#12: The Beaverlick Gazette featuring Stoopid Tunes: #12: Progeny's Party Peeves Parents, Explosions And Aftershocks In New Hollow Butte Disaster, Beaverlick News In Brief, Letters To The Editor
Progeny’s Party Peeves Parents
by Dirk Stoneman:
On Monday, Conway and Dipsey Trapshut came home from a trip to Sardinia, in which they stayed for two weeks in a cellar under a lightbulb, only to find their house wrecked from a party their son Dapple held the day before.
The house, which is at 4200 ¾ Marvin Damplemyer Memorial Logging Path, suffered thousands of dollars of damage.
According to Dipsey Trapshut: “Well, first of all, that week we left was so busy! First, Nelly Slapfat and her husband Eatmore gave birth to a little girl, Pertrude, who looks just like a lizard, and then there was the “Vegan Burger Special Incident” when we ate at The Burger Barn and I wound up getting a bikini ready body in twelve hours!
TOTALLY not worth it.
Then we had to put Grandma Fleek out to pasture and have Conway’s poodles sanded and polished, of course we had to pack, on Thursday night I had mudwrestling class, Conway had his spleen redecorated and we left from the hospital to the plane.
So, we come home from a lovely and relaxing trip to Sardinia where we opened the door every morning, breathed in the Sardinian air, said hello to the Sardines whose cellar we were vacationing in, and enjoyed the lonely and pitiful warmth of a GE 60 watt light bulb only to come home to THIS: broken glass, stained carpets and chairs, sick all over the sofa, empty alcohol bottles, and tire tracks that run from the front door through the house to the back door! Was there some kind of explosion here? Was there an invasion? I HATE to tell you what I found in the bedrooms!”
Conway Trapshut was even more emphatic: “THAT LITTLE F…WHAT THE…I’M GOING TO…WHAT IN THE …AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGG!”
Dapple Trapshut’s party is estimated to have had up to 500 people attending. Cars clogged streets and blocked passage for a three-block radius. The partygoers emptied 84 kegs of beer and two trash cans full of ‘cocktails’ which were made by people pouring in whatever liquor they brought with them. Many of the participants report that the so-called ‘Trash-can Punch’ was spiked with some form of hallucinogenics. There were motorcycle races through the house, 729 calls to the police complaining about the noise, one of those came from the town of Hollow Butte, and, somehow, they set fire to the pool.
“There were these kids screaming and running half naked around the place all night long!” exclaimed Melba Smug, Trapshut neighbor and two-time winner of the Mayor’s Ribbon for Most Exceptional Embrasure in the Beaverlick Bird Call Championships. “Some of them were ‘Taking Old One Eye to The Optometrist”, if you know what I mean, RIGHT IN THE FRONT YARD!”
Zeebo Bellcracked, another neighbor of the Trapshuts, said: “My house has shifted an inch and a half off its foundation! One of the kids gave me a cup of punch…I spent the rest of the night talking to my crazy Uncle Bastard, who passed away THIRTY YEARS ago, and a 20-foot-high Jesus!
Said Dapple Trapshut. “People will be talking about this party for DECADES! My father is going to kill me, but I will die a LEGEND!”
Doodle Trapshut, Dapple’s little sister, had this to say about her older brother’s weekend activities: “MMMMOOOOOOOOMMMMMMYYYYYY! WHAT IS THIS ALL OVER MY DOLLS?”
The next day, Conway Trapshut gave his son Dapple $100, then had the boy boxed up and sent to be airdropped over the jungles of Peru. The Trapshuts would like to announce that they currently have a room to rent.
Explosion And Aftershocks In New Butte Hollow Disaster
Dirk Stoneman
(Editors Note:There has long been considerable debate as to whether this story, as reported by Dirk Stoneman, actually happened. This is why we hesitated to publish the story in the Beaverlick Gazette. We believe this might have been a fever dream Stoneman had after a night out drinking with colleagues Maria Tallchief Jones and Manny Polewacker. We have seen no evidence of the events reported below, but we do note that John Jason Goldsbutt does have a second head. We publish the story because its a slow news day, we think the story is funny, and we want to embarrass Stoneman.)
If Beaverlickers felt a little tremble under their feet, or heard the fine China tinkle, or had some books fall off the bookshelves at approximately 3:47 P.M. yesterday, it was not an earthquake. It was just another small explosion at The Whirly Gignot Memorial Nuclear Reactor #3 just outside of Butte Hollow.
