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PIG
NEWS DIGEST
| ONLY IN AMERIKA
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NOVEMBER 2008
From Sea to Shining Sea Look Before You Leap Quickly shedding his pants, he raced to something called a ‘bar pit’, which is, I’m guessing, a small body of water found in Louisiana. Unwilling to chat with the cops, Terry planned to hide in the water, until the cops gave up looking for him. There were several problems with that plan, the biggest of which convinced Terry that the bar pit was not an ideal hiding place:
This one had all the makings of a dynamite Human Gene Pool Improvement drama, until Terry had the unscheduled synaptic firing, which told him ‘graybar guest’ is better than ‘gator chow’. I hate it when that happens. From Bad to Worse Busted for his larceny, Kerry was faced with another, equally pressing, money problem. Somehow, he had to raise the $40,712 he owed the bank in restitution. After analyzing his meager assets, he went from the frying pan into the fire, literally. He made that move after, trying, and failing, to sell his apartment buildings to raise the necessary money. When the ‘it’s a crappy housing market’ chickens came home to roost, he made his leap into the ‘fire’, by torching his apartment building. The insurance money would get him out of that pesky restitution hole. What could possibly go wrong?
Now, in addition to that grand larceny conviction, Kerry is facing charges of arson and insurance fraud. If that’s not leaping from the frying pan into the fire, what is? OCTOBER 2008
From Sea to Shining Sea Splashdown For some reason, Mikey didn’t feel like stopping to exchange the requisite pleasantries with Trooper Troy Bullard, so he opted for a car chase, instead. It was during that chase that Mikey strayed into the PIG-worthy bull’s-eye. For some damn fool reason, Mikey turned into the Brookfield Country Club, then drove his ride onto the golf course. That went better than he had a right to expect, until he plowed his ride into one of the golf course’s water hazards. Muhammad Ali might ‘float light a butterfly’, but the same can’t be said of Mikey’s Mustang which got trapped in the water, allowing the proper authorities to bag, tag and drag him to the local lockup for fleeing a cop, criminal mischief and - you guessed it - DWI. Book ‘em, Dan-o. Exorcizing Moonbeam What was Moonbeam’s alleged sin? She was, mom believed, the daughter of Satan. What was Moonbeam’s real sin? Having a head case, moonbat for a mother.
The most insane item contained in this story isn’t mom. She’s running a distant second to the justice system officials who require a legal proceeding to determine if mom ‘is dangerous enough to be held without bail, pending her trial’. That ‘well, duh’ question was derailed, after mom began bellowing in the courtroom. After all these mom fun and games, they still don’t know if she’s a menace to society? What the hell are they smoking in Kerry/Kennedy land? Enquiring minds want to know. Parting shot: Spare me your ‘the law requires’ prose, law degreed Sparky. I get all that, but, in this case, even contemplating letting this lunatic roam free is asinine. He’s Got Game One of his friends, a member of the football team, hatched a winning idea. After a chat with the coach and Darin’s parents, the deal was sealed. With his skills suitably honed by 3 days of practice, Darin would kick the extra points for the last game of the season. We’re pleased to report that he acquitted himself well, by nailing 3 out of 5. It’s utterly American to find a way to give this kid a chance to live out his dream. Now, if the fates are cooperative, he’ll get that liver transplant, which he needs to live out more of his dreams. For what it’s worth, the entire Free State of PIG is pulling for you, dude. Utterly American Tales Human Speed Bump This week, our human pancake was trying to beat his own record, by being run over by 8 cars weighing up to 30,000 pounds. It did not, however, come off exactly as planned. The first 7 vehicles got ‘er done, without damaging this nitwit. If the crowd at the Arizona State Fair was bummed, they had one last shot at hearing an alleged human going ‘squish’. Did they get their wish? You be the judge:
Here in the PIG News bunker, we refuse to declare this an official ‘squish’. That’s a real bummer, but we’re coping nicely. Tom Owen will survive to be squished another day. Life is such a giant pain, that way. Haulin’ Ass In Flori-DUH Eventually, our hero called it a day, got out of his truck and surrendered peacefully. His first words belong in the ‘well, duh’ hall of fame: "I was wrong...I’m drunk." Curtis is more than your garden variety drunk driver. He’s a lead-footed, drunk driver who got busted with a bag of weed, $1,900 in cash, a bottle of vodka, plus a rolled up $20 bill with white powder on it. Given all that, you’d expect the list of charges to be impressive and they are: possession of cocaine, failure to move over for an emergency vehicle, unlawful speed, and running a red light. Tis The Season The Grinches are getting an early start on their killjoy antics, this year. The first set of Grinches out of the box are the punks running a wide spot on a Long Island (New York) road named, Patchogue. They went girlie and Grinchy, when some whining piece of crap complained about the annual boat parade slated for November 23rd. In bygone years, it was named ‘the Patchogue Christmas Boat parade’ and it was a spiffy event which was highlighted lavishly decorated boats plus a fireworks display put on by Fireworks by Grucci. This year, these Patchogue Grinches have renamed the event - to make it more inclusive -the Patchogue Holiday Boat Parade. ‘Holiday’? Obviously these Patchogue Grinches don’t know that ‘Holiday’ stems from the term - GASP - Holy Day. How can a holy day be inclusive when you’re trying to please everyone, including atheists? I’m shocked, shocked, I tell you. In addition to the name change, there’s one other element that will be different this year. Pissed over the name change, Fireworks by Grucci refuses to be any part of this exercise in Empire State Korrectness. Is that message getting through to Grinch asshats like Patchogue Mayor Paul Pontieri? Not really. He never found the fireworks suitable for the ‘winter holiday’ in the first place. Strange, But True Gotcha! Bummed, but undaunted, our hero got a second bite at that vehicle recover apple, when he spotted Denny in his stolen ride, and, once again, tried to confront him. That’s when things got PIG-worthy:
