#15: The Beaverlick Gazette: "Beaverlick Canal Days A Rousing Success", "Dick Eats Out", and "Letters To The Editor"

 

 

 

 

 

Beaverlick Canal Days A Rousing Success

by Manny Polewhacker

In February of 1850, Zeke Alibaster Clumblaster had the idea of digging a canal to link the upper lower Monahoolie River (”The Big Mo”) with the lower upper Mohana River (”The Little Mo”) with the canal cutting through the eastern part of the then-young town of Beaverlick. The building of the canal took the better part of a year, and in August of 1851, the Beaverlick Canal opened with the first boat arriving from Hollow Butte, driven by one Maldo Hamcrumble, who was trying to find a good place to fish for carp and got lost.

Eight months later, the railroad came through, making the canal obsolete. The canal was filled in and paved over, and now it is the parking lot of Clem Craplin’s Burger Barn and the Mertyl “Slammer” Cramslop Memorial Strip Mall. Thus ends the tale of The Beaverlick Canal (aka “The No Mo”).

Since then, Beaverlick has honored the canal that ran through town for less than a year with its “Canal Days”, and last weekend was the most spectacular celebration in its history.

Downtown, the main intersecton of the Zing Barricade Lick Memorial Boulevard and The Richard Berenstain Beaver Memorial Parkway were closed off to accommodate the vast array of food trucks and vendors, including tents for both of Beaverlicks’ political parties (The Great Party and The Obstinate Party), a varied array of food trucks including “FluffHammer’s Pulled Pork and Pasta”, “Big Tasha’s Taco Truck”, the “Brainfreeze Ice Cream Cab” and Sniff Cranlock’s “Vittles Van”, as well as Clem Craplin’s “Burger Barn and Chicken Tenders Trailer”, while all sorts of t-shirts, costume jewelry, and antique hubcaps were hawked in several vendor tents.

Of course, the annual Chamber Of Commerce Hog Roast and Full-Contact Scrabble Championship was held in its traditional setting, right in the middle of Sadie Mandable Skrinch’s Butterfly bushes.

Besides the classic unicycle show at the Eustis Pirkle Park and the band concert featuring The Beaverlick Community Band featuring Alethia (”Fog Horn”) Skrint at the Beaverlick Band Bowl on Sunday, the weekend event featured one of the most impressive Canal Days parades in recent memory, helped partially by the decision of local cattle rancher Flick McGlick to schedule his yearly cattle drive from his ranch to the south, through downtown to his grazing fields to the east of Beaverlick during the Canal Days celebrations.

The parade started at precisely at noon on a bright, warm, sunny Saturday with this year’s Canal Days Grand Marshall, Denver “Happy Pants” Ersatz (O), Obstinate Party candidate for next year’s mayoral race. Behind him was the mighty Beaverlick High School Fighting Catfish marching band and drill team, followed by the Catfish cheerleaders, The Mayvis Tongstinkler Dancing Daisy Troupe, Beaverlick’s oldest resident Cleveland “Slatz” Fritch, who wondered into the parade by mistake on his way to the pharmacy.

Then came the cattle drive. Flick McGlick led the way on his trusty horse “Gasbag”, and behind him was the herd: five cows named “Penny”, “Petunia”, “Penelope”, “Princess”, and “Bacon Cheeseburger” plus his bull “Fluffy”. Behind the herd was his faithful dog “Elrod”, an ancient poodle with a balding coat, trotting along with the energy of a wet bag of grass, while Grandma McGlick, perched in her electric wheelchair, outfitted with the latest in All-Terrain tires, puttered along at a brisk five miles per hour, her cane waving in the air like a baton.

Flick strutted down Main Street, twirling a length of rope like a seasoned cowboy. Meanwhile, Grandma McGlick seemed angry.

“Flick McGlick, you no-good nincompoop!” Grandma hollered. “You ain’t half the cattle man your daddy Blick McGlick was! Why, he could drive a herd of a hundred steer single-handedly! And what do you have? Five lazy cows, a tired old bull and a mangy poodle!”

The townsfolk gathered on the sidewalks, some clapping and cheering, others simply shaking their heads in bewilderment. Flick puffed out his chest, determined to make this “cattle drive” a success.

“Look at ‘em go, folks!” Flick called out. “Ain’t this the finest cattle drive Beaverlick’s ever seen?”

