Glade spokesperson Geoffrey Archer announced Friday the arrival of the newest member of the S&C Johnson and Son Company. Due to the popularity of the brand’s fresh oil scent releasing devices, as well as high demand for energy efficient products, the latest addition comes in the form of Glade Plug-In Suppository Fresheners.
The concept behind the device is quite simple, explains Archer, “The capsule is a small oil infused system that dissolves when inserted into the rectum.”
Geoffrey suffers from Restless Flatulation Syndrome, and decided he could utilize the company’s products in a way to help both himself and others with similar unfortunate circumstances.
The device, once inserted, stores its fragrance until the tremendous moment of breaking wind. Avid consumer of Glade, Melinda Ways, applauded the efforts. “My husband used to not even want to sleep in the same bed with me. Now, whenever the room starts to get a little stale, he’ll beg me to cut another one!”
Plug-Ins come in various scents such as Lilac, Morning Dew, and Vanilla. For the more masculine shoppers, New Car and Fresh Pine will also be available.
Says Geoffrey, “We’d like to make this a year-round thing, and as such we’ll also be releasing a holiday line: Pumpkin Pie, Apple Cinnamon, Gingerbread. We like to keep things seasonal.”
Johnson and Son is thrilled to be taking part in the modern natural gas powered revolution.
Archer closed his speech with the famous words: “Plug it in, plug it in.”
Lo extrañaré. Or so it’s said in Spanish. Translation: I will miss him, and I’m not alone. Maestro David has been so much more than a teacher to so many of us. This year started off rough for me. My OCD was off the walls; I was stressed beginning the very first day, and instead of treading water, I was totally drowning. Maestro David threw me a life preserver.
I wish I could say he knew about The Project. I wish I could say I’m only being this cheesy because he’ll be reading it. But I’m not. This is how it feels to lose the person that kept you afloat.
It’s no secret that for whatever reason, institutional or personal, Maestro David will not be returning next year to teach Spanish at Charter. Although the motive is unknown, either way deserves our sympathy.
Maestro David has 2 kids. He acknowledges this fact often. But in the end, he took all of us Spanish-speaking misfits in, too, and I know we all share a connection to him that is much stronger than a scholastic relation.
Yes, he makes jokes. Yes, sometimes they go too far. But guess what? He will always go up and apologize to the victim of his teasing and ask them to tell him if he’s going too far. See? He’s not making fun for his own cruel enjoyment.
Yes, he’s fun. Dear gosh he’s fun. Other Spanish teachers might just spend the whole class lecturing and scrawling verb conjugations on the board. Bo-ring. Maestro David breathes life into Spanish so we really learn. That’s the purpose behind his teasing! We actually learned, and now we’re about to understand jokes in another language! Isn’t that cool?
His assignments are far from tedious as well. We wrote fables in Spanish (mine of course involved Sam getting eaten by a wolf), we discuss current events in Spanish. We aren’t just learning the language. We’re living it. Because of Maestro David.
On a bad day for me, he would call, either to talk to me or my parents and check to see if I was okay. He comes in before any other teacher because he cares. He gives us contact information so we can bombard him with questions at all hours that we know he’ll respond to, because he cares. He will not leave you out, struggling for air. He’ll lend you a hand, even if it takes you a while to grasp it. Because he cares.
If you didn’t like Maestro David (for whatever insane reason)… it’s clearly because you didn’t know him. He’s a teacher. He’s a friend. He’s a failed comedian. He’s a guru. He’s a life preserver. Call him what you will, but lo extrañaré.
Dear you,
Which of course means me. Except, I’m sixteen, and you (me) are four. Yes I understand this is a very complex situation.
So far your life might feel like a day at the beach. But at some point you’re going to be getting to the part where you’ll be stepping into rougher water to ride the waves. When you hit the water just right, it will be spectacular. But sometimes one knocks you down too.