Nice work, newspaper delivery dude. Damn nice work, but watch your back, because those Flori-DUH cops might have ‘issues’ with you blazing away during a car chase. Porky’s Rampage When the boar flashed his tusks at him, Deputy Tibor unlimbered his Taser, took dead aim, and fired. Did that 50,000 volt reality check do the trick? Nope, the boar shook it off like it was no big deal and continued his rampage. His antics came to an untimely end, after those human killjoys corralled him in a nearby trailer. Add this to your list of PIGish survival tips: shooting a wild boar with a Taser isn’t going to ‘git ‘er done’, learn something new every day Sparky. Parents of the Year At first glance, it seems like no big deal. On daddy duty, a Myrtle Beach (South Carolina) man, Geoffrey Hale, made a quick pitstop at his wife’s place of work. Since the tyke was fast asleep in a car seat in the rear seat of his ride, Geoffrey decided to leave the nipper unattended while he whisked inside, got the cell phone from his wife, then left again. No harm, no foul? I’ll let you be the judge. Geoffrey’s first mistake was leaving his kid unattended in an unlocked car in the parking lot of the local booty parlor where mom works as a dancer. Geoffrey’s second mistake was getting a lap dance, while he waited for his bride to finish her stint on the booty parlor’s stage. His final mistake was getting busted, when the cops responded to a citizen’s report of an unattended tyke in a car that was parked outside a booty parlor. Dad is in the slammer, and mom - the more responsible parent - was given custody of the tyke. A Quixotean Quest The fun started, in the 1990s, when a Flori-DUH couple, Donna and Joel Brinkle, declared war on the Nanny State. From their 5 acres of land in Geneva, they declared themselves independent of all government authority and went for the gold by refusing to pay any taxes. Big, big fun. That bit of rebellion turned out the way such things usually do. The Nanny State seized the Brinkle property. Joel did a seven-month graybar stretch for contempt of court. Last but never least, the IRS separated these independence minded individuals from all their money. Game, set, match? Not exactly. The Brinkles are still fighting back, using the tools at their disposal to get back at anyone, everyone, who helped destroy everything they had. This time around, they’re using liens against certain Nanny State officials and those who assist them. The nifty thing about liens, is that they work like classic booby trap. It just sits there, harmlessly, until the twerp in the lien bull’s-eye needs to get a loan or make some meaningful financial transaction. That’s when a credit check sets off this lien booby trap. Nice moves, Brinkles.
Their lien-wrangling escapades have earned the Brinkles another day in court. This time out, Flori-DUH’s attorney general is suing them, trying to get a killjoy in black robes to put an end to the Brinkles’ paper blizzard. He wants a court order forcing them to knock it off, unless the lien is filed by a shyster or with a court order. What a party pooper. Is any of this discouraging the Brinkles? You be the judge. Insisting that, as his own nation, he doesn’t need one, 76 years young Joel keeps getting busted for driving without a license, but he’s not the least bit sorry. As fun as that is, it gets a lot better. In February, our sovereign couple tried to buy a $700,000 house in one of those rooty-tooty, gated, neighborhoods. How, you ask, could this picked to the bone, living on Socialist Security, couple afford anything like that? You’ll be thrilled:
Did it work? Almost, until some black-robed killjoy negated the transaction and returned the property to its original owner. How did the Brinkles respond? They slapped a lien against the man who ‘sold’ them the house, the man’s wife, and the man’s company. Punked By Sciurus niger Frank Garren has been tested in battle, and still carries the scars from a roadside bomb in Iraq, a woulnd which earned him a purple heart. He has faced danger and emerged to tell the tale. He’s a warrior and we salute him for his service to our country. We are, however, required to share the details of his latest battle, one waged in Springfield’s (Illinois) Washington Park. Like his tour of duty in Iraq, this one also left some scars on Frank. Unlike Iraq, nobody is ready to pin a medal on Frank for this one, because, from where we’re sitting, he lost this battle:
I’ve heard of dudes going the extra mile to impress their main squeeze, but letting a furry rodent kick your butt seems much too high a price to pay. That’s right, PIGsters, were warning you not to try this one at home. Utterly American Tales Chain Reaction in Spokane A power line caught fire. When the power line fell, it hit a metal fence and a car. While the car turned extra crispy, the energized fence took this chain reaction to the next level. When the energy flowing through the fence was conducted to ground, it made contact with a natural gas pipeline. The grounded energy from the downed power line burned through the pipeline, starting an underground natural gas fire. The underground natural gas fire, torched the meters at two nearby home. With his work finished, and those pesky humans busy cleaning up his mess, the squirrel moved onward, upward, to that great nut cache in the sky. Homeowner Association Tyranny in Kennewick Burke’s life headed off in a new direction, a few months after he settled into this new job, when Uncle Sam activated Burke’s National Guard unit and deployed Lt. Burke Jensen to Kuwait. That unplanned event left several elements of his new life unattended, including the ‘improvements’ he was contractually obligated to make on his Oak Hill Country Estates property. It didn’t help, when his wife packed up their young son and headed home to mom and dad, until hubby Burke got back home from his tour of duty. The Jensens, quite understandably, put off such low level tasks as landscaping their 2.5 acre Oak Hill Country Estates property. I get that, and I’d be willing to cut the Jensens some slack, but the same can’t be said for a festering sore on humanity’s butt named ‘Chick Edwards, owner and developer of the 47-lot subdivision at the south end of Oak Street in Kennewick’.
