Melons

[A diminutive man with a clipboard stands outside the door of a farmhouse. He hesitantly reaches out and knocks on the door. After a few seconds of fidgeting, he stands up straight as the door opens, revealing tall, buxom lady in overalls.]

LADY: Yes?

MAN: Oh-aah, erm, terribly sorry to bother you, ma’am, but I represent the county health department and we’ve been tasked with, um… conducting a study on — this is so embarrassing… on area women’s… bosoms…

LADY: I’m sorry, I didn’t get that last bit?

MAN: Sorry. On, you know… your… b… breasts…

LADY: Sorry, you’re mumbling with that la–

MAN: Your melons, madam! (gasps) Oh, dear. Please forgive me! This just isn’t what I thought I’d be doing with the department and it feels so wrong and we have a female worker but–

LADY: Oh, my melons! Nothing wrong with asking about them. They’re huge!

MAN: But she’s sick so I have to — oh. Well, um, th-that’s not really a question, you know, but–

LADY: But why not? My husband’s just so proud of ’em, he has me take ’em out for people every chance he gets! You wanna gander?

MAN: NO! I — that is not necessary, madam, please!— I mean, thank you — er… (quickly stares down at the clipboard) Um… how long would you say you keep them, erm… constrained?

LADY: Constrained? Well, I do keep ’em covered all during the day. It’s just the right thing ta do, you know.

MAN: Certainly, madam.

LADY: But they gotta breathe, too, so every night I just whip it all off and let those babies loose to the air!

MAN: O-oh…

LADY: ‘Course, it’s been getting a little colder these nights so they’re positively dripping with dew by the time I wake up.

MAN: Eh?

LADY: But I just run outside and give ’em a big ol’ shake ‘ta dry ’em off!

MAN: Ah!

LADY: Keeps ’em firm. And then I wave to the neighbor! They’re always watchin’ out their kitchen window. Get a real kick outta the whole spectacle, but they’re gettin’ old so I don’t mind humorin’ them one bit.

MAN: …Heaven help me… (goes back to the clipboard) Do you ever have any complaints about their weight?

LADY: Oh, sometimes people’ll gripe that they’re too much, but I tell ’em they’re always gonna need two hands ta lift one’a mine and that’s the way it’s always gonna be!

MAN: T-two — wait! You let them touch your–

LADY: ‘Course I do! That’s the only way ta know they’re the real deal, don’tcha know! Some people think ya gotta knock on ’em too, but that’s just ridiculous. Where’s that gonna get ya?

MAN: I… (takes a deep breath) So even with the, um, weight… there’s no pain? No fatigue?

LADY: (laughs) Look, sir. You’re a real nice guy an’ all but I can tell you’ve never handled somethin’ like these in your life.

MAN: I—now look here, I have nothing to do with this–

LADY: Aw, nothin’ ta be ashamed about, sugar! But I’ve lugged these things around day in and day out for nearly my whole life now! They’re like nothin’ to me!

MAN: Madam! I doubt other women would agree!

LADY: Yeah, fair, fair. I know it’s different in different areas. Tend to be smaller in Europe, ‘course. An’ ya hear in Japan they’re makin’ ’em square now?

MAN: What?? That’s absurd!

LADY: I know! Tell me about it! But here in America, as long as there’s room ta grow and God-given sunshine, there’s only one size we’ll accept ’em here: enormous.

MAN: Madam, please! It shouldn’t matter to other women how big theirs are.

LADY: It sure as spit should! Why, I never got my man ta bat an eye at me ’til I got ’em big as his head!

MAN: I say, this has got to–

LADY: You just send those poor, weak little city gals over here. I guarantee ya within a week I’ll have ’em hoistin’ them high an’ proud!

MAN: That’s IT! (throws his clipboard down) No government benefits are worth this… this freakishness. I’m going right back to the commissioner and telling him I QUIT! Good day!

[As he stalks off, his face beet red, the lady’s husband walks up behind her.]

HUSBAND: Who was that, now?

LADY: Don’t know. Some guy askin’ questions ’bout our watermelon patch.

HUSBAND: Huh. Strange what floats some people’s boats, I guess.

Poor Billy’s Almanack

For the Twenty-Fourth Day of January, Year of Our Lord 2010

Les yeux sans visage

WEATHER: An ongoing Dry Spell shall render early Crop Planting in Southern Climes Unfavorable, but provide ample Opportunity to bring out and Exercise one’s pent up Work Animals. So Ride Your Pony, Ride Your Pony, Ride Your Pony. Come On, Come On.

