It was the BABs of 1956 – The Crazy Eighty – the Zenith of BAD ASS BEAVERS. There were only 76 of them but “Crazy Eighty’ dripped with poetic elegance. Crazy 76 had no vroom-vroom… Today, there are 16 BABs and their ol’ ladies – girlfriends, wives, and ‘significant’ others.
And what have we here? Smack dab in the middle of the Bucket?
“YOOHOO! DICK!”
The voice was thick with a charming Russian accent – Ninotchka on whey milkshakes, vitamin supplements, beet juice and steroids cocktails, Stolichnaya shots with slivovitz chasers.
“YOOHOO! DICK!”
The bartendress recognizes me, hails me over. There is a hefty bar between me and Bovina’s bosom – I feel safe. She bids me turn around for an introduction.
My back is turned. What I can’t see – Bo, hoisting herself onto the bar, and swinging … (“WHAT THE #?%& !! WAS THAT!”) a leg over my head… and… just like “snap” poor Dick’s in a scissors hold and having his hair tousled.
The thought whirrs through my mind – Rasputina-Svetlana-Bovina, had probably wrecked more men with physical affection than anger. Another thought whirrs – “Dear Dick, stick to free meals and restaurant reviews”.
“Guyz! GUYZ! MEATZ-HEADZ! … Thees is Diiick Holder – is not cutest name? Diiick? (right then, there, that kinda scared me) Diick whill be doing Gazette newz on Gut Bucket. Be nice and showing him good times… OKAYYYY!
Before I am released to the wild… Bovina tags me; grabs hold of my face… tilts my head back, and osculates yours truly breathless. It whirrs through my mind… “How many ways can this woman suffocate a man?!?”
From that moment, of hair tousling – and spine/ribcage realignment – Ol’ Dick had been… messed, caressed, tugged, hugged, nuzzled, tickled; had his arm thumped, chest thumped, belly bumped, nose tweaked, body-shook, hand-shook, and chin-chucked; I’d been high-fived, hand slapped, back-slapped, head patted, butt-patted, bear-hugged, had my hair tousled… (again and again), put in a head-lock by “Smooch” (yet another introduction to a munificent bosom) lifted overhead, called ‘little buddy” and even kissed… by Skippy. And that was all at the welcoming of just half the Bad Ass Beavers of Beaverlick – and their ol’ ladies – and Skippy was not a lady… or a woman!
The welcoming committee was made up of ‘Mucilage’, ‘Jello’, ‘Numbnuts (III) and Skippy. On the distaff side – Smooch, Creamy, and Coagulotta. More Babs showed through the evening. I believe I had made the acquaintance of all sixteen BABs and their better halves. By the way, the ‘better halves’ did not much waver from the a conspicuous paradigm – they were substantial – powerfully leggy, unmistakably chesty, amiably physical, and teasingly charming.
The talk flows with the liquor. Numbnuts (III) was grandson of the original founder and legendary BAB. The nick ‘Numbnuts’ revealed an apparently congenital condition passed generationally whereby the ’man package’ seizes up and goes numb after about 30 minutes of riding – forcing a rest stop. All three ‘Numbnuts’ spent a lot of time “catching up”.
Mucilage and Smooch are married and run the notorious looking heavily vented back room previously mentioned. They run a nano-micro craft brewery in that back room with hydroponically grown hops and a secret ingredient. The beer has to it a reputation as decently tasty and medically, holistically, ameliorative. They have standing orders from the Beaver Lodge Body Tuning & Karmic Krystal Lifecycle Spa & Wellness Center for all the HaufenhopfenBrau they can bottle. The Gut Bucket gets a cut.
Skippy was originally a go-fer, then mascot, then ‘good luck charm’ then honorary BAB, then full ass Bad Ass Beaver. He rides the sole Indian in the gang – with paisley sequined and glittered saddle bags.