Advice number one: Even when you don’t have control over a particular situation, you do have control over how you react to it. Some things will feel like the end of the world, especially after one of Mr. Felder’s tests. You need to realize although it feels like your life is ending, it’s really just the beginning. You have so much to look forward to, and in the grand scheme of your life and the world, this is of such a small magnitude that 81 on a test will be nothing. When Pop sends you a video in the future showing the universe from increasingly ten to the something powers and it grows ever larger, imagine how your 81 would look from 10 to the fourth power. This is nothing. You have the ability to react calmly instead of balling up on the floor and crying. I think my best advice in this sort of a situation would be what will become your favorite poem (written by Elizabeth Bishop). The poem is “One Art” and the main theme is that the art of losing isn’t hard to master. Although throughout the poem it seems as if she is handling all of the things that she’s losing quite well, by the last portion she’s forcing herself to write that she’s okay. Don’t bottle everything up, but trust me, you and I, we need to work on the art of losing. Everyone feels this way sometimes, we just need to learn how to control ourselves and realize how insignificant some problems are in the grand scheme of the universe.
Advice number two: Cut yourself some slack girl and don’t expect absolute curly haired perfection from yourself all the time. Some things won’t come supernaturally to you. Some do, like art (which by the way you should definitely take throughout your schooling years). But some don’t, like mathematics of any sort. Despite my obvious aversion to math in general, I hope that you approach it with a brighter hope and don’t come to dread anything with numbers and variables. Be open to new situations and learn how to overcome the things you don’t particularly like. In third grade, numbers will seriously get under your skin. But lo and behold, you will meet the savior of your life, the marvelous tutor Maria. You think differently than others, and that’s okay. In third grade you will refuse to memorize your multiplication table for the speed tests simply because you see no point in it. We, as the stubborn people we are, will insist on counting out on our hands to get to the same conclusion as everyone else. Maria will teach you that learning your own way is fine! Although I know we hate the idea of depending on others for help, sometimes we need that extra hand. No one expects you to get things on your own the very first time. Sometimes you’ll need a Maria to get you through the hard things. People will respect you simply for trying and laughing through it.
Advice number three: Some people are turds. Since you are not a turd, don’t get too caught up in what a turd does or says. Stay above the drama. In middle school you WILL get caught up in it. At some point if things go the way they did for me, your friends will abandon you for a year, and it will be a REALLY hard time. That doesn’t make you a bad person. Pick better friends for crying out loud! No one’s worth your time if they can’t accept you the way you are. When you start kindergarten next year, there’s going to be this shy, somewhat aggressive girl in your class. Her name is Jessie. GO TALK TO HER. I BEG YOU. Trust me, you have A LOT in common. Even better? Eleven years later you two will still be best friends. She will help you through your worst days with the other turds that come in and out of your life, talk you from the ledge in the darkest of moments, and be that one person who you can tell absolutely anything to. Picking the best friends you can is one of the most important things you can do. Distance yourself from ones that are all about popularity, brand names, and gossip. That is not you. You are awkward, creative, and somewhat intelligent. Be yourself always. If you feel like dying your hair red just for the heck of it, go ahead!
Advice number four: Be comfortable in your own skin! Do not quit dance when you start high school because you didn’t think you were good enough. It doesn’t matter as long as you’re having fun! Maybe you had a more difficult time learning some of the steps and maybe you aren’t exactly the most graceful person on earth, but nothing in life is worth doing if you don’t love it. Furthermore, in a few years your friend Elle’s mom (I know you don’t know who she is now but you will next year in kindergarten) will take you to an audition for a part in a commercial. I know at this age you were so enthusiastic to put on a show for everyone and dress up in all your favorite little costumes to perform and to be admired. At the interview they will ask you what you like to do. When you answer dance (which I already advised you to stay with), they will ask you to show them a few moves. Even if you don’t feel confident enough, do it! What’s the worst they can say? No? So what. Don’t do what I did and say you aren’t comfortable showing them. In fourth grade you’ll get your hand slammed in the door while the class is dissecting owl pellets. It will hurt and you will have to go and get x-rays to make sure you didn’t break it. Don’t worry. You didn’t. But the whole time you waited for those hours in the waiting room, despite your swollen and throbbing hand all you could think of was how badly you wanted to get back to school because it was the day of the talent show and you wanted to blow The Star Spangled Banner through the roof. Even when the doctors bandage your hands because you bruise your bones you’ll be urging them to hurry so you can make it in time. You do, and you knock that anthem out of the ballpark. Of course some people are turds. For some it’s a temporary condition, and for others it’s chronic. Despite the standing ovation and everyone telling you the stellar job you did singing your heart out while holding your bright pink cast, there will be that one person who wants to bring you down and says you can’t sing. This will be your downfall. You will never sing in public again, and that’s so sad. You love to sing so much. You will be in chorus, you will compete, and you will be awesome. But that one person’s comment meant to bring you down will tarnish your confidence so severely you will never have the will to sing your heart out again. And that’s just sad. Stay with art, write your heart out, and dance like you don’t care if anyone’s watching, sing like no one can hear you. Do these things for you. If these things make you happy, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. You are great the way you are, and being yourself is the best thing you can do.