‘Walk away from his obligation’? Hardly. Burke had hired a landscaper to design and deploy an irrigation system and seed the plot of land, but that scumbag took the money and ran, leaving the job unfinished. Furthermore, some of Burke’s Energy Northwest co-workers are, on their own time, trying to put the finishing touches on the irrigation system and keeping the plot clear of weeds. Finally, Burke has suggested that he might rent out the property and let his tenant make it liveable. Does any of this satisfy Chick The Prick? Hardly. Chick The Prick is mad as hell and determined to punish a man who has gone in harm’s way to defend the liberty of rat bastards like Chick The Prick, whose parting words prove that he’s the biggest pile of shit in the Northwest: "This is a contract. I don't like the way his property looks. This clown gets to do what he wants, and I'm as mad as hell." Call me names if you must, but there is no fate - including beheading by a Jihadikaze scumbag - that could befall Chick the Prick which would make me shed a single tear. Lt. Burke Jensen deserves better than this kind of crap from a turd like Chick the Prick. Love, American Style Pat Barnabay shared these choice words about the moose and his ardor for her ride:
As expected, the PIG staff engaged in a long, anatomically correct, discussion about this story, but the ensuing speculation on the ‘mechanics’ of a possible moose - F-150 tryst were deemed a bit too real for an allegedly family friendly publication. Instead, we’re content to let you sort that out for yourselves. From Sea to Shining Sea Nice Try, Alibi Breath * For some reason, the boater kept shifting his boat in, then out, of forward, then in, and out, of reverse, repeating the sequence at least four times. * Each time he moved his boat, the beer cans, which were scattered around on the boat’s deck, were set in motion. * When asked if he’d been drinking, the boater blurted out, "Yes, all day", but changed his story to "No, not today", later, after he had an unscheduled synaptic firing. * The drunk boater had just enough synaptic function to dodge that drunk test bullet. When asked to take a field sobriety test and give a breath sample, the boater refused both. Bagged, tagged and dragged to the local drunk tank? You better believe it, drunk as a skunk Sparky. The Flori-DUH Five
Four women wearing no shirt, no bra and sporting suspenders? Weird, even for Flori-DUH. The good news is that Olmer got to see four pairs of nearly naked hooters without drilling a hole in the wall of girl’s locker room. The bad news is that it cost him $100. $100? It’s still a bargain, based on prevailing booty parlor pricing in Flori-DUH. Numerology * In New Jersey, on the Garden State Parkway and the New Jersey Turnpike, the 66.6 mile marker signs keep disappearing. Toll Road officials plan to put a stop to it, by deploying signs which read 66.61. * In Morris County, the road officials were forced to change the designation of Route 666 to Route 665, when the signs bearing the devilish numerology keep being stolen. * Five years ago, officials in Utah, New Mexico and Colorado renumbered the 194 mile long Route 666, changing its designation to Route 491. Ironically, Route 666 in Pennsylvania hasn’t had any problems. That seems to support the oft-stated contention by the locals that Pennsylvania is ‘God’s Country’. It’s go figure time in the PIG Bunker. Target Practice
Congratulations, William, you’re the lucky recipient of the celestial equivalent of the venerable ‘hot foot’. How did you get so lucky, dude? SEPTEMBER 2008
You’re Out of Here, Sparky At least 14, Portsmouth (New Hampshire), adult beverage emporiums have banded together to create a ‘not in my bar, asshat Sparky’ black list. If someone gets kicked out of an eatery or a bar, their name goes on the list and gets passed around to everyone participating in this ‘we don’t want those bad apples’ plan. So far, it sounds like capitalism, the marketplace, taking care of business. The fly in the ointment, according to asshat shielding shysters, is the part of the plan that has the Portsmouth police department keeping, and dispensing, the list. If someone on the list shows up at one of the participating outposts of capitalism, he, she, heshe or it can be busted for criminal trespassing, a misdemeanor. That’s where this plan hits the speed bump, according to these asshat loving shysters:
The city attorney’s response is, in my opinion, a good one. He says that a capitalist has the right to refuse service to anyone. If the patron refuses to get out of Dodge, that’s trespassing, making it a legitimate police beef. That sounds good, but I suspect some whining shyster bastard will get the policy black flagged in court, by some knee-jerk Korrectnik in black robes. When ‘Oops’ Won’t Cut It A 71-years young denizen of Gold Beach (Oregon), John Grady Pippen, did what anyone would do, when he was hit with ‘agonizing abdominal pain’. He went to the hospital to have the pros from Dover diagnose his malady. In the fullness of time, the retired mechanic, and former logger got the joyous newsflash:
That’s going to thrill the socks off grandfather John’s family. Is there something he’s neglected to tell them? Not really. The administrator for Curry General Hospital tried for a ‘nothing to see here’, by blaming the whole thing on a few errant keystrokes. John, dude, do yourself a favor, and have a REAL medical facility check those ‘pain’ pills these nitwits gave you when you checked out. Perils of Urban Camping An Urban Camper, Robert Evans, had an action-packed day that put him in the human gene pool improvement zone, twice, within 6 thrilling hours. His first encounter with those fickle fates happened around 10 p.m., when a hit and run driver used Robert and his bicycle for target practice. After a trip to the emergency room of a Boulder Hospital, Robert and his bike were back on the streets, ready to challenge fate for a second time. This time, he played human gene pool volunteer bingo, by walking his bicycle across a railroad bridge, which is barely wide enough to accommodate a train. With no room left to spare, the train clipped Robert knocking him ass over tea kettle into the creek, 10 feet below the railroad bridge. Robert eluded the infamous ‘accepted’, for a second time, in 6 hours, but any shot at a ‘I kicked fate’s ass’ trifecta, will have to wait, until he’s out of the hospital. Lady Luck is Fickle ‘Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good’, sums up Steve Syme’s, a Salt Lake City (Utah) desperado, car stealing caper. Luck was smiling on him, when he strolled past Steve Harris Imports, and spotted a car ripe for the plucking. Already running, the unattended 2001 burgundy Ferrari 550 Maranello was just begging to be stolen, so Steve jumped in and drove the $130,000 car off the lot. Despite the fact that he stole the only car of its kind in the city, Steve-o’s luck held long enough for him to stop off at Paul Thomas Jewelers to steal some glitter worthy of a Ferrari, a diamond ring worth $1,900. Luck turned on Steve-o, big time, when the cops visited Midtown Pawn to warn the capitalist to be on the lookout for a man driving the Ferrari trying to pawn a stolen diamond ring. The pawn shop reported Steve-o when he arrived at the shop, a mere 10 minutes after the cops left. Steve-o had enough reserve luck to make a clean getaway, but that escape exhausted his supply.