Suddenly, one of the cows decided it was the perfect time to stop and munch on a particularly lush patch of dandelions on Ethel Drangonwagon’s front lawn, another cow, thought to be “Penelope”, wandered into the middle of the drill team and grabbed the baton from Head Majorette Cindy (”Fire Baton”) Flankswallop, while Elrod the poodle jumped up onto the Catfish cheerleaders’ float, scaring the girls and causing quite a bit of screaming as the young ladies jumped off the float and ran in all directions.

Of course, because of all the commotion behind them, the Fighting Catfish marching band turned around only to have the float run over the tuba section.

Fluffy the bull broke into the Spatula Emporium and, apparenly inspired by the bovine rebellion in the streets, promptly laid down in the stainless steel spatula section and fell asleep.

Flick had jumped off his horse by this time, and was standing in the middle of the road, aghast, eyes wide with panic, back slightly bend under the weight of the impending dread and, as if to answer the promise of that heavy dread, Grandma McGlick rolled up to Flick on her electric wheelchair and smacked him on the back of his head with her cane.

Grandma McGlick’s wheelchair rolled up next to Flick. “Flick, you couldn’t drive a nail into a soft board, let alone cattle. Why, when your daddy Blick—”

“Yes, Grandma, I know,” Flick interrupted, trying to coax one of the cows back towards the street. “Daddy Blick was the best cattle driver in all of Beaverlick, but times change, and so do cattle drives!”

Suddenly, in the middle of the chaos, Grandma McGlick’s wheel chair sputtered to a halt, out of battery power.

“Flick Dodecahedron McGlick! If you don’t get this mess sorted out, I’ll have half a mind to-”

Grandma McGlick was cut off by the screams of the crowd around the Spatula Emporium as Fluffy the bull suddenly woke up and blasted out of the front doors and into the street like he was late for work.

The rest of the McGlick cattle drive scattered. “Penny” the cow had taken an interest in Ula Klinedecker’s prize-winning roses, while “Bacon Cheeseburger” moseyed toward the town fountain, where she promptly dunked her head in the water for a drink.

It was then that Flick finally came to and rounded up Sheriff Donnie Curbsmacker, Maisie (”The Crusher”) Welkenskold, who plays fullback for the Varsity Cheerleaders, and most of the Fighting Catfish marching band’s woodwind section to round up the boisterous bovines and move the whole mess out of town.

Finally, the parade was closed by Beaverlick Fire Chief Jubal Clymer who, driving the antique water pumper “Old Pumper”, promptly hosed down the frantically laughing crowd, followed by Police Chief Brock Granite driving the SWAT float, who drove to Flick McGlick’s grazing pasture and arrested him for public destruction, activities designed to cause an affront, affront causing, and trafficking beef through town without a permit.

Sunday’s festivities closed on a high note when, at the end of the band concert, Wynona Paisley Presley-Purrock, owner of the Danse du Printemps Dance Studio, stuffed herself into a starter’s cannon and fired herself into the side of Delphina Sprockwurst’s gardening shed. Ms. Sprockwurst, who is the Principle of Dewey P. Wright Elementary School and Boat Dealership, apparently kept an illegal still in her shed. The resulting explosion could be seen as far away as Wastedump County.

Neither Ms Presley-Purrock and Ms. Sprockwurst were available for comment.

 

Dick Eats Out

by Dick Holder

If it’s finger lickin’ or ‘lip smackin’ good, and it’s in Beaverlick, you’ll hear about it first from Dick Holder in “A Taste Of Beaverlick”.

There’s much to savor and tickle the taste buds within the Littlest Big City and a week ago yours truly, and devotedly, had his way with the servers and offerings of Carlito Colovito’s Clam Sauce Palazzo e Ristorante. It was a dining experience meant to please. And how could it not! IYKWIM

Before The Entree, The Appetizers

Entering Colovito’s Clam Palace Restaurant is an assault on the senses. It’s as having oregano, rosemary, and thyme sprigs shoved up your nostrils and being ordered to snort garlic powder. Well, now that the obvious has been dealt with lets get to the overt.

Center tables and the more intimate booth tables are all decked out with charming gingham tablecloths, alternately red or blue on white. The walls are chockablock out with the usual fusion Kitsch – Italiano e Americano. There are leaning towers, gondoliers, and autographed photos – Mario Lanza, and some dude – Pierino Ronald Como and, of course, Mama Colovito back home in her Bologna Ristorante – Se Non Ti Piace Vaffanculo.