Advice number five: This one actually comes from Russian literature. From The Brothers Karamazov one character is giving a speech at a eulogy (upbeat I know), and he says: “There is nothing higher and stronger and valuable for life in the future than some good memory, especially a memory of childhood, of home. People talk to you a great deal about your education, but some good sacred memory, preserved from childhood, is perhaps the best education.” Make your memories the best education you will ever receive. When you spent the day with your Aunt Jenn in an arboretum on what you thought was the most boring day ever, you have no idea how wrong you are. Sure it was a lot of walking and staring at flowers you didn’t care about, but those memories of rolling down the hills, walking through the cactus greenhouse, and being with someone you love are so much more worthwhile than spending the day in the house playing video games. OH by the way, you don’t know this yet, but you’re allergic to grass, so rolling down that hill WILL be fun… but just make sure you have some Neosporin or something afterwards. All of those old canoe and hiking trips you were dragged along on become some of the greatest memories in your life. Don’t be so quick to judge what you know nothing of. Even though spending all day paddling on a river may seem like a great waste of time to you now, just look at the water, the peace, the lack of humanity, the silence of all but the birds, and cherish the moment so that in your times lacking peace and silence and having too much humanity will be bearable. Sometimes it’s too easy to forget what a beautiful place the world is, and then when you do these things, you wonder how you could have ever forgotten. Most importantly are the memories of home. Keep your friends close, but your family closer. Unfortunately for them, they have no choice but to be stuck with you. Take advantage of this fact. Although at the age of four it seems as if you have all the time in the world with them and you’ll always be with Mom and Dad, unfortunately we grow up. Sooner or later it won’t be “the cool thing” to stay home with your parents even if that’s what you’d rather do. Keep in mind though, that time goes fast. You’re four today, sixteen the next, and before you know it you have a mere two years left with the ones who raised you from before you could even roll over. Nothing lasts forever, so don’t sweat the not so good little things and appreciate the good little things even more.
I wish I could protect us from the rough rides, I wish life was only perfect waves that gently bring us to shore, but that’s not completely realistic. The best I can do for us is to make you a tough little wetsuit of advice to wear.
Yourself.
Okay, so I know the instructions tell us that details about our hero’s life are unnecessary; however, I know you’re a huge fan of a good story. Well man oh man this is a good story. Once upon a time, in a small village in Hungary by the name of Veszprem, there lived two brothers: Anton and Josef. Now in this far away place in this far away time, arranged marriages were common. Josef was required to marry a girl he had never met from a village across Hungary. Equally as common as the marriages being arranged was the tradition of the brother fetching the bride. So Anton set out on his journey to bring back the lovely new bride Maria for Josef. I bet you can see where this is going. Yep, it’s a love story. On the journey back to Veszprem, Anton and Maria fell in love, fairytale kind of love. Now obviously they couldn’t go back to the village and tell Josef or his family, so they jumped aboard a moving train to run away together. After an unknown period of time, the tickets were requested. Careless train jumpers as they were, Maria and Anton had forgotten to buy tickets. Anton pushed Maria off of the moving train and jumped out after her. The two finally rolled to a stop in France. There they began working as cleaners in a hotel to make enough money to come to America. Then battabingbattaboom, my hero was born. He is my great grandfather: Frank Rezeli.