How lucky was Steve-o during his romp around Salt Lake City? Very: * The car had very little gas in the tank. * He drove the entire time with the emergency brake on. * If he shut off the car, he had to press a complex series of buttons to prevent an alarm sounding. * The car doesn’t have a regulation ignition key, so it’s a slam dunk that he’d never be able to start it again, if he shut it off. Lady Luck got nasty in the end, allowing Steve-o to be bagged, tagged and dragged to the Salt Lake County graybar hotel on a laundry list of charges: ‘auto theft, a second-degree felony, third-degree felony theft in connection with the diamond ring, theft by deception and possession of drug paraphernalia.’ The good news for Steve-o is that, unlike the car he stole, his cell has a key. The bad news - the reason Lady Luck is laughing - is that he can’t get his hands on it. Life is so sucky, that way. Lone Star State Smiting Alert Nadra Arnold Curry thinks her home town, Granbury (Mexas), is playing fast and loose with a highly combustible deity whom I call, Old Ka-Boom. She sounded the warning to anyone who would listen, including a recent meeting of the Hood County Commissioners Court. The symbol being deployed by the Granbury High School athletic boosters is - TA DA - "Satanic". If someone in a position of authority doesn’t put a stop to this Satanic blight on her town, the entire city is inviting "the wrath of God" - a smiting - for their devilish antics. And what, you ask, is this, straight from the bowls of hell, symbol that is popping up all over town? The Jolly Roger - the legendary skull and crossbones on a black flag - which just happens to be the symbol for the Granbury High School PIRATES. Every Thursday, the Touchdown Club deploys the flags at ‘participating businesses’ on Thursday, during the football season. On Saturday, the Touchdown Club retrieves the flags from those who are willing to give their local team a boost. That works just fine, for the county hacks, who were roped into this lunacy, because two or three of the flags were deployed on county property. Parting shot: As far as I know, there’s only one group that overtly, invokes ‘pirates’ as part of their supernaturalism, adherents of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. I had no idea that Nadra had ventured that deeply into the theological Twilight Zone. Learn something new every day. American Tales What’s That Smell? Worse: After cutting loose on the woman, the stinker runs into her house. Welcome to hell: The proper authorities spend HOURS searching for the beast inside her house and CAN’T FIND IT. PIGish suggestion: Torch the place and start over. Music To My Ears Grabbing part of an unidentified brass musical instrument, she belted one of the invaders with it, an action that helped his ‘flight’ impulses reach critical mass. Like any good ‘hostess’, she saw them out, had the presence of mind to jot down the make, model and tag number of their getaway ride, then called the cops. Thanks to our heroine’s ‘musical interlude’, the proper authorities quickly bagged, tagged and dragged the car’s owner, Todd Lawson, to the local graybar hotel. He was joined there, in due course, by his homeboy, Billy Joe Price. That’s a nice musical technique you’ve got there darlin’. Oh, by the way, is there some reason these News Nitwits can’t, or won’t, identify the instrument you used with such compelling efficiency. Red, White and Blue Tales Nightmare on Carmelita Avenue
I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. This man who saved his family from a group of assholes, is not some cold-hearted, gun crazed, nitwit. Furthermore, the dead punk, Jamal Ellison, was dressed for mayhem:
This story is the one that the asshats who want to disarm us won’t tell you. It’s the story of a heroic husband and father who did what was necessary to save his family. It’s the story of a man who didn’t take this necessary act of self defense lightly. It’s the story of a man whose courage - and a loaded shotgun - were the last line of defense keeping his family out of harm’s way. It is, in short, a very AMERICAN story. Music To My Ears Grabbing part of an unidentified brass musical instrument, she belted one of the invaders with it, an action that helped his ‘flight’ impulses reach critical mass. Like any good ‘hostess’, she saw them out, had the presence of mind to jot down the make, model and tag number of their getaway ride, then called the cops. Thanks to our heroine’s ‘musical interlude’, the proper authorities quickly bagged, tagged and dragged the car’s owner, Todd Lawson, to the local graybar hotel. He was joined there, in due course, by his homeboy, Billy Joe Price. That’s a nice musical technique you’ve got there darlin’. Oh, by the way, is there some reason these News Nitwits can’t, or won’t, identify the instrument you used with such compelling efficiency. Giving Back In Los Gatos
Brian will have ample time to rethink his career options while he’s in one of those special ‘thinking’ rooms at the local graybar hotel. Don’t Mess With Mom It’s a family’s worst nightmare. Two armed asshats smashed through the front door of their home in Forth Worth’s (Mexas) suburbs and posed a deadly threat to Kellie Hoehn, her husband Keith, and their two children. Screaming the alarm to her husband, Kellie ordered her 12 year old son to get his 5 year old sister and hide. Just getting started, Kellie grabbed the muzzle of the shotgun one punk was packing. Joining the fight for their very lives, Keith tackled the man with the shotgun, while Kellie smashed the asshat’s head with a jar candle. That loosened the punk’s grip on the shotgun, allowing Keith to wrest it from him. Now on the front lawn of the Hoehn home, the battle turned deadly.