Of the touches Americano, there are signed photos of Joe DiMaggio, Frank Sinatra, Eugene Pallette, Al Capone, Lucky Luciano, John Gotti, and… most prominently – the grizzly aftermath of one St Valentine’s Day in long ago Chicago.

Ya think Carlito’s connected?

On the floor, body outlines in chalk suggest what?… I wondered.  Nostalgic charm… or…  charming innuendo? You do the calculation, Dick is hungry.

The Entrees 

Are doused, smothered, submerged, drowned, engulfed in… CLAM SAUCE. White, red, and pink clam sauces. There is nothing in the pallazo that will not be sauced with clams. There’s the Clam pesto, Clamato sauce, clam dip, clammy croutons and breadsticks, one, two, three, and four cheese clam sauces, clam fondue at the party tables, and clam pizza as well, and… well, you get the idea. If it’s clam sauce you’re after, and the entree is an afterthought, give Colovito’s a try.

Ol’ Dick had himself catfish souffle drizzled with salmon pink three cheese clam sauce, and a fine chiante in fiasco – affascinante!

All in all – price included – Ottimo!

Dopo cena menta!

Special thanks to the friendly, generous, super-extra solicitous waitresses – Lola, Lou Ann, Lollie, and Gertha. The ladies; there are others, are part of the wait staff for the Clam Palace and are on a work release program from  Wanker County’s Meracola Women’s Penal Institute And Home Economics/GED Academy. Best wishes and best of luck to all the servicers.

*For Parties, get in touch with Carlito’s wife Angie.Vinnie Goomba Rooms for parties up to forty available with reservation.

Tell ’em  Big Dick sent you.

 

 

Dear Sir,

I wonder, 6 you 87 how difficult life can be for those of 45 who are afflicted with “Colonel Lumphammer’s Disease”? 67.081 condition afflicts no 0.5 than 0.000060006 in every 354 of the 2. As I hope you can 4, this most painful 34.321 affects the ability 34 construct sentences. The 6 is forced to interject a random number 56 random 8s in every 34.091, which often 6 the sense of their 78.087 utterly incomprehensible to the 2.

Are any of your readers able to 76? Anything 3 be appreciated. Our groups, which 0.03 at self-help and mutual 567, are mainly 6 in the Beaverlick 3, but we hope to be able to 870.03 in the county in the 5 future. Whatever you 3 spare, be 7 time, money or simply 98, will be 4.5 with open 236.3.

Thank 25,

Major Yorick Plantagenet Horsebiscuit-Williams 2.0

(Dear Mr. Horsebiscuit-Williams 2.0: 452.3985+.2589= turn right and 2987/6 X 7 Go to 79434.5 and then 589/98.2 – 3.589 yourself.)

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To Whom It May Concern:

I ham fighting through you on beehive of a much-misunderstood grope off scufflers, mainly, hose hoot stupor from the friction whereby hay displace random herds with other swords witch either luck or wound a skittle bit scimitar.

As ewe mustard seed, I amble cone of these importunates myself. Theseus hiss a moused perspexing disorder, being very scuttle hand mafeking the shuffler seam like an ill itinerant fuel.

Hit is also ex-horsing four the stubbler, who is fierced two expend barge accounts of elegy pimply too sway very tittle.

I trussed hat yore leadership can sea from my example cow delerious hiss rendition really is, and hill bee cable to whelp. Many coffers of kelp will be very much depreciated.

Whores Playfully;

Mrs Jonquil Doom-Harbinger

(In A Pot Of Stew Beans and Ham)

(Dear Mrs. Doom-Harbinger; There is a very soothing, aloe-based, medicated cream called ‘Peeble’s All-Purpose Medicated Cream and Salad Dressing” that may help! -Ed.)

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Dear Ed,

Is your name really Ed? Or is it something like Trevor, or Kevin? If that’s the case, then why don’t people write letters to Trev, or Kev? I’ve never been able to comprehend that - despite having a loud and rather authoritarian voice. It’s one of those things which have dogged me from early childhood, when I inadvertently witnessed the master of the house performing an act of exquisite strangeness with a gerbil in the warm glow of a roaring log fire… On a furry hearth rug… With a fork…

So, then, is it Trev or Kev? Own up or be damned man!

Y’arse

Quentin Hulahoop

(POLEWHACKER! Stop messing around and GET BACK TO WORK! -Ed.)

 

 

  

Beaverlick’s Trusted News Source is the bastard brainchild of 4 individuals with a deep love of the absurd. Beaverlick is our creation, a place we’d love to live.

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)