My Pop-Pop is now ninety-three years old, and he currently resides in an independent living home known as Quail Haven. There are a lot of reasons why Pop-Pop is my hero, but the ones that come to mind immediately are his bravery and independence, his world travels, and his natural humor.
Long ago, Pop-Pop was a colonel in World War II. His first and only minutes directly in battle were at the attack of Pearl Harbor. See, Pop-Pop was an airplane engineer, not a fighter. However, that didn’t stop him from rescuing a commanding officer from a burning tent during the attack. See what I mean? The guy’s like some supernatural superhero. So he’s brave, duh. He was in the army, and he lived to tell the tale. But he’s also independent. He still drives himself everywhere, even at his age. He cooks, he cleans, and he cares for himself. I should also mention that both he and his girlfriend are currently battling cancer. Looking at him, you’d hardly know it. He’s that brave of a guy. When I have the flu, I look like I might keel over at any moment. This guy keeps doing his cooking and cleaning and taking care of his girlfriend. He has to stay strong enough for the both of them, and I can’t even imagine having to go through that. I’m not necessarily saying I want to save anyone from a burning anything, but I want those kinds of guts. I want to have the strength in myself to know that if I were in that situation I would not run away, I would not cower, but I would help people. I’m not sure I’m up to that point yet, but I am working on my poker face. Pop Pop doesn’t wear his emotions on his sleeves. If something is bugging him, you might never know. He just seems so… well not cheerful, but so him. I think you’ve noticed my Pop-Pop-esque masking abilities evolving over the past school year. I have a long way to go, but Pop-Pop makes me realize that in the midst of something so horrible, you can still keep your head.
Along with being in the war comes the inevitable traveling. I don’t know how many places Pop-Pop has been to, but believe you me it’s a lot. I have his old money collection stowed away in an old cigar box. In fact, I made earrings out of some coins. I can stare at that money for hours. It’s not its value that strikes me, but the history. Pop Pop was there. He didn’t live like an officer either; he blended in with the natives. Once in Africa he and his comrades had not had much to eat in a long time. They decided to go hunting for wild boars, and that night they chowed down on roast wild boar. Crazy; right? I want that! I want to love and experience those places as much as I do the old currency. I don’t want to dream about it, I want to live it. I don’t want to be one of those people who go to other countries just to stay in fancy resorts and not experience any of what the place is actually like. I want to climb the pyramids, I want to jump with the kangaroos, skip through the streets of Barcelona, dance to the beats of rhythmic African drums, I want to try strange foods no one has ever heard of, and I want to live. All of these verbs are mine to enjoy. They’re all out there waiting for me, just like they waited for Pop-Pop. There are people who dream, and then there are people that do. Pop Pop chose the latter. I intend to as well, and I can add to the collection of various bills and change.
You know those people who can just look at you and you’ll bust a gut? That’s my great-grandfather. Honestly, he’s like the male Betty White. Get them together in a room and I bet you only half the people would walk out with dry pants. We were talking about old TV shows he used to watch. One he brought up was the Lone Ranger. Of course, I had to contradict his and bring up Harry Potter. His response? “Who’s Harry Potter? Some guy with a mustache who does arts and crafts?” That’s my Pop-Pop. The greatest part is, he doesn’t even try. For him, making jokes is natural. It’s as if he was born with the first language of sarcasm. I love the way he can make a whole room crack up with no effort. If I try to be funny, I get a few chuckles and a lot of awkward confused stares. Pop Pop doesn’t let me do that though. When it’s him and me together, we just fire friendly insults back and forth. It’s so awesome. I admire the fact that even in his battle against an awful disease, he’ll still be the first one to break the ice with some hysterical joke. So he’s not just brave, but he’s funny. Maybe the two go hand in hand, who knows? Maybe you need to be brave in order to have a clear head to make room for snide remarks. Either way, I intend to be like that. Even if all I yield is those silent stares, I want to always have enough happiness tucked away somewhere that even in the worst of times I can be lighthearted.