Also extending “hellos” – ’Trim, ‘Smurf’, ‘Baby’ (a 410 pound BAB), ’Spanx’, ‘Frijol’, and ‘Brillo’. The last, I find, works part time at Mona Zenobiya’s Toys R Us Parlour du Femme – “Speedo Waxes” BY APPOINTMENT ONLY”,
And there’s Trim, who works at Toney’s Exotic Dining and Butchering Bistro. Trim will butcher anything you bring in that’s dead, including ‘road kill’. He’s also the official Mohel at Rabbi Lev Lavarburton’s Mo Shemp Purly Revised Reform Synagogue. His card… “Infants and Convert’s – Custom Briths To Order”.
What there was in the nature of ‘dangerous’ or unsettling, at the Bucket was not one Bad Ass Beaver… but two badass dogs. Two truly imposing – English mastiffs. Both had permanent soft vibrato growls, a bit of drool, and full run of the place… and both with lurid canine impulses to sniff everything. They had all the signs of menace yet neither snarled or barked and both could and did get cuddley with patrons. Which is it that prevails again, dogs taking after their masters or the other way round? I have the notion the two are permanently upset by nothing more than being two stud mastiffs called… Thelma and Louse.
Here’s Louise – greeting Ol’ Dick.
As midnight approaches I’m set to call it a night. Still have to put this to copy, and to sleep, have it in the editor’s inbox by 7 AM or have her doggin’ me all day belching peaty scotch and blowing Macanudo smoke in my face – threatening to put me on ‘obits’ (once, IN obits).
So I’m jotting some final notes and, of a sudden, the Bucket goes stone silent. A distant, faint reverberation slowly grows louder, then distinct. Of another sudden, all hell breaks out – in tones of metal and leather slapping. There are guns all over the place. (“WHAT THE #?%& !! Is this!”) There’s gonna be a gunfight and all Dick has is a sweaty glass of white wine spritzer.
Smurf grabs hold of me and drags me outside. “I don’t have a gun!” I plead. Smurf ejects six cartridges from a model 29 hands me the empty gun… “just wave it around… like a menace to society.”
It whirrs through my mind… “Ol’ Dick can’t do ‘menacing’ – at least not an unfunny one.”
Bovina joins all the BABs outside sportin’ heavy metal, slaps in a magazine and racks one into the chamber. Bo glimmers in the moonlight, decked out magnificent. She makes Rambo look like a puss slappin’ fancy-nancy valley girl.
Dick: “WHAT THE #?%& !! IS THAT she’s hoisting?”
Smurf: “it’s a Russian military Kalashnikov Saiga-12 gauge 8 shot semi-auto shotgun – it’s Bo’s attention gettin’ gun of choice. She had some Ruskie buds of hers ship her four crates from the Russian black market… she seems to like you, she’ll give you a deal.”
Dick: “WHAT THE #?%& !! Is goin on?”
Smurf: It’s the Trogs. They’re on a “rumble ride’
Dick: Trogs?
Smurf: Rival Biker Gang – the Troglodytes, from Morebuck. We call ’em “Frogs” it pees them off somethin’ awful.
Dick : And Rumble Ride?
“RUMBLE Rides”, I learn, are call outs, challenges to rival bikers for a showdown… which never ever happen. Wanker County, in 1961, had made rumbling without a permit illegal; a permit has never been issued.
The Frogs arrive and take to circling the Gut Bucket. The second time round… Bo lets off eight shots in the air. The Trogs call it a night and rev-rumble away. The BABs will answer in kind within a week’s time – it’s a must, a ritual, deference to the past, a warm blooded memorial to the ‘Crazy Eighty’.
And what have we here? Smack dab in the middle of the Bucket?
Well, what we have is Castorius The Great, the largest beaver ever recorded in North America (4’ 4¼” – 88 lbs), commemoratively stuffed and displayed, and… exalted. And, legendarily, the last beaver ever got by Beaverlick’s original settler – Oriol Lick.
