sottise en quarantaine

[Bumblepuff]

"Life is full of surprises like a box of assorted spiders. Just the other day after I
arrived in Boston from my duty overseas, I thought I'd clean out the shelves in
my apartment and donate some canned foods to a local homeless shelter. The
marked dates for use on the cans had not expired, so I was good to go. To work
off nervous energy from the excitement of being back in a bustling metropolis,
I decided to walk across the city block by block to see what had changed since
my months abroad. Oddly enough, people stared at me coldly and pointed to my
backpack. When I waved back, they reciprocated with insulting hand gestures.
I wondered if they were offended because my military camo clashed with the
Boston fashion scene. I shrugged it off and continued onward to the homeless
shelter. Once there I was stopped at the entrance and frisked by an armed man.
Well, that was quite an unexpected experience. The shelter personnel were
commanded to stand at a distance as I opened my backpack. When they saw
its contents contained only canned foods, they were very relieved. Huh. Mighty
peculiar behavior. On my way home I thought it wasn't worth the hassle to buy
canned food I wouldn't eat, and I was determined to can my own food to save
money and eat healthier, so I visited a pawnshop and bought a used pressure
cooker. The pawn dealer looked at me suspiciously, but when he realized I had
served on the same tour as his brother, he became friendly and shook my hand.
As I continued to my apartment, I suddenly realized I had not checked to see if
the pressure cooker components were all intact so I stopped at a busy park and
sat on a bench. As I opened up my backpack and removed my pressure cooker,
I heard an old woman scream off to my right side. I glanced over and saw her
pointing at me and acting irrationally. Then a young woman made a call on her
mobile phone, and in less than a minute three police squad cars drove into the
park, surrounded the bench, aimed their guns at me and told me to lie prostrate
on the ground or else they would shoot. If this wasn't alarming enough, I heard
a helicopter whirring low overhead as several SWAT members rappelled to the
grass around my body, maced my face and began to pound the crap out of me.
I assumed I was somehow in violation of a new law so I remained submissive
as I received my beatings without complaint because they were only following
orders in their chain of command, which I had been trained to accept without
question. When I regained consciousness, I was inside an ambulance, and the
paramedics were laughing at my appearance. A young man explained that the
attack upon me had just been a simple case of mistaken identity and I must be
totally retarded or brain damaged to perform such a stupid act in public. At the
hospital infuriated police officers were waiting there to scold me for misleading
them into taking unnecessary precautions since my pressure cooker was not
a bomb and they had wasted valuable time and resources. Although their staff
psychologist concluded I was not a terrorist, she said I was guilty of offending
peaceful liberals and therefore must pay out-of-pocket expenses to cover the
cost of psychiatric treatments and counseling for the families in the park who
had been traumatized by my metal pressure cooker. Although my vision was
blurred and my body was wracked by pain with massive bumps and bruises,
I managed to shake the gloved hands of the gloating police who had beaten
me senseless, and I thanked them for showing concern for the safety of us
Bostonians, I also thanked them for not putting a bullet in my skull because
that would have increased the severity of my frequent migraine headaches."

[RagingRay]

That pretty well summed up the world we live in now in an amusing way. Congrats!

[Bumblepuff]