ASTROLOGY: The Rebel Yell will enter its Waning Phase Tonight, causing Her to cry Less, Less, Less over subsequent Midnight Hours. Remain mindful of upcoming License for Love Expirations to avoid unnecessary prayer for Help from Above.

PROVERB: Sinking a Drink will give One time to Think should Empty Eyes seem to pass Him by and leave Him dancing with Himself.

Today will be a Nice Day for a White Wedding. It will NOT be a Nice Day to Start Again.

‘Sparkle parties’ adapt vampires to modern whims

NEW ORLEANS — With newfound soaring popularity, it’s a great time to be a vampire — unless, that is, you’re out of the times. Luckily, groups of old-fashioned blood-sucking guys can receive a crash course in luring modern-day victims.

The gatherings, nicknamed  “sparkle parties” by women of their kind, are specifically tuned to educate the male vampire on what a young human female expects — and practically demands — of vampires nowadays.

“It has never been easier to feed,” said vampire and course creator Vlad “Vincent” DelRoque. “There are young women — and some slightly older, particularly older librarians — willing to throw themselves in front of your fangs. You just have to adapt yourself to the well of vampiric knowledge from which they draw, and it just unfortunately happens to be that of a crazy Mormon mother of three in her 30s who never watches horror films.”

This means traditional vampires are quickly learning to replace that well-cemented widow’s peak with a soft, slightly disheveled fluff helmet; that piercing, hypnotic gaze with the wide, stormy, mascara-lined eyes of a deer caught in the headlights of an AngstUV; that classy, confident monologue with just… sort of standing in front of each other awkwardly for a while.

The process has not been easy for many of the vampires.

“I’m really not getting it,” said Sterling “Stephan” Dracule, a veteran vampire of 470 years. “The old way has always worked in the past. Even up in the 1980s, when everyone looked like idiots, the women still went for poise, class; that strange, exotic unknown. Now they just want some sort of freak.

“I mean, you used to approach a girl and compliment her on how lovely her neck was. It’s gentlemanly, but still gave her a clue to your intentions, right? Now look at what we’re supposed to say: ‘Hey, would you like to go somewhere and commit to each other not have to sex until marriage?’ What is this stuff?”

But if you haven’t had any good blood in a few years, you’re more willing to stoop to the standards of a new century. A new line of “paling salons” have seen heavy traffic, where vampiric men can make themselves look more sickly before being sprayed with a thin layer of glitter.

Female vampires, on the other hand, tend to find the situation quite amusing and report no reduction in the number of males they have successfully preyed upon in the past five centuries.

“It’s still the Three C’s all the way,” vampire Camilla Rouge said. “Curves, Cooing and Cleavage. And I don’t think anyone’s going to write a book convincing young adult males otherwise.”

Heaven raises tithing rates to combat income losses

HEAVEN — In the first ever move of its kind and the most frightening sign of the struggling economy to date, Heaven announced today that it is raising the recommended weekly tithe from 10 percent to 12.75 percent.

Chief Financial Angel (CFA) Benjamin of Bernankus attributed the tithe increase to the ever-rising costs of ethereal commodities.

“Salvation’s still free. Always has; always will be,” he said. “But the other stuff? Expensive. Crude forgiveness prices just won’t stop rising. And grace futures? Don’t even get me started on those. If my heavenly mansion was carpeted in grace, I wouldn’t be working this job. …I don’t really mean that.”

The choice to raise rates was not hastily made, Benjamin said, and follows a number of accommodations made with the earthbound in mind.

“This was really one of our last resorts,” he said. “We stripped out and sold the golden streets a long time ago; replaced them with asphalt and no one’s really complained. We can’t touch the pearly gates, though. Those are protected historical landmarks. Like, eternal.”

If the tithe increases do not compensate for Heaven’s financial losses, only a few more options remain. Some Bible verses may be changed; a move which has been frowned upon by nearly all of Heaven’s populace.

Under initial plans, Matthew 18:20 would be changed to “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, a gratuity charge will be automatically applied.” and 1 Timothy 6:10 would be changed to read “For the love of money is the root of all evil, but hating it doesn’t necessarily pay the bills, either.”

And if those measures don’t significantly affect Heaven’s income, Benjamin said one action remains.