There are, presently, three initiates pledging for Bad Ass Beaver. The final test, I’m told, is to get naked and improvisationally jiggy with… Castorious The Great. Sober! Hey… how bad can it be? Imagine if the test of your affections was doing as much with Svetlana Grushinskaya Bovinovna.
Final Note:
Svetlana Grushinskaya Bovinovna is a BAB and Lodge Mother to the BABs. She rides her own tricked out Harley Low Rider in Periwinkle Blue with discreet specks of violet… to match her eyes.
And that’s how it rolls at the Gut Bucket Roadhouse Biker Bar and Food Court. It’s worth the visit. ’Til next time and the next place…
The Beaverlick Police Blotter and Pound Count by Manny Polewhacker
The Beaverlick Gazette publishes police and sheriff reports as a public service to its readers, so all Beaverlickers know who to talk about for the rest of the week. It is important to remember that an arrest should not imply guilt but it is obvious to anyone with a brain that if you find yourself handcuffed and sitting in the back of a police cruiser, you are guilty or you are doing something weird with your policeman boyfriend.
Nevertheless, we are obligated to reiterate that the law of the land is that the person mentioned is “innocent until proven guilty in a court of law” though we do, as stated, believe that is a bunch of hoity toity, namby pamby criminal coddling fannying about.
When juveniles are released from jail, it is into the care of a parent or guardian. God help them.
It is the policy of Beaverlick Gazette to publish all names made available in the police and court reports. There are no exceptions. So, watch it!
Accidents:
• A report was received at 6:21 p.m. Friday that a 2005 Chevrolet pickup driven by Harlen Crik collided with a 2007 Nissan Altima driven by his wife, Ethel. They were both cited for causing a public disturbance, being extremely unreasonable, and told to knock it off.
• A report was received at 10:51 a.m. Monday that a 2003 Pontiac Grand Prix driven by Bitsy Sleekerfeld slid into one of Rolf Dammerflick’s cows near East Highway 50. The car suffered some damage, and the cow required therapy.
Incidents:
• A report was received at 7:08 p.m. Friday of a fire in coming from Cleveland “Slatz” Fritch’s house at the end of Dog Lick Lake. It turned out to be some smoke from Slatz cooking his famous “Roadkill ala Fritch” on his grill. He was cited for violation of Beaverlick’s Air Quality regulations.
• George Washington Tinkram reported at 8:08 p.m. Friday that he was assaulted by Avis Krug, who apparently was upset that Tinkram took Krug’s girlfriend, Leanna Cordspinkler, to the prom 49 years ago. Leanna was alerted, and came to the police department to confirm that she wouldn’t have continued to date either of the men if they were the last two men on earth and they were both made of chocolate.
• Lee Crockmocker reported at 7:45 p.m. Sunday that his foot was run over by a maroon SUV in the Eat’N’Stuff parking lot. The SUV was undamaged, and Crockmocker was told to pay more attention to where his feet were.
• Flip Dipplespunk was arrested for driving under the influence Sunday night in the 1100 block of Sam Berlingclopper Memorial Cul de Sac after he drove through Hollis Mip’s front yard flamingo collection.
• A sheriff’s office report was received at 7:48 p.m. Friday that the front door on Meryl and Daphne Banglinger’s residence was forced open and a prescription medication and two canning jars full of Rosenkrantz Kleltch’s sour mash whiskey was stolen.
• A request was made at 3:19 a.m. Sunday for helping Turner County locate Conroy Blangflapper, from Hollow Butte, who was eventually found in Wendell Hunkenborg’s garage, hanging upside down and stark naked; claiming he was a bat. Police found two empty canning jars and Meryl Banlinger’s gout medicine at the scene.
Arrests:
• Magician Dawna Yankton, 50, was arrested Saturday on a bench warrant for failure to appear.
• Franklin Whopshtick, 19, was arrested Friday for possession of marijuana.
• Preston Deitloff, 19, was arrested Friday for possession of marijuana.
• Crampton Littlebear, 18, was arrested Friday for possession of marijuana.