Cliff Roberts, 43, of Phillipsburg New Jersey finally came to the halting realization that his life for the past 20 years has in fact NOT been a bad dream.
Roberts explained his life as perfect. “I’m married to the love of my life, Brazilian lingerie model Rosa Carlota, with whom I share my brilliant son, Jamie. We live together in a lush penthouse on the upper east side of Manhattan, where I own my thriving photography business.”
Roberts suffers from Acute Delusional Dream Disorder, or ADDD, a perfectly common mental development for men approaching middle age. According to psychiatrist Dr. Emmet Franklin, Roberts’s progressive case was resulting in a reversed perception of dream and reality. Apparently Roberts perceived his waking life as a simple night terror. Throughout the interview, he pinched himself at intermittent moments to assure himself that he was awake.
The reality described above by Roberts is actually the conceptual perfect dream-reality he had created. In actuality, Roberts is in the process of undergoing a painful divorce process in a custody battle over the couple’s aging Scottish terrier. His soon to be ex-wife requested the separation after having grown tired of his frequent Brazilian model wife antics, as well as the repeated shouts of, “I’m ready to wake up now!” His lush penthouse residence is currently in the form of a 20-year-old sofa bed occupying the corner of his parents’ attic throughout the duration of the divorce settlement.
Roberts admits that adjusting to reality is quite a shock, and he confesses he still feels a tender spot for his fantasy wife, Carlota.
The League of Affirmative Multigrain Bread (LAMB) has officially issued a discrimination charge against kindergartners around the world. Spokescrust Crisp Ciabatta announced the intent for legal action on the league’s national website earlier this month.
Crust has long since been a taboo of the food realm amongst toddlers. The statement released brings to light the blatant and unjust discrimination against the stiff outer layer of breads. “Time after time our kind is viciously carved off and disposed of like garbage by mothers of young children. This time has come to an end.” Ciabatta commends such progressive actions that have been taken to further the integration of minorities, and believes the continued separation practices in regards to lunchtime sandwiches to be outdated.
The brief published by the group concluded that affirmative action would be taken in regards to any and all forms of crust of future generations.
Ciabatta spoke recently at a Wonderbread Convention: “At one time, such bigotry was simply a preference, but now it is encouraged. Items line shelves boasting that they are already crust free, along with sandwich slicers that cut adorably shaped slices which are conveniently without rind!”
Kindergartners are obviously enraged about the impending suit, and have quickly risen up in rebellion. Refusing to obey nap times, groups gathered at Sunnyside Up Elementary and instead drew pro-segregation propaganda on colorful construction paper by means of broken crayons.
The Supreme Court issued its ruling in the case Yo Mama v. Tampa Police Department earlier today. The case, which was ruling on the murder of Wilson Jenkins by Alexander Campbell, sided with Mr. Campbell in its 7-2 ruling.
The decision was based upon stare decisis (let the decision stand), following recent precedent established in the case Snyder v Phelps released earlier this year in favor of hateful bigots rioting at funerals of soldiers.
Alexander Campbell committed the murder in question in the fall of 2009, although his memories of the act are, to say the least, murky.
Campbell, who chose to represent himself in court began by stating: “Man, I was so f@$#ed up that night, I don’t remember S#*t.” He does however recall running into old college roommate, the late Wilson Jenkins, at his favorite bar. Campbell arrived under the precedent of drinking away his pain of his wife leaving him earlier that evening for drinking away his pain. The two began a drunken banter arguing over which college team had the hottest cheerleaders, when Jenkins apparently declared that Campbell’s mama was the hottest cheerleader. A provoked Campbell shot back more yo mama insults, until the results became deadly.
That’s where the memory ends, and the following morning Jenkins was discovered pinned to the dartboard of the dive bar, suffocated by peanut shells gathered from the soiled bar floor blocking the air passages in his nose and mouth.