A punk named Dakota Benoit went to the hell he deserved. His partner in home invasion, John Pierson, is hospitalized in critical condition. Unhappily, despite the severity of his wounds, he’s probably going to survive. Parting shot: Don’t mess with mom, because, forced to choose between you and her kids, she won’t think twice about putting you on a slab in the morgue with Dakota Benoit. Border Jumper News I spotted at trio of articles which bring a hint of good news in our war on border jumping scumbag invaders. The first item commands attention with a screaming headline "Immigration prosecutions reach a high". When you dig into the story, the facts aren’t quite as dramatic as the headline. The scribbler tries to make the ‘high drama’ cut by using that old percentage trick. That’s the one where they cite an impressive percentage increase - 20% in this instance - because the raw numbers aren’t that spiffy. That’s the case here:
I’m thrilled that ICE is doing its job, but we must face the facts. The Sanctuary City of Angels harbors a border jumping scumbag population that’s hundreds of thousands strong, a high percentage of whom have violated a deportation order. Busting 657 is just a drop in the bucket. At best, it might hit close enough to home to send Chico and Rosita fleeing for their lives, every time they see a green car. The second story is more ‘nothing to see here’ since it notes that, the first casualty in America’s construction collapse are all those off the books illegals the contractors hire. With no money coming in for many border jumpers, places like El Paso (Mexas) are seeing a marked increase in border jumpers (usually unmarried dudes) buying a one-way ticket back where they belong. Even the writers of this story (St. Pete Times) admit that the exodus isn’t a stampede. Whatever the case, every little bit helps. The third story in our border jumper news trifecta is also related to America’s faltering economy. Unlike the first two parts of this trilogy, this one has some bite. The scribes at the Houston Chronicle filed this report:
This is the largest monthly decrease since the plunder from America started being tallied, in 1995. The primary cause is the construction industry debacle, but another factor is the decline in the value of the U.S. dollar against the Mexican peso. The annual rate of plunder decline is 2.9%. I’d like to tell you that I give a flaming damn about Mexico’s problems, but I can’t. You’d never believe it anyway. AUGUST 2008
Pelosi Paranoia With a hunting trip scheduled to start on August 28th, a Wyoming denizen, Joseph Clanchini, decided to get his hunting rifles fitted with some new scopes during his business trip to Denver. It was, he concluded, a very efficient use of his time. His trip to Denver hit a speed bump, when he arrived at the Grand Hyatt hotel with two rifle cases and two pistols. Why? Because his arrival, coincided with the Demoncrat convention AND San Fran Nan Pelosi was a registered guest in the hotel.
In a rational world, the proper authorities would cut Joe some slack, wrist slap him with a fine and send him on his way. Unhappily, this is Denver, a locale which, the last time we checked, was utterly, and completely, detached from objective reality. Good luck, Joe. You’re going to need it. Parting shot: My personal reaction to this story was PIGish to the max. I heard the words ‘hunting rifles’ and ‘a man from Wyoming’ and perked up immediately. When you add the fact that he was checking into the same Denver hotel where San Fran Nan was leaving a stinking stain, I immediately thought of Dick "Darth" Cheney. I'd been wondering why we hadn't heard from Dick Cheney lately. Now, I understand why. Obviously, he's on a hunting trip, trying to bag his Liberal Harpy quota, which are, as you know, ALWAYS fair game. If that's his goal, Denver was, for sure, the place to be, the last week of August. Stranger Than Fiction This is one of those stories that you’d vilify as preposterous, if you saw it on a boob tube show. Prove it? No problem. Admittedly, romantic triangles are commonplace, but this one has an added twist. It features a husband, his too horny for one man to satisfy wife, and her boyfriend. So far it’s not breaking news, but there’s one more thing you need to know. Carla, age 35, lives in her Atlanta home with her 25-year old hubby Tracy AND her 21-year-old boyfriend, Michael. Their domestic bliss hit a speed bump, this week, when jealously reared its ugly head. One of the men got jealous when he heard Carla getting horizontal and squishy with the other man. I know what you’re thinking but it’s not THAT. In this case, it was the boyfriend who went postal because Carla was getting her muffin buttered by hubby Tracy. Coming unglued, boyfriend Mikey started pounding on the locked bedroom door. Eventually, he got inside, where the two men went toe-to-toe in a shoving match. Things spiraled out of control, after the boyfriend beaned the hubby with a vase. Unwilling to tolerate that, hubby snatched up a knife and tried, repeatedly, to stab the boyfriend with it. Eventually the cops arrived and carted both men off to the slammer on a laundry list of charges. And what, you ask, about Carla? She has jettisoned both men from her home, and her life. I know what you’re thinking, sounds like my kind of woman Sparky, and we strongly suggest that you don’t go there. However, if you decided to try your luck with Carla and it turns out badly, don’t say we didn’t warn you. Parting shot: For those who obsess on such things, here are the charges facing the two combatants for Carla’s affections: Boyfriend: He’s facing two felony charges, one of which is aggravated assault. He’s out on a $35,000 bond. Hubby: He’s facing an aggravated assault and battery charge. He’s out on a $25,000 bond. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished A Senior Deputy in the Marion County (Oregon) sheriff’s department, Jerry Wollenschlaeger, found out the hard way, that no good deed goes unpunished. While patrolling the byways in his jurisdiction at 3 a.m. on a Friday, he spotted a man walking away from a Jeep Cherokee which was parked on the side of the road. Eager to assist a motorist in distress, the officer pulled up alongside the motorist, then rolled down the passenger side window to see if he could help in some way. That’s when this encounter took a sharp turn into the Twilight Zone:
