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REPRINTED FROM THE OLINOY REPORTER FRIDAY OCT. 25, 2013  Harvey in his NüBorne Chemical uniform. by Josh Newcombe
Harvey Brittane of Teidmont, IL pulled off a real first last Sunday evening when his ebay auction closed and he had successfully sold… his soul. "I'm soooooo glad I didn't go with a Fixed Price Sale," Harvey exclaimed. " It went for much more than anyone I know thought it was worth." Apparently a bidding war started and the price just kept going up. "Man those demons are really obsessed beings." I asked how he knew it was demons doing the bidding. "I don't really believe in that stuff, so I thought it was a joke at first. But then they showed up at the door wanting my signature in blood. Blood! None of my other ebay customers have ever done that, so I got a little suspicious. But then I remembered you can really wreck your seller feedback if you don't deliver as promised, so I went through with it." The soul sold for a total of $666.00. Which seemed a little too "on the money" to me, but Harvey said it wasn't a coincidence, when it hit that price they moved the bidding war to a sort of "back door" auction with the demons emailing him offers and counter offers for things other than money. "I was hoping against hope for maybe a used car or something when I saw this new development," he added, "But now I've got a great management level job at NüBorne Chemical just south of Olinoy, with yearly raises, bonuses, a retirement program, medical and dental benefits, and a bunch of lower paid people around who do all the real work for me. Plus I've got a nice house in a gated community. And you know those hot woman like you see on TV? They're finally interested in me. It's pretty cool." When I asked him what gave him the idea to sell his soul on ebay, he said "Well, the damned thing was just sitting around collecting dust. I wasn't using it for anything, hell, now I don't know why I held onto it for this long."  House up for sale! Near President and Senate and only minutes away from train. Needs some fixing up and updating to make it look like it did on cover of 1990 Good Housekeeping magazine. Ready to move in, great view of a bunch of other buildings that are also a part of the government. Call Sarah at Palin Real Estate between the hours of 9 and 5. Open house this Tuesday for all interested in seeing just what this house is made of and why we're so excited to offer it for under listing price!
 According to the accompanying photo and, Goldie, the guy that works at the Jewel Deli, the original forefathers were honkies. They dressed like honkies, acted like honkies, and generally carried on like honkies do. The honkiest of the honkies was John Hancock who refused to be seen in public with a comb pick in his head between the hours of now and forever. The least honkiest was Ben Franklin who liked the ladies and a big bottom, both on his badonkadonks and his funk music, both of which were always near Franklinstein or Franklidelic as he was known on the streets and certain neighborhoods of Philly.
The original forefathers might have talked a good game, but they couldn't back it up with action when it came to being true brothers under that powder white skin. Like these honkies were the picture of don't have your mouth write a constitution that your ass can't ratify. If you doubt the veracity (honkie word of the day) of these claims, then you're just a history hater and afraid that you may be a honkie too. Remember they were called the forefathers, not the funkfathers and you know George Clinton and Bootsy wouldn't be caught dead in those costumes. Trick or treat, indeed.  Sy, your hi-fi guy, with another peak inside the record collection selection club. This week we salute the beginning of the world series with a team that wouldn't know how to get there if they were given tickets and a google map. That's right, today we take a run around the bases with Great Moments in Cubs Baseball like there ever were any. The kicker is it's presented by Jack "He's A " Brickhouse. And, yeah, he is mighty, mighty. He had to be to make guys named Sauer, Grimm, and Hartnett sound like anything other than a really depressing cop show or a law firm without a firm grip on the law itself. Sauer and Grimm is the way Cubs fans feel at the end of every baseball season.