Malice called the third weekly meeting of the new Boston Tea Party to disorder and informed the
members that important groundbreaking plans were set for the next annual Boston Marathon to be
held in 2014. Malice and her microcongress of BTP2 elite were determined to keep the world famous
vanity race in the running because they were fully aware of the potential loss of lucrative Boston
tourist advertisements, loss of corporate sponsored product endorsements, loss of titillating celeb-
rity appearances and most important of all, loss of face if they chickened out from fear. Then Blabbit
reported that umpteen tea leaf readers had been consulted to predict what would likely happen at
the next Boston Marathon, but for all their degreed expertise, highfalutin promises and higher fees
collected, their only conclusion was that the herbal tea was too weak and lacked sufficient tingling
sensations for their taste buds. Migrainously aware of the incredibly difficult logistical nightmare
with having thousands of unionized police officers, trigger-happy SWAT teams and immensely
intimidating yet rather slow tanks along the entire historic twenty-six mile route that the runners
normally follow through eight cities and towns to reach the finish line, Malice hired Harvard grad
consultants from SlipShod Enterprises, a local consortium of highly paid paranoid engineers who
specialize in constructing antiterrorist sports equipment and utility fields inside superdomes and
enclosed arenas where large numbers of people excreting obnoxious body odors require adequate
ventilation systems to prevent concession vendors from passing out in the stands and spilling their
trays of snacks and drinks. After hemming and hawing and beating around the old mulberry bush,
SlipShod Enterprises informed Malice that the total cost (including Massachusetts state sales tax,
Boston city tax and political correctness tax) to hold the next Boston Marathon was simply quite
atrocious and not sustainable even with hidden taxes levied upon wealthy Bostonians. Therefore,
rather than squander billions of dollars on heavy security to monitor the long serpentine outdoor
route traversing public streets and pigeon-pooped landmarks, BTP2 agreed upon a bold plan to
construct a vertical oblong indoor track within a colossal sports stadium. The new indoor course
will consist of a massive mechanical revolving ovular track moving at a set speed powered by an
elaborate system of belts and pullies. This revolving track will be built upon the classic principle of
the plastic hamster wheel, yet it will be modified to be a more flattened oval shape as the track is
pulled behind, over and above to curl down ahead of the contestants as they run for twenty-six
stationary miles. This long complex contraption will be a perpetual looping treadmill marked with
securely bolted traffic signs, billboards, plastic flowers and bushes, merrily dressed mannequins
and obligatory nonfunctional fire hydrants so that the runners will feel they are racing through
familiar city street surroundings instead of running in place within a confined space. Although
there will be no rain inside of the enclosed arena, an engineer at SlipShod Enterprises surmised
there will be light precipitation if the runners sweat profusely, perspiration falls onto the course,
condenses and then later falls as droplets upon the contestants as the moisture soaked track
revolves over them. To simulate Heartbreak Hill, a massive steel wedge will lift the track at the
appropriate distance mark so exhausted runners can "hit the wall" and won't miss out on mental
anguish, torturous loss of breath and painful muscle cramps. To promote public awareness of the
new and safer indoor Boston Marathon scheduled for next year, BTP2 has designated the gerbil
as the official mascot of the Boston Marathon in honor of its endurance, determination and ability
to run in futile mindless circles just because it can. Since spectators love to bring their favorite
things like foods, drinks, cameras and handheld devices to enjoy this sporting event, Malice told
her comrades these items will be allowed, even if they are carried in backpacks, fannypacks and
duffel bags. The only stipulation for possessing personal items will be that a hefty mandatory BTP2
fee be paid on every questionable item brought to the indoor Boston Marathon. Knowing it is normal
for conceited citizens to flaunt their stuff, Malice anticipates their vain desires to bring in snazzy
designer bags, hats and other accessories will generate an enormous cash cow of herd proportions.
This new carry-in regulation will deter evil bombers yet allow harmless spectators to bring their
essential amenities while substantially adding revenue to the Boston City coffers. The BTP2 will get
25% of the proceeds for administrative costs. Blabbit reported that no progress had been made
regarding the mysterious envelope which was slipped under their door after the second meeting
had adjourned. The white envelope showed signs of tampering and trace amounts of pixie dust.
The enclosed photocopied letter contained only a solitary curiously parodic question: "Why is a
maven like a writhing burlesque?" City investigators and amateur sleuths were unable to solve
the unusual riddle or determine its author. Members of the Boston Literary Society were perplexed
by the arcane nature of the riddle and could find no reference to it in their dusty tomes detailing
historical scandals, scientific guides to chaos chameleon structure or xenocryptozoology, Boston
tourist guides or even garish graffiti spray-painted on walls and stalls of gritty ghetto public toilets.
Linguistic specialists nationwide were contacted to analyze and decipher the cryptic question, and
although wide-ranging theories were postulated regarding hidden inferences and backward codes
related to backward cultures, the consensus among ruffled experts was that queerly positioned
feathers were tainted by a strain of avian stain. Blabbit mentioned that this extensive research
had uncovered evidence of prehistoric marshmallow mummies buried under old cranberry bogs
which surprised them all because the Pilgrims and other early settlers had never described this
phenomenon. Malice was displeased at not knowing the answer to the perplexing riddle. It didn't
help matters that the Boston fringe was in titter tatters. Last week the bossy lunatic fringe had
been following a new lead into a potentially catastrophic extinction level event of the human race
and inevitable obliteration of the universal time space continuum, but an unexpected gyration of
a rogue quark particle caused a quantum entanglement linked to an out-of-patience paradox that
exploded into a pell-mell pall-mall pushmi-pullyu dispersal of aggravated gravitons at a copper-
zinc penny arcade and inexplicably trapped the lunatic fringe fellowship inside a two-way vanity
mirror; thus, they were stuck behind a partition of nonsense. Malice was peeved that vicissitudes
of the lunatic fringe exposed a vulnerable vacuum; thus, she petitioned the mayor to fund a new
clandestine clan called the Boston Binge whose members will report directly to her regarding all
sensitive gossip and juicy rumors. In order to contain dispersal of unflattering facts to the general
public, Malice has authorized a secret service of observers who will monitor the Boston Binge, the
Boston police and dangerous rogue sheeple who are capable of forming independent thoughts and
conclusions. A new pot of tea was brought into the room, but Dorkmouse had none because he was
passed out again as usual, this time due to having guzzled too much Kool-Aid while chatting with
the media reporters before the BTP2 meeting started so by the time he seated himself, the special
sedative ingredients in the Kool-Aid combined with the Xanax and double martinis with cheese he
had consumed earlier that morning overwhelmed his desire to participate in a lively discussion. The
Mad Splatter was in high spirits, in part because he had added several LSD-infused sugar cubes to
his tea, and mostly because he had achieved a major breakthrough by procuring weapons of mass
terrorist intimidation and repugnant sheeple control due to adequately bribed cooperation of the
Boston police who gave him carte blanche to their armaments warehouse in order to experiment
with new cool high-tech weapons. Mad Splatter was very enthusiastic about the pulse bazooka,
tin foil head shrink-wrapper, parasite sponge blaster, long-range sticky flamethrower and durable
tea bag body bags imprinted with the BTP2 logo. Malice was impressed and told her comrades they
deserved a vacation because the weather was pleasant, fragrant flowers were blooming and some
puffy cloud formations had cute funny animal shapes. Therefore, Malice declared BTP2 would take
a wonderfully adventurous field trip to Walden Pond to watch the spring hatching of reptilian aliens.
Blabbit said he would bring a video crew to film the event, and the Mad Splatter said he would bring
boxes of grenades to liven up the party if the hatching is unexpectedly delayed and he gets bored.