“We’ll have to audit the tithes,” he said. “And we really don’t want to do that. All the auditors are in That Other Place.”

[Note: Aren’t you glad some things aren’t affected by the economy? Mark 12:41-44]

The World finally admits it is against Bernie Mathers

KALAMAZOO, Mich.–At a press conference held outside the overpriced one-room apartment of Bernard “Bernie” Mathers, The World publically admitted its longtime disgust with the schlub and its ongoing attempts to make his life miserable at every turn.

“What Bernie has thought to be true and has told everyone he meets for years really is true: I, wholly, am against him,” The World said.

The admission is bittersweet to Mathers, who could be observed peeking through the tiny, cracked window of his sixth-floor-with-no-elevator room, ducking down in fear whenever The World even made an inkling of looking up toward him.

Mathers says he first started thinking The World might not have liked him on a fateful May day in seventh grade, as he looked out an open window, daydreaming of being out and enjoying the clear day, and was struck by a freak arc of lightning for the third time in his life.

“It was that third one that gave me my tic,” Mathers said, his right eye convulsing with memory of the event.

Small twists of fate continued to dog him, resulting in — among other misfortunes — 28 failed relationships, five audits by the IRS and 47 days in federal prison after somehow being confused for Sirhan Sirhan.

“I’ve also been bitten by 14 different rabid animals,” Mathers said. “The last one was a marmoset. They don’t even live around here.”

When later asked about the marmoset, The World shrugged.

“I was getting tired of the whole rabid animal routine and wanted to end on something memorable,” it said.

The World added that it was responsible for destroying Mathers’ dream of becoming an architect, arranging small, Rube Goldberg-like disasters that got him fired right down the job ladder to a position more to The World’s liking: a voluntary paid human test subject for a health and beauty firm. As a result of his history of experiments, he completely hairless, possesses a slight greenish tinge to his skin and periodically emits an odor that has been pinpointed as “a mix of turpentine and Roquefort cheese.”

Elsie Taylor, a neighbor who lives on a lower floor, as Mathers’ floor only contains his room, knows him well but was surprised by The World’s announcement.

“He’s always said The World was against him, but I just assumed he really meant a combination of poor choices and depression-induced failure to see opportunities had left him in a downward spiral,” she said. “Good thing I didn’t become a psychiatrist!”

The World said he would likely continue to be against Mathers, although opportunities are slimmer than they once were now that he mainly stays locked in his room surrounded by various editions of The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook.

“It’s really not as satisfying as it used to be honestly,” The World said. “There’s more overall negativity in me these days. I think it’s part of my temperature fluctuations, or just people yappin’ too much about it. You know, I can’t even fully remember why I ever started on Bernie in the first place. I think it had something to do with his eyes. They were too small for his head, even as a kid. Made him look kinda like a domino. Ah, well.”

Lip-Band: For when you need to keep your fat mouth shut

ANNOUNCER: From the makers of Lap-Band, the no. 1 trusted surgical aid for curbing hunger, comes new help for curbing shame and embarrassment: Lip-Band.

Lack of control when speaking can be just as harmful to one’s social and physical health as lack of control when eating. Whereas the Lap-Band was designed to limit what can go into your stomach, the new Lip-Band has been scientifically crafted to limit what comes out of your mouth.

The Lip-Band is small, expandable ring implanted around the mouth in a minimally-invasive outpatient procedure. How it works is simple: Studies have shown that, just before the brain is about to order the utterance of something foolish or self-incriminating, a hormonal reaction releases special proteins into the body that look vaguely like legendary Yankees catcher Yogi Berra. The following example is what happens when there is a high “Berranoid” count.

WIFE: Honey, does this dress make me look fat?

HUSBAND: No, all the fat you’ve stuffed into it makes you look fat!

WIFE: I want a divorce.

ANNOUNCER: The Lip-Band senses the presence of Berranoids in the body and inflates, forming a protective seal between the world and whatever stupid words you were about to unleash upon it.

WIFE: Honey, does this dress make me look fat?

HUSBAND: No, all the fa-hmphfmmph!

WIFE: No? Aw, you’re so sweet!

ANNOUNCER: It doesn’t matter what your status in life is; anyone can benefit from Lip-Band. Take this absolutely spontaneously-derived example.

WIFE: Don’t forget your golf clubs, dear.