• Flick Dolney, 48, was arrested for selling marijuana, disturbing the peace, possession of pornography for having a National Geographic special issue on Undiscovered African Tribes and claiming that the police “really harshed his buzz”.
• Davis St. Stubbens, 52, was arrested for being an arrogant twerp, unlawfully posing as John F. Kennedy’s “secret” son Leon, and trying to cash a check with insufficient funds.
• Ula Klinedecker 64, was arrested originally for solicitation but was eventually charged for trying to sell goods way past their sell-by date. Her husband, Ignatz, was also arrested for community trash violations and told to keep his wife in the house.
• Logan and Udessa Larkspur 41 and 39 respectively, were arrested for Domestic Disturbance, Disturbing the Peace, Public Indecency, Possession of yard implements with intent to do bodily harm, and Horticulture Destruction when Logan destroyed a tulip bed with a weed whacker and Udessa cut the member off the statue of “Romulus Relieving Himself Into The Birdbath” and beat him with it.
• Arrested: Cleveland Fritch for Public Indecency; but was eventually released when it was determined that he was on his way to the Post Office but forgot where he was and what he was doing and walked into Freda Lee Clingcraplin’s wash drying on the clothesline in her backyard, which was filled with her unmentionables.
Pound Count:
Several animals are available at the Hubie X Flerm Memorial Animal Shelter and Bait shop. Now available: two dogs, a three-legged cat, a couple of chickens, a wombat, five turtles rescued from Masie Blatstopper’s pit bull “Fluffy”, and seven piglets donated by Arturo Bing, which is all he received from the divorce. They also have an animal that resembles a cross between an anteater and a dachshund. We aren’t sure what it is, but it is eating the Animal Control Officer’s desk. For more information, Call the Beaverlick Police Department’s Animal Control Officer, from 8 a.m.-4 p.m. Monday-Friday at 555-9494, or 555-5210, as long as the desk holds out. A $5 fee is required to adopt an animal except for the wombat, which will cost $10 and proof of taser ownership.
Nevertheless, we are obligated to reiterate that the law of the land is that the person mentioned is “innocent until proven guilty in a court of law” though we do, as stated, believe that is a bunch of hoity toity, namby pamby criminal coddling fannying about.
When juveniles are released from jail, it is into the care of a parent or guardian. God help them.
It is the policy of Beaverlick Gazette to publish all names made available in the police and court reports. There are no exceptions. So, watch it!
Accidents:
• A report was received at 6:21 p.m. Friday that a 2005 Chevrolet pickup driven by Harlen Crik collided with a 2007 Nissan Altima driven by his wife, Ethel. They were both cited for causing a public disturbance, being extremely unreasonable, and told to knock it off.
• A report was received at 10:51 a.m. Monday that a 2003 Pontiac Grand Prix driven by Bitsy Sleekerfeld slid into one of Rolf Dammerflick’s cows near East Highway 50. The car suffered some damage, and the cow required therapy.
Incidents:
• A report was received at 7:08 p.m. Friday of a fire in coming from Cleveland “Slatz” Fritch’s house at the end of Dog Lick Lake. It turned out to be some smoke from Slatz cooking his famous “Roadkill ala Fritch” on his grill. He was cited for violation of Beaverlick’s Air Quality regulations.
• George Washington Tinkram reported at 8:08 p.m. Friday that he was assaulted by Avis Krug, who apparently was upset that Tinkram took Krug’s girlfriend, Leanna Cordspinkler, to the prom 49 years ago. Leanna was alerted, and came to the police department to confirm that she wouldn’t have continued to date either of the men if they were the last two men on earth and they were both made of chocolate.
• Lee Crockmocker reported at 7:45 p.m. Sunday that his foot was run over by a maroon SUV in the Eat’N’Stuff parking lot. The SUV was undamaged, and Crockmocker was told to pay more attention to where his feet were.
• Flip Dipplespunk was arrested for driving under the influence Sunday night in the 1100 block of Sam Berlingclopper Memorial Cul de Sac after he drove through Hollis Mip’s front yard flamingo collection.