[Bumblepuff]

"What do you mean this isn't dairy cheese? You know I can't read labels! How
was I supposed to know it was made from a ripened Alzheimer patient's brain?
Well, I guess that explains all these tiny holes and why I can't remember who
I am or how I got here, but I do know I'm going to be violently sick right now!"

[Bumblepuff]

"Howdy, stranger! Are you another one of them US Census workers? We sent
the last one away with buckshot in his butt! If you're here about our overdue
child support, a money order's in the mail. If you're keen on buyin' moonshine,
flash your cash, and we'll talk some business. But if you're real curious about
inbreedin', wait here a spell and we'll wheel out Cousin Stubby. He ain't got no
arms to shake, but you can pat him on his head and feed him cheese crackers.
If you're a scout for a travelin' circus freak show, then make us a goodly offer.
We'll let you take Uncle Scab for free! He's been moltin' skin like a snowstorm!"

[Bumblepuff]

The most recent test flight of an experimental vehicle known to its corporate marketers as "Cloud
Nine" and to its technical engineers as "Levitating Lemon" encountered a slight setback attempting
to land after a brief daring flight over an abandoned industrial lot when its antigravity suspension
failed to engage due to buggy software identified as a quirky antivirus blocking program that acci-
dentally overrode the internal stabilizer code with its default redundant autowash rinse cycle in the
prewax setting. More exciting aerial tests will recommence just as soon as a new driver can be hired
who will not be disturbed by the foul odors, bloodstains and embedded bone fragments stuck in the
seat left by the prior driver who encountered a slightly greater setback due to a faulty nonexpand-
ing air bag that resulted in his turboturbulent demise before his insurance policy coverage could be
authorized by the company's insurance carrier, which was unfortunate because finding willing able-
bodied drivers is getting harder than ever since the Crash Test Dummies Union blacklisted the Cloud
Nine prototype and banned its members from being subjected to hazardous nonmannequin-friendly
aeronautical adventures, no matter how tempting their offers of cool custom retrofit enhancements.

[Bumblepuff]

SILLY SIGNS.
.
.
.
.
.
=============
WARNING



If you can see this sign, you are trespassing.
Please be advised that this psychotic female
cannibal trespassed before you arrived here.
We are not responsible if she eviscerates and
eats you because you were caught. Thanks for
reading this. Now run home before it's too late!
=============

.
.
.
.
.

===============
WARNING



You are trespassing on cursed soil haunted by an
evil burning skull who will incinerate your flesh in a
flash! When you see its glow, there will be no place
to go! You are doomed and will perish! Well, we're
just kidding about the burning skull, but technically
you're standing in quicksand, so you're out of luck!
===============

.
.
.
.
.
. ==============
WARNING



If you are looking at this poster sign, then you
are trespassing and should leave, for you are in
grave danger, not from us the property owners,
but from this creepy clown because he sneaked
past our security sensors during a power outage,
and we don't know where the hell he is nor do we
know if this person is the weird freak responsible
for slaughtering our livestock, our neighbors, our
neighbors' livestock and seven hunters who went
missing last week, but bloody whoopee cushions
found at the gruesome crime scenes point to his
circus modus operandi. We are really terrified of
this evil clown, so do not expect us to leave our
house to rescue you if you remain standing out
in the open like a dumb dodo because this crazy
costumed psycho is armed with a sledgehammer,
sulfuric acid balloon bazooka and a dozen rubber
chickens spiked with rusty nails! We strongly urge
you to return immediately from whence you came
because it is not in your best interest to stay and
become a plaything for his perverse amusement!
==============

[Bumblepuff]