HUSBAND: Thank you, supermodel wife, coming out of my beautiful home bought with all the money I’ve made being one of the world’s greatest athletes to hand me my much needed equipment. I love you and our beautiful children.

WIFE: Aw, tee hee!

HUSBAND: (Cell phone rings.) Hold on. Hello?

WOMAN: Hi! This a cocktail waitress with not much going for her who can benefit greatly if caught in an affair with you. Would you like to have sex?

HUSBAND: Boy, do I! Just let me-eemphl!

WOMAN: Hello?

ANNOUNCER: The Lip-Band is guaranteed to last as proven in a clinical study where we implanted one on model/talk show host Tyra Banks. She has not said a single word for 17 weeks and counting. We are so confident in our product, we have lent them to our highest levels of government.

PRESIDENT OBAMA: With Lip-Band installed on Vice-President Biden, I can now ensure that our country’s greatest secrets remain unleaked and the self-sabotage of my administration is kept to a bare minimum.

VICE-PRESIDENT BIDEN: It really works great, everyone! Just make sure you get them installed now, ’cause there’s no way in heck our proposed health care reform will ever cover thi-mpprrphle!

PRESIDENT OBAMA: Thank you, Lip-Band.

ANNOUNCER: Lip-Band makes a perfect gift for yourself or others during the holidays. Female patients can now also opt for our seamlessly blended in “Angelina Jolie” version. Talk to your doctor today about Lip-Band.

Lip-Band: For when you need to keep your fat mouth shut.

CDC fears contagion potential of Santa laps

ATLANTA, Ga.–As parents struggle to maintain as festive a germ-free bubble as possible around their children this holiday flu season, the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) warn of a particularly high area of Christmas contagion: Santa laps.

Officials from the CDC tested several hundred Santa laps this season, ranging from the standard mall Santa to the guy who pulled the short straw at the office Christmas party. Results were said to be quite surprising.

“We found high levels of bacterial and viral contaminants on almost every Santa, specifically centered around the lap region,” said Roger Levenstein, director of pathology. “Perhaps the most poignant of tests was when we shone our special UV lights on the Santas to gauge the intensity of contamination. I can still see their… quadrants glowing whenever I close my eyes.”

According to the CDC, the fluff and softness inherent to most Santa suits provides an environment that not only retains disease, but allows it to thrive. One particularly old Santa suit from Macy’s held traces not only of the H1N1 virus, but the 1918 “Spanish Flu” and typhoid.

The CDC has ranked sitting on Santas’ laps as the most dangerous source of holiday-related contamination, above eating a gingerbread cookie from the bottom of Aunt Gertie’s purse and being licked directly on the lips by the camel at the Living Nativity.

Levenstein noted that, should your child be more than willing to risk sickness or death to let Santa know he wants all sorts of Bakugan prattle the poor sickly elf knows nothing about, certain precautions can be taken to reduce the possibility of contracting more than the Christmas spirit.

“Spray your child’s bottom with a generous dose of disinfectant spray,” he said. “About half a can to a can should be safe — just enough so that there’s the faintest audible squish when you set him or her down on the lap.”

Most places, seeing Levenstein’s Lysol method as a sacrifice in comfort to both the child and the Santa, have created their own solution: festive sanitary covers similar to those found in many public restrooms.

“They’re actually kind of cute,” assistant “elf” Melissa Snyder said, holding up a wreath-shaped cover and peering through the middle. “I’ve almost considered sneaking a few out and hanging one on my door, but at the end of the day they have to go into that new mailbox next to the one for Santa’s letters; the one marked ‘Biohazard.’ Kind of a bummer.”

Verizon 3G map found dead; AT&T map sought for questioning

NEW YORK–Police are searching for the AT&T coverage map after its heated cellular rival was found permanently dropped in an alley beside a Starbucks Tuesday.

The deceased Verizon map was found by Bill Daly, a bike messenger who said he was taking a shortcut.

“I came upon it and first thought, ‘Wow, Verizon’s got everywhere covered now!’,” he said. “But when I looked closer I saw it was just blood.”

Police describe the attack as the most brutal case of cartogricide on record and were not shy in hinting toward their suspect.

“You could say that someone reached out and touched the Verizon map–36 times with a sharp instrument,” said Lt. Martin Boyle of the NYPD. “The Verizon map’s state of Florida was also snapped off and shoved down its own Great Salt Lake, making us further believe this was a crime of rage or revenge.”