“There is absolutely no danger” cautioned John Jason Goldsbutt, President of The Big Northwestern Electric Company and Gift Shop. “That’s correct,” said his other head: “there was a very small cloud of gas that escaped the… chamber thingy… where all the Woo-Hoo stuff goes on to make the Zap Juice.”
Due to the prevailing wind stream, Beaverlick is in absolutely no danger, though there is a boil order for Northern Beaverlick, Mel’s Happy Acres, and The Fip Biddle Memorial Trailer Park until further notice, just as a precaution.
“I know that the water table under North Beaverlick is untouched by the terrible tragedy in Hollow Butte,” said trailer park owner Fip Biddle. “The town has told me that there is no way that the radiation from the Nuclear Pile burrowing its way though the planet will spill into the water supply, even though Dolby Cankledink got up in the middle of the night to pee last month and the glow of his piss was picked up on an NSA satellite and we all were under siege from the Feds for a week and a half.”
“We run the safest and most regulated Nuclear Power Plants in the nation,” said Goldsbutt who was addressing the press strapped to a gurney. “Though we do have a problem right now, this plant was built to contain any problems with absolutely no danger to the citizens who consume the power this plant generates”.
“That’s RIGHT!” said his other head. “That glowy crap that is eating its way through the frickin’ Earth is really cool to look at when you’re hammered! I WANT TO GET HAMMERED, DAMMIT!”
The small, misshapen second head of Jason Goldsbutt kept screaming obscenities that are certainly not fit to be printed in a family newspaper like The Beaverlick Gazette as two huge security guards in Hazmat suits rolled him back out to the ambulance.
“I’M GAY, JASON,” yelled Goldsbutt’s second head as the doorie to the ambulance closed. “FORGET THAT BLONDE HOTTY YOU’VE GOT YOUR EYE ON, BUDDY! TONIGHT WE’RE AFTER THE PUERTO RICAN LIFEGUARD AT THE POOL!”
Off the record, unidentified sources told this reporter that the catastrophe that is the runaway disaster of the nuclear pile clawing its way toward the center of the Earth is monumentally, incontrovertibly bad.
Really, really bad.
Extremely, jaw-droppingly bad.
-Beaverlick police today honored local resident Gird Hammonwaffler for being the first Beaverlicker to climb the new water tower.
Police then arrested Hammonwaffler, 32, who resides at 47b/02 Rafe Gritstones Memorial Lumber Path and who is the owner of Gird’s Bar, Grille, and Flower Shop, and charged him with terrorism, causing a public disturbance, possession of a bean and cheese burrito with intent, intimidating police with loaded sarcasm, and causing Alethia Mae Nit to have one of her “flailing fits”.
It is reported that Alethia Mae hasn’t had one of her fits since Mayor Oadecker accidentally stepped on her pet toad “Fluffy” and local authorities had to close schools and quarantine the East side of Beaverlick for three days.
Hammonwaffler will be thrown in prison and summarily executed before being honored at a ladies luncheon to take place at Clem Craplin’s Burger Barn.
Hammonwaffler had this to say about that: “I’m a climber. I climb things. This is why I’m single.”
City Council insiders say that Hammonwaffler will be given Beaverlick’s prestigious “Man Of The Year” award before burial.
-Amberdexter Q. Plinkflot (formerly Flick Nostrum-Mucus) will speak on his trip to Eswatini (formerly Swaziland) at the Methodist Ladies Boomerang Throwing Society (formerly Sue Ellen Sproing’s Happy Hour Sewing Circle) October 12th at 7:30 in the bunker underneath the Fip Biddle Memorial Trailer Park (formerly known as the Binghampton J. Splink Memorial Landfill).
-Ula Kleindecker is now offering her melons, peaches, and canned ham to anyone who wants them. Beaverick police have cordoned off the area and called Hazmat to attend the scene. Mr. Kleindecker was unavailable for comment.
I would like to complain in the strongest possible manner about nothing in particular or of any significance. As a middle-aged man in the autumn of my life, I am utterly disgusted by most things; even the sight of Crocs makes me want to expunge a peasant's mortgage application. How can I, an outside minority representing the majority, endure any longer this outrageous over-reaction?
It is my civic duty to bring to the public's attention the demise of nothing in particular or of any significance. No longer will I accept the status quo and ignore the anaemic looking elephant in the room. No, you may not "ax" me "somefink", you may no longer "poke" me on "facey-mcbook" and under no circumstances do I want to switch utility suppliers (your name is blatantly not "Stephen", you are calling from India!).