The majority opinion concluded that it would be following the First Amendment’s guarantee of freedom of speech. The document declared that:
“It was clearly a case involving the question of free speech. We cannot deny Alexander Campbell the right to exercise his free expression that the founders sought so hard to protect. The murder was an obvious form of symbolic speech by means of Mr. Campbell forcibly expressing his opinion as to the fact that the genes given to him by his mama were clearly more superior and conducive to survival than those of Wilson Jenkins.”
A line expectantly waiting for a new thing to be released earlier this day stood wrapped around up to five blocks outside of stores around the country. This thing, which the creator assures is, “so much better than the old thing. It’s faster, it’s shinier, it’s newer,” drew a crowd of loyal thing fans.
Chicago resident Keira Blanchett had apparently camped out the night before to secure a spot in the front of the line for the store’s opening. Keira, who hurriedly burst into the store at opening time to snag the new thing, was eager to speak with reporters about her purchase. “I’ve been waiting forever for this to come out; I have the old version, but as soon as I heard about the new release, I just had to get it.” Flashing the thing for cameras, she explained that the new version makes the old look ancient. “Now that I have this one, I just can’t imagine how I made it with the old kind!” She laughs.
Although the new thing does have some glitches to work out which the old one had as well, crowds rushed out to get the new thing before it was sold out.
Says creator of the thing, “We’re really pleased with this piece. We think it will be a long-lasting hit amongst our clientele.”
Customers not only clamored for the shiny new thing, but also accessories and cases to keep it in.
Although pleased with the upgrade, later this afternoon when the company let slip that the next thing would soon be replacing the version released earlier that morning, buyers soon posted the older new version onto eBay and other popular consumer sites. Says Blanchett, “I thought this was the greatest thing ever, but you can bet that I’ll be out there for the release of the next thing. I can only imagine how much greater it will be than this version!”
Monday afternoon, Des Moines Municipalities Bank was nearly robbed by an armed individual, whose name has not yet been released by authorities. Teller Susan Holmes was confronted by a tall, hefty man demanding her to hand over the key to the bank’s safe, and Holmes politely refused and tapped a security button under her desk to alert officials, only to be held at ballpoint by the thief.
Construction worker Don Jameson sat shivering in fright at the scene. “That wasn’t no Sharpie or felt pen neither,” he claimed to reporters later, “that there was a genuine ballpoint pen.”
The other two customers in addition to Jameson trapped in the building at the time quickly got down on their knees with hands shielding the backs of their heads.
Chief of police, Daryl Watson, issued a press announcement on the matter commending the actions of the quick-thinking clients. “These individuals performed every action as they should. When you are confronted in a pen-up situation such as they were, it’s easy to lose your head.”
Officers arrived on the scene to confront the robber, a seemingly average Des Moines resident. “It’s always the ones you least expect that might be carrying a concealed pen,” Watson warned. Local officials were timid to fire shots, fearing such a jolt would cause the tip of the pen to come in contact with Holmes’s jugular.
Deputy Karyn Williams however, managed to approach the man, undetected, from behind and render the thief powerless by snatching the pen.
The individual was then taken away from the premises and placed in custody.
A tearful Susan Holmes thanked the officers who saved her that day, and plans to speak out on behalf of those individuals who remain silent yet are subjected to pen-related crimes.
Any unfortunate soul with a sibling will eagerly inform unwilling only child passerby of “how lucky” they are to not carry the constant burden of a brother and/or sister. However, Chicago Siamese twins, Michael and Owen Daniels, would be thrilled to explain just how fortunate such sources are.
Finally after 26 years joined at the hip (literally), the two have agreed to take a break. Owen explained in an interview how he is “tired of being Michael’s right hand man.” Ironically, Owen resides on the left side of the conjoined sibling’s body.
Michael requested less dramatic steps than a surgical separation, justifying, “Just in case we want to get back together, because even though we may be splitting up, we will of course still be friends.” Owen grudgingly agreed to a contraption encircling the duo’s hip and rigged with a curtain between.