This album has pictures that look nothing like the actual players, way too many words to read on the front cover, and great moments in Cubs baseball, like the time Ron Santo opened a pizza chain or Ernie Banks played two when he was only supposed to play one. I think we're talking ponies, here. Anyway, I didn't listen to the whole record cause it skips alot. I mean nothing on the alleged Sammy Sosa or the time Harry Carey said Rico Petrocelli's name backwards and had to go into the witness protection program for the month of September. Next time, The Language of Wolves by Robert Redford , a tribute to the Chicago Wolves and minor league hockey slang.  Hello, Duck Logic fans. My name is Dick Carter and I am the CEO of this ever expanding media empire. That is a photo of me that is turned into a drawing. It's all done with smoke and mirrors for shits and giggles as we used to say in the days before Facepage, Twatter, Blabbing, and all these other ways that the kids are getting to know each other before engaging in the kind of relationships that leave them emptier than a nightclub when a prop comic is the headliner.
I just wanted to take this time to tell you how thrilled we are with the job the gang is doing and if you ever want me to stand up for you at a wedding or put in a good word for you at the local hardware store, I'd be more than pleased to help out. That book I have in front of me is my contact book and I know all kinds of people in this world who owe me a favor or just aren't able to say no to a man who isn't afraid to still use a dial tone phone and a square table desk that I bet that Charlie Rose wishes he could borrow for one magic night. Remember our motto here at Duck Logic Headquarters: Duck Logic goes the extra mile to bring a smile to your day and find a better route home from work to avoid all this darned traffic. That's all, I will try to address you each month with more corporate news and some folksy spin on something that doesn't need a folksy spin, like corporate news or urban decay.  Disassociated Press-Louise Anderson, 87, of Temple Glenn, Nebraska is up to date when it comes to hate. In fact, you might say, she's all the rage when it comes to age and hatred. You see Louise is the oldest h8er in America. That's the way the kids spell hater. With an 8. Yeah, there's a reason they invented spell check and their names are everyone between the ages of 12 and 23.
Louise is proud to wear the shirt that screams out her message that she hopes will catch on like wild fire with her friends at the local farmer's market and the zeitgeist of humanity. We're with you Louise, though you might want to read your grand daughter's t-shirts before espousing their philosophies. Oh, and, hey, people, don't hate on Louise. She's got that covered already! Wink, Wink! From The Olinoy Reporter Sunday Seniors supplement of September 8, 2013 or Grandparents Day for those who pay attention to that kind of stuff. REPRINTED FROM THE OLINOY REPORTER, OCT. 12, 2013  by Josh Newcombe
No this is not a reprint of my July 4th story on Olinoy's Annual Hot Dog Eating Contest, although that was a clever title for it even if I do say so myself. And I do. No this story is about Jorge Jorgenson, who works for the Olinoy Post Office and Rascal, a West Highland White Terrier, commonly known as a "Westie," belonging to Ed and Georgette Huggins. Jorge's been delivering the mail in that area of Olinoy for over 35 years. He's known Rascal since he was just a pup. Rascal, not Jorge. For the 8 years since then they've played this game together on every single day that there's mail delivery, where Rascal pretends to be a dog who's angrily after Jorge, who gets to play the role of a frustrated mailman. Rascal nips at Jorge's heels, barking all the way from the gate at the edge of the sidewalk, to the mailbox at the front door… and back again. Rascal invented this game and he really loves it. Jorge, not so much. Last Thursday, weighed down by a particularly large fall edition of the OHO-Q (Outdoor Hunting in Olinoy - Quarterly) Jorge slipped on a slobber covered rubber bone and smacked his chin on the bottom step of the Huggin's porch. Jorge's Poligrip met it's match in that step and his teeth shot out of his mouth with the kind of accuracy that warrants a feature article in the very magazine he had scattered all across the Huggins' front bushes. Rascal became the unintended target of that accuracy as Jorge's dentures lodged themselves firmly in his little canine backside. Man bites dog, indeed. "I wouldn't wish something like this on 'em, poor boy, but after 8 years, I think he had it coming," Jorge mumbled through his face cast, "I really hate that game." Rascal and Jorge are both doing well and will recover completely, although it may be quite a while before Rascal feels like playing his favorite game again. Jorge is relieved if that's true, but as he put it, "I'll believe it when I see it. " |
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