• A sheriff’s office report was received at 7:48 p.m. Friday that the front door on Meryl and Daphne Banglinger’s residence was forced open and a prescription medication and two canning jars full of Rosenkrantz Kleltch’s sour mash whiskey was stolen.
• A request was made at 3:19 a.m. Sunday for helping Turner County locate Conroy Blangflapper, from Hollow Butte, who was eventually found in Wendell Hunkenborg’s garage, hanging upside down and stark naked; claiming he was a bat. Police found two empty canning jars and Meryl Banlinger’s gout medicine at the scene.
Arrests:
• Magician Dawna Yankton, 50, was arrested Saturday on a bench warrant for failure to appear.
• Franklin Whopshtick, 19, was arrested Friday for possession of marijuana.
• Preston Deitloff, 19, was arrested Friday for possession of marijuana.
• Crampton Littlebear, 18, was arrested Friday for possession of marijuana.
• Flick Dolney, 48, was arrested for selling marijuana, disturbing the peace, possession of pornography for having a National Geographic special issue on Undiscovered African Tribes and claiming that the police “really harshed his buzz”.
• Davis St. Stubbens, 52, was arrested for being an arrogant twerp, unlawfully posing as John F. Kennedy’s “secret” son Leon, and trying to cash a check with insufficient funds.
• Ula Klinedecker 64, was arrested originally for solicitation but was eventually charged for trying to sell goods way past their sell-by date. Her husband, Ignatz, was also arrested for community trash violations and told to keep his wife in the house.
• Logan and Udessa Larkspur 41 and 39 respectively, were arrested for Domestic Disturbance, Disturbing the Peace, Public Indecency, Possession of yard implements with intent to do bodily harm, and Horticulture Destruction when Logan destroyed a tulip bed with a weed whacker and Udessa cut the member off the statue of “Romulus Relieving Himself Into The Birdbath” and beat him with it.
• Arrested: Cleveland Fritch for Public Indecency; but was eventually released when it was determined that he was on his way to the Post Office but forgot where he was and what he was doing and walked into Freda Lee Clingcraplin’s wash drying on the clothesline in her backyard, which was filled with her unmentionables.
Pound Count:
Several animals are available at the Hubie X Flerm Memorial Animal Shelter and Bait shop. Now available: two dogs, a three-legged cat, a couple of chickens, a wombat, five turtles rescued from Masie Blatstopper’s pit bull “Fluffy”, and seven piglets donated by Arturo Bing, which is all he received from the divorce. They also have an animal that resembles a cross between an anteater and a dachshund. We aren’t sure what it is, but it is eating the Animal Control Officer’s desk. For more information, Call the Beaverlick Police Department’s Animal Control Officer, from 8 a.m.-4 p.m. Monday-Friday at 555-9494, or 555-5210, as long as the desk holds out. A $5 fee is required to adopt an animal except for the wombat, which will cost $10 and proof of taser ownership.
Welcome To Beaverlick And The Town’s ONLY Newspaper: The Beaverlick Gazette!
Beaverlick: A small town where the vast majority of the townspeople, known as Beaverlickers, spend their lives safely nuzzled in a fragrant and fastidiously manicured valley, nestled between two mountains right in the heart of the American Mid-West.
The Beaverlick Gazette celebrates the ecstasy of Beaverlick achievement that routinely judders the sleepy little valley and exposes the viruses of crime and corruption that occasionally infects the little vale.
The Beaverlick Gazette: bringing small town news to the whole wide world.
-Alvena Coldcock: Winner Of The ‘Introduce Beaverlick To Real People’ Essay Contest.
(Editor's Note: The Beaverlick Gazette Writers are: Modesty Fiona Blaise, Sparky Murphy, George Palczynski, and Kelly J Randall. Artwork by Sparky Murphy and Kelly J Randall. "Stoopid Tunes" by Psykosity)
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