What has this country come to?!?! In my day, we would not allow this to happen. The world was perfect when we had military service, rationing and domestic violence. I blame the demise of this country wholly on the people.....and skinny jeans! The nation would be a better place if it was just me, on my own, enjoying my lapsang souchong, reading my Dan Brown novels and claiming to be an expert on every subject known to man.....apart from anything vaguely associated with homosexuals.
In all of this, the person that loses out most is ME. Stuff all of the children hanging around street corners drinking alcopops and spitting. They should be down the mines doing a hard day's work for a pittance! Hang them all I say. That would get rid of childhood obesity.
Medical problems continue to flood in. The strain of worry about nothing in particular or of any significance has meant that both of my arms have fallen off, forcing me to develop telekinesis to work the keyboard. I think I need to have a long lie down in a darkened room, or else my colour blindness will return, and I will no longer be able to distinguish who to be prejudiced against.
My Hair Hurts:
Retired Crossing Guard Barbosa Mucus (retired)
(Dear Ms. Mucus (retired): You sound LOVELY! Have you thought of getting yourself a man, someone who used to be a lion-tamer, or who worked on the bomb squad, or a crash test dummy? We think that would help raise your spirits! Smile more! -Ed.)
BFP will be there for you when your need arises. We are available to provide you with our reputable, professional and courteous service 24 hours a day and 7 days a week.
Beaverlick, home to the Fighting Catfish, and the Beaverlick Swallows Single A baseball team, is a big small town, located wherever you can imagine it, nestled within the forests of Wanker County, wherever you can imagine it, bordered by glens and highlighted by its very own butte –Lick’s butte, however you may imagine it. Beaverlick shares these Elysian play grounds with both a somewhat bigger town – Morebuck – and a smaller – Butte Hollow; making Beaverlick, in Goldilocks’ own words “just right”. Beaverlick’s a place where crazy things don’t just happen but have become a lifestyle choice . To say Beaverlickers have a rather “unique” take on national, state, and especially local news, would be an understatement… and Beaverlickers trivialize NOTHING.
And we’d bet a sawbuck a head – you’d love to live there.
In this great country, all our places have to them a natural character and boast. New York City is “The Big Apple”. Chicago – the “City of Broad Shoulders”, and Cincinnati – “The Queen City”, and so on, and on. The pronouncements are as calling cards – engraved, so that everyone would know – “This is what we are; this is how we think of ourselves”.
This place, of our making, our pride – Beaverlick – and the people here, the old and young; strong and brittle, sharp and dull, have also this impulse – to introduce you to Beaverlick so that all may have, an immediate, if slight, knowledge of this, our little paradise. Beaverlick’s great boast is, it’s “The Biggest Little City”. Where but Beaverlick could anyone find short skyscrapers, bare brick and mortar small industry next to acre upon acres of bucolic charm; biker bars and chichi ladies drinking salons? Most every place in Beaverlick is memorialized by a Beaverlicker that contributed to making the little city bigger and the big city more intimately warm. There’s Morris Dewberry Memorial Park, Sam Milburn Memorial Hill, Sargent Bingo Frelm Memorial Tree, Carlita Bushe Memorial Botanical Gardens, Eustis Pirkle Memorial Park by the Crick, Houston Beulah Memorial Gazebo, and the Sphinx Demeret Memorial 15 hole links Golf Course ’n’ Skeet Range, and much, much more. Beaverlick honors its past, memorializes its greats, revels in its uniqueness of place and eccentricities of personalities. That’s bow they roll in Beaverlick.
For a greater measure of the backbone, mettle, pluck and significance of the Biggest Little City, note only this – the Huponahogg Jr College, Quirk-Hummit Poll of 2016 found Beaverlick USA the nearest of all statistically significant micro-urban centers to being “magic town”; the most representative municipality of the feelings, hopes, and desires, of the entire nation at large.
Beaverlickers may also boast they are The Paradigm All-Americans.
The Beaverlick Gazette’s reporting of the news, and features, may give a reader an initial sense of the arrogance of lashing out at the absurd, pointing and laughing at human foibles, but if that is anyone’s sense they had best recalibrate their senses. Beaverlick has many charms but this one above all:
We laugh easily at others and are not peeved at other’s laughter at our expense, for we have at the ready the perfect medicaments: an imprecation, a smoke, and a drink – and once again we’re in the pink.
Beaverlick was the result of seers and visionaries such as homesteader and beaver trapper Oriol Lick. It remains this very day in the hands, and arms, and shoulders, and hearts of seers and visionaries.
Welcome EVERYONE to the Biggest Little City, Beaverlick USA – America’s repository for sanity, if not for good wholesome behavior.
(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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