With police mutt Yo’s assistance, Senior Deputy Wollenschlaeger finally got Evan Adams’ undivided attention. After a brief pit stop at a local hospital to have some dog bites treated, Evan was carted off to the Marion County graybar, where he’s facing a laundry list of charges that include assaulting a police officer, interfering with a police animal, plus driving under the influence of intoxicants, to name a few. Get comfortable, dumbass, you’re going to be there for a while. The Great Lizzie Borden War Fall River, Massachusetts, is best known, for good or ill, because a PMS Princess named Lizzie Borden flushed traditional family values down the crapper when she dispatched her father and stepmother with an axe, 11 decades ago. It’s not much for a town to hang its reputation on, but Fall River is stuck with it. At least one Fall River denizen has picked up Lizzie’s fallen axe and run with it. His name is Donald Woods and he runs the Lizzie Borden Bed and Breakfast (and Museum) from the same home where Lizzie’s dad and stepmother met then gruesome fate, in 1892. Life, for Donald, was just spiffy, until another capitalist horned in on the Lizzie Borden market. Located 80 miles away, in Salem (Massachusetts), Leonard Pickel is prepared to open his own Lizzie Borden Museum and gift shop. His reasoning is sound, and he will probably be successful:
He might be right about aiming more visitors at Fall River, but Donald Woods isn’t willing to share the Lizzie Borden market with anybody. He’s taking Leonard to court, accusing him of trademark infringement. Among other things, Donald is far from thrilled that Leonard owns the domain name: http://www.lizziebordenmuseum.com, and uses the LizzieBordenMuseum@gmail.com e-mail address. Wherever she is, Lizzie must be enjoying all this fuss. More than a century after she hacked her name into America’s collective consciousness, Lizzie is still spreading her special brand of joy. You’ve still got it, Lizzie! Liberty Wins One For more than a decade, Howard County (Maryland) has been doing everything in its power to close down the Pack Shack bookstore. But, after 11 years, the Pack Shack has taken that Elected Tormentor licking and kept on ticking. Now, it appears that the Pack Shack and its adult-oriented offerings have worn down the Howard County prudes. Ironically, Howard County spelled its own doom, by amending zoning regulations. Under the revised rules of engagement, ‘a bookstore is defined as "adult" if 20% or more of its total inventory or floor space is devoted to adult material’. When the county officials pulled that one out of their butts, the Pack Shack capitalists eschewed going to court over it. Instead, they tweaked their inventory and layout to make the ‘not an adult bookstore’ cut, and it worked. The latest inspection by the Department of Planning and Zoning concluded that the Pack Shack no longer qualifies as an ‘adult’ bookstore. Does this mean the fight is over? No necessarily. The local holy roller contingent is still outraged that adults are allowed to do business at the Pack Shack. They want the county to change the zoning rules until the Pack Shack is well and truly screwed. That’s doable, of course, but there’s this pesky dose of prose called the Constitution, that might get in the way. Parting shot: Unless the Pack Shack is frog-marching holy rollers at gun point into the store and making them buy ‘dirty’ books, the true believers need to get over it and get on with their lives. Countermeasures A Virginia farmer is tired of sharing his blueberry crop with those pesky birds who view his money crop as ‘dinner’. Unwilling to tolerate that crap, the owners of Owl’s Head Blueberry Farm devised a nifty way to encourage the feathered blueberry lovers to get the hell out. What’s their solution? It’s a propane powered ‘cannon’ that emits a resounding ‘boom’ which sends the birds packing with compelling efficiency. There’s just one problem with this solution. It’s bugging the crap out of the farm’s neighbors. In fact, despite the fact that the farm has been deploying their cannon for years, 20 whiners petitioned the select board to declare a ‘cease fire’. They’re tired of the relentless artillery barrage that starts, daily, at six in the morning from late July through August. One of the farm owners, Lawrence Cobb, is sympathetic, but he’s got blueberries to save from the birds. He knows it’s annoying, but the cannon is legal. His contention about the cannon’s legality was substantiated when the select board refused to act on the petition. Sometimes the system works the way our Founding Fathers intended. Go figure. Utterly American Tales One Man Wrecking Crew * Alfredo got things started, around midnight, when he came roaring down a freeway off ramp, made a very wide turn, and barely missed ramming a police car head-on. * When the cops in the car he just missed made a U-Turn and gave chase, Alfredo tried to shake them, by zipping down San Diego’s byways. In the process, he slammed into a parked, unoccupied, cop car. * After turning onto another street, Alfredo ‘intentionally side swiped another patrol car driven by an officer who was going to assist in the chase’. (San Diego Union-Tribune) * Alfredo’s luck ran out, a few minutes later, when he plowed into a parked Dodge truck. During his brief police chase, Alfredo hit three cars, two of them police cruisers, and narrowly missed a doing a header into a third cop car. That’s a full night’s work, so he was, undoubtedly, delighted to be bagged, tagged and dragged to the local graybar for a badly needed rest. A Flori-DUH Voter Meltdown * Holly got things rolling, by deliberately running down a