Owen is eager to meet new people as an individual, while a less enthusiastic Michael explained how he has already signed up for yoga and art classes to explore some self discovery.
When questioned about the separation idea, Michael interjected that “It was a mutual thing of course.”
Owen proceeded to roll his eyes at reporters and said, “Oftentimes I just want to strangle him, ya know? But then I realize that would be kind of hard to do with only one arm… Plus he’s my brother and all.”
The beloved brand icon and mascot of the Pillsbury baked goods company finally reached the inevitable celebrity dark moment. Doughboy, 46, was emerging from his upend Manhattan penthouse on his way to his dispensary of choice for some over-the-counter hangover relieving medication. Doughboy had spent the previous evening at the Premiere Opening of a new line of Pillsbury products, and later joined friends Tony the Tiger and Quaker Oats Man, sources report. Still feeling the effects of the evening’s celebratory alcohol binge, Doughboy was not in the mood for tummy poking.
Unbeknownst to tourist James Hill, 4-and-3-quarters, who proceeded to walk up to the lovable pastry symbol and swiftly finger tap the hung over icon. Expecting to hear the jolly “hoo hoo!” laugh, Hill and his mother were shocked at the reaction. Pillsbury Doughboy proceeded to holler at the small child about, “how would he f@$&ing like it if every f@$&ing person in the whole f@$&ing world wanted to f@$&ing poke his f@$&ing belly every f@$&ing day?” followed by a repeated jabbing of the small child’s own stomach.
Passerby stared in shock at the scene of such an innocent character repeatedly abusing a young boy and screaming “how does that feel, huh kid?!” Hill’s mother, while snagging some discounted Pillsbury cinnamon rolls, declined to speak with reporters about whether or not she was choosing to press charges.
With the recent market takeover of cellular telephones, it comes as no surprise that the number of outdoor telephone booths have recently been on a decline. New York itself boasts only a meager 4 remaining.
So what’s a mysterious quick-changing hero to do? According to Manhattan resident, Miguel Rios, port-a-potties are the most recent preferred changing room of the previous Planet Krypton resident. By comparison, such cubicles of excretion are far more numerous than outdated phone booths. Says Rios, “I didn’t believe my eyes at first; I opened the [unlocked port-a-potty] door and there was Superman, with one foot hitched up on the side of the toilet seat, and the other forcing its way into tights.” Rios apologized hastily and remained standing whistling outside of the potty while the hero completed his change.
Finally the fully clothed celebrity burst from the stall, still rubbing anti-bacterial hand sanitizer on his hands (brand unknown). Rios watched as he took off, noting that the idol of so many still had a few squares of toilet paper attached to the bottom of his boot.
Resident professors at John Hopkins have recently been studying a rare gladly wedded male. Frank Jones, 38, was discovered this previous April grocery shopping on his way home from work. Head of the University’s most recent undertaking, Doctor Bradley Collins, spotted the creature browsing through laundry detergent while Collins himself was grabbing a 6-pack for that night’s game.
So as not to startle the individual, Collins slowly approached, describing the encounter with reporters, “I asked [Frank Jones] what he was doing, and he claimed that he was buying detergent to go home and wash his wife’s clothes.” Collins, shocked at the extraordinary discovery, wasted no time calling his associates who urged Collins to keep the specimen in captivity for further studies.
Persuading Jones with promises of a discount for bed linens at Bed Bath and Beyond, Collins brought Jones to his car (a vintage refurbished Mustang that required many weekends to restore at the expense of time with his now former wife) parked next to Jones’s Odyssey “great for taking the kids to soccer and bringing home multiple bags of groceries.”
Tests are being performed on the specimen, which could be the only of its kind. Lab technicians are attempting to satisfy the creature with a habitat similar to his own home. Student Carla Simmons studied Jones in an unobtrusive manner, sitting with him on a couch in his containment room as he folded laundry. Asking what he would like to watch on the habitat’s flat screen TV, Jones insisted, “Whatever would make her happy,” and gladly relinquished the remote.