The Verizon and AT&T coverage maps had been embroiled in a bitter feud over the past month, holding nothing back in mudslinging campaigns against each other.

“I mean, AT&T hired Owen Wilson,” Daly said. “They were bringing in a really big gun ther–what? It was Luke? Oh…”

Other members of the mobile community have been reluctant to speak about the matter, including the Sprint map.

“Right now: 1 map is dead, 1 map is facing 25 years to life and 1 map is afraid for his life should he snitch,” it said.

The iPhone, a known partner with AT&T, remains tight-screened on the case and continues frantically offering restaurant reviews, car unlocking services and Chinese lessons in an attempt to distract police.

“Although,” the iPhone slipped in an Apple-y smug moment, “you have to wonder why he didn’t just call for help.”

Verizon issued a release stating that a memorial service will be held Friday for their map. All customers are invited to attend, after which they will be charged a $200 early termination fee.

Where are They Now: The Little Engine that Could

With his mantra of “I think I can, I think I can…” The Little Engine that Could, real name Percival Baldwin, became an eternal part of children’s literature after scaling a mountain through sheer determination and belief in himself.

Once receiving that inspirational taste of victory, however, the other side of the mountain proved to be all downhill for Baldwin as his aspirations began to overreach his bounds.

The failures at first meant relatively little to the train. He thought he could grab a coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts. He thought he could feed the seagulls at the beach. He thought he could learn the dance-based Afro-Brazilian martial art capoeira. Alas, none of these dreams came to be.

It is a short relationship with a yellow Corvette that many saw pushed Baldwin over the edge. It was once of those chance meetings—each at a crossroads in their lives—and soon became a whirlwind romance. Baldwin dreamed of finally settling down; maybe having some little green cabooses running around the trainyard. Unfortunately, word soon came that his beloved Corvette had been fooling around with a Hummer behind his stack, believing Baldwin was “always too straightforward.”

Enraged, Baldwin called a press conference to denounce the morals of his story.

“You think I’m so great because I pulled a load over a mountain,” he said. “Well whoop-de-do; I’m a train! That’s what I do! And, I’ve come to discover, it’s all I freakin’ can do! You all cheer  and crap and then you go away and forget about me while I’m stuck on these tracks. I can only go where they lead; I have no other cho—hey! Don’t move my mike away! You just wait until you step in front of me; you’ll have to someday! I’ll remember your face!”

In the ensuing public relations nightmare for his company, Baldwin was decommissioned. He was last seen roaming the country’s tracks serving as a mobile church for extreme Calvinists.

Crashers crash Tiger’s crash

WINDMERE, Fla. — White House party crashers Tareq and Michaele Salahi have continued their impromptu media tour after the couple posted photos of themselves at Tiger Woods’ car accident scene to their Facebook page.

The photos appear to have been taken just moments after Woods shanked his Cadillac Escalade into a tree not far from his South Florida home early Friday morning. Michaele Salahi can be seen shaking the limp hand of an apparently dazed or unconscious Woods through the driver’s side window as Tareq poses beside her husband cradling a broken side mirror.

“We were honored to have been invited by Mr. Woods to a 2:25 a.m. reception where he showed us his SUV,” the couple wrote on their Facebook page. “We gratefully accepted the gift of his side mirror but were sorry to have had to leave early as Mr. Woods was not feeling well.”

Sgt. Jim Munez of the Florida Highway Patrol said he found the meeting between the Salahis and Woods “a bit suspicious,” especially after Homeland Security reports reveal someone with the username “Tareqipoo” recently ordered a shipment of flash grenades from an illegal Russian arms Web dealer.

“If this whole reality show thing doesn’t pan out for her, she’s building a pretty impressive resumé to be the next Disaster Girl,” Munez said of Tareq.

The Salahis have been in talks with the Bravo Network to be featured in the latest installment of its “The Real Housewives of…” series. The shows give viewers an unprecedented perspective into the lives of upper class homemakers and businesswomen as they horribly mangle the resources and influence they have in ways that drag the feminine movement down like an stegosaurus caught in a pit of Botox.

“So far, we’ve been very impressed,” Bravo Executive Producer Valerie Paulson said.

Upon hearing the latest developments, Richard Heene could be seen buying bottles of peroxide for his wife’s hair and arming his balloon for a forced mid-air boarding of John Travolta’s plane.