woman, who was riding her bike on the side of the road. * Ditching her Honda, Holly hopped into the back seat of a car, whose driver had stopped to help the bicyclist. * After being evicted from the Good Samaritan’s ride, Holly ran to another car, yanked the driver out of it, then took dead aim at her Honda and the four kids who were still sitting in it. * A Boy Scout, who was riding in Holly’s Honda, saw her coming and hustled his sibling, plus Holly’s two kids, out of harm’s way. * After ramming her own Honda, Holly, slammed the stolen car into a fence, bailed out of it, then ran around in circles, while stripping off all her clothes. What made Holly snap? Babysitting for two kids and her own pair of tykes might have something to do with it. Whatever the cause, the meltdown landed Holly in the slammer on a laundry list of serious charges: aggravated battery/use of a deadly weapon, carjacking, DUI, and DUI/causes damage to property. Book the bitch, Dan-o. Buckeye State Carjacker Gets The Point
It shouldn’t shock anyone to learn that Daniel spent a stretch in state prison, and is wanted for failing to re-register as a sex offender when he got out. Unhappily, that knife wound didn’t put Daniel out of our misery, but, we’re not giving up all hope, yet. Our chances are still good, if he lands back to the slammer, where one of his fellow inmates might resolve that pesky, ‘he’s still alive, dammit’ issue for us. Tar Heel Jihadikaze Pleads Guilty In March 2006, a steaming Jihadikaze load, named Mohammed Taheri-azar, drove his rented SUV onto the campus of UNC-Chapel Hill and did his best to turn the students at a popular gathering spot into road kill:
This week, the Jihadikaze piece of shit plead guilty to nine counts of attempted first-degree murder. Unhappily, the presiding judge cut this homicidal asshat some slack, by ‘consolidating’ the plea into two counts of attempted first-degree murder’. Does that make the other seven students this bastard ran down ‘fair game’? Apparently. We’ll need to console ourselves with the long stretch in a graybar facing this son-of-a-bitch. Since the two sentences must be served consecutively, here’s what the rat bastard has coming:
The good news is that he’s headed for jail. The bad news is that his punishment isn’t close to being enough. He deliberately rented a Jeep SUV, because he thought it would do the most damage. Hoping to martyr himself during the attack, he left a note for the authorities that expressed his intent to kill as many students as possible. Given all that, why is he getting off lightly, with a mere 20 years? We think our Tar Heel PIGster, Anthony, has an idea worth considering:
Here in the Free State of PIG, we believe in giving the maximum assistance, when some Jihadikaze scumbag wants to die for Allah. Red, White and Blue Tales Splashdown in Lake Quinsigamond When the cops arrived, Stevie was parked by the boat ramp, facing the lake. After a brief exchange of pleasantries between Stevie and Officer Shawn Valliere, Stevie terminated the chat, prematurely. For reasons that made sense to him, he drove into the lake at high speed, narrowly missing a man and his two kids in the process. The plan - float like a butterfly - across the water, worked, for about 50 yards, then gravity, and several other natural laws, gave Stevie that sinking feeling.
Parting shot: Stevie is all the explanation we need for Congressman Barney Franks, Senator John Kerry and Senator Teddy ‘This Swimmer’ Kennedy. Squeeze Play The answer turned out to be 26. As luck would have it, that’s also the number of cheerleaders who can get stuck in an elevator with no means of escape. While some of the frail ones fainted, at least one had the presence of mind to use her cell phone to summon help. Thirty minutes later, a much less enthusiastic group of adventure seeking cheerleaders were extricated from the elevator. Aside from some minor boo-boos, no lasting harm was done. Well, almost none. The usual scolds in positions of authority at the university aren’t the least bit thrilled over this outburst of giggle-intensive high spirits. As Simple As A, B, C After a car chase, during which they hit speeds in excess of 100 mph, the deputy bagged his quarry. That’s when he found out the source of the problem: the 25 year old lead foot was - TA DA - text messaging while driving. This cellidiot asshat will be too busy for text messaging, for a while, now that he gets to try is luck under Minnesota’s newly enacted law banning text messaging while driving. Parting shot: Personally, I don’t give a damn if some text messaging rat bastard kills himself by doing a header into a tree, nailing a guard rail or driving off a cliff. Good riddance. But, since the odds of them surviving after killing somebody else with their cellidiocy are high, we need to take drastic measures. I say, round up a random sample of text messaging road warriors then introduce them to the business end of Old Betsy and her pumped up brother, Big Bang. Maybe THAT will persuade the rest of these road warrior cell idiots to KNOCK THAT CRAP OFF! Welcome To The Jungle Unwilling to be the latest Sanctuary City of Angels home invasion crime statistic, one of the men inside the house exercised his Second Amendment rights, by greeting the invaders with a fusillade of hot lead. His aim was true, killing a 20-year-old punk (his name has been withheld, so we’re guessing BORDER JUMPER), and sending the dead bastard’s two home boys fleeing for their lives. The Free State of PIG congratulates this Second Amendment hero for taking at least one punk out of the human gene pool, permanently. Nice shooting dude. Damn nice shooting. JULY 2008
Getting Bolder in Boulder With her 10 month old nipper strapped to her back, while she rode her bike in Boulder (Colorado), 23 year old Danika Bueno appeared to be an easy target for a low grade pervert named Nathan Wood. Riding up beside Danika on his own bike, Nathan groped our heroine’s sweater puppies, then took off like a scalded mutt. Unwilling to put up with that bull crap, and who can blame her, Danika took off after the pervert, keeping close to him, while she reported the asshat’s groping to the operators at 911. Thanks to Danika’s courage, and her superb conditioning, she keep after Nathan until the cops arrived to bag, tag, and drag him off to the graybar on charges of unlawful sexual contact and child abuse. PIG News fervently hopes that some graybar dwelling Bubba will give this pimple on humanity’s butt a taste of his own, grab ass medicine. A Tale of Two Counties The two counties in question - Prince William County and Fairfax County - are both located in Northern Virginia. Fairfax County’s primary claim to fame involves having the highest property values in this land of the not as free as we deserve to be. Prince William County is, essentially, a bedroom community for the nation’s capital. It made the news late last year for another matter, a crackdown on the border jumping scumbags who infested the county. Fast forward to the present, and we find some tasty tidbits in this World Net Daily story. The neighboring counties just logged some interesting crime statistics: * Fairfax County racked up a jarring 22% overall increase in crime, during the first quarter of 2008. * Fairfax County reported a 24% increase in property crimes (burglary, larceny and car theft) in the first quarter of 2008. * Prince William County reported a 19.3% decrease in crime, during the first quarter of 2008. Does anyone have the nads to state the obvious? You better believe it, learn to wait for it Sparky. Cory Stewart, chairman of the Board of County Supervisors, attributes the crime decrease ‘to the hard line the county has taken toward illegal immigrants’. A spokeshole for the county badge packers is more guarded, but seems to be on the same page as County Supervisor Stewart: "One quarter doesn’t tell us a lot. It shows us where there may be trends developing." Biker Rampage in Seattle A group of Great Northwest Nitwit bikers - these peddle pushers call themselves Critical Mass - don’t think this rain-soaked liberal Mecca’s streets are big enough for cars and bikes. To make their point, in the most painful way possible, on the last Friday of each month, they gather in a mob numbering 100 or more, and ride through the streets of Seattle, making as many drivers miserable as they can. During last week’s assault on driver sanity, the Critical Mass cretins borrowed a page from another infamous biker group, the Hell’s Angels:
As expected, the Critical Mass cretins blame the motorist, whom, they swear, picked a fight with 100 snarling bikers. It’s a good story, and we might give a moment’s thought, if we hadn’t heard about similar, repeated, biker meltdowns from a friend who lives in the Sanctuary City of Angels. Parting shot: The Seattle Police Department’s top brass is still trying to do their political calculations on this one. Despite this latest biker rampage, the badge packers aren’t ready to change the way they handle these monthly Critical Mass assaults on Seattle’s streets. American Tales Denton (Mexas) By now you’re wondering why this story is PIG-worthy and we don’t blame you. Oh, did I forget to mention that our young PIGster is a 5 year old lad who managed to elude his assigned watchers at the Imagination Station child care center? It must have slipped my mind. We’re pleased to report that our young PIGster lad came through his adventure unharmed. We’re willing to call his jaunt a scouting trip, since, it will be a few years before our young PIGster lad can ogle the Hooters gals with the requisite level of enthusiasm. Parting shot: We’re compelled to warn our little PIGsters not to try this at home. It’s a dangerous world out there and you’re too young to be wandering off on your own. For now, when you’ve got a Hooters craving, you’ll need to ask dad to take you there. Milwaukee (Wisconsin) Keith’s plan was straightforward enough, but one of those devilish details made him a ‘you’ll never believe this one’ fixture on newscasts from sea to shining sea. How? The damn lawnmower refused to start, and, in his differently-sober state, Keith’s reservoir of patience was dangerously low. After exchanging the usual profane pleasantries with the uncooperative lawncare implement, Keith did what every last one of us has wanted to do, at one time or another. Keith got Old Betsy - his sawed off shotgun - and put the damn mower out of his misery by shooting the blasted thing, TWICE. When the proper authorities responded to the report of ‘shots fired’, Keith gave it to them straight:
In a rational world, Keith’s antics would elicit a head shaking ‘no harm, no foul’, but not in lefty-saturated Wisconsin. The justice system has Keith staring at up to 6 YEARS, and change, in a graybar PLUS $11,000 in fines. For shooting his own lawnmower? What’s up with THAT? Parting shot: The unkindest cut of all comes from the local mower repair shop which reports that, DUH, two blasts from Old Betsy voids the mower’s factory warranty. Life is just one damn thing after another. Wilmington (Delaware) Jumping into her car, our heroine chased the man, bumping his bike, repeatedly, until he dropped her property. While he got the hell out of Dodge, our heroine retrieved her property, put it in her ride, then returned home to call the cops. She did her part, now it’s up to the proper authorities to locate, then bag, tag and drag this miscreant to the local graybar hotel. Mexas Obamaton Gets Lesson in Free Speech Proving that everything we’ve said about Messiah Barry’s deranged Obamatons is true, Chynethia Gregg plummeted off the deep end, when she saw the bumper sticker decorating Doug and Wendy McKain’s pickup truck. Our Obamaton took one look at the sticker of a tyke taking a piss on the name ‘Obama’, and lost her cool.
Unwilling to let it slide, she followed the McKain’s home, then started to do what comes much too easily to Obamatons. She accused the couple of racism, then got down to issuing threats:
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