Toledo Tales

Left: Breckenspleth gathering vital survival information

(Perrysburg, OH) Perrysburg resident Carl Breckenspleth, longtime television afficiando, said that his efforts watching episodes of the Discovery Channel program Man Vs. Wild have been "time well spent."

"I could be marooned on a desert island, lost in the Rockies, or stranded in a Costa Rican rain forest, and I would know exactly what to do," the confirmed couch potato enthused. "This is some really useful information."

The program documents the exploits of survival expert Bear Grylls as he faces harsh conditions with limited resources while finding his way back to civilization. Breckenspleth said that he has "kind of bonded" with the resourceful Grylls.

"There was a time when he was catching fish on that Pacific island when he looked at the camera, and I swear he was talking just to me," he said, grabbing a handful of Bugles from the bag. "And when he was stuck on Mount Kilauea, it reminded me an awful lot of the time my rear tire went out on I-475. Scary stuff, and I could have died out there."

Left: Bear Grylls, adventurer and TV pal of Breckenspleth

The Perrysburg native said that he hopes to spend more time outdoors, given the fact that he has made "quantum leaps" in his knowledge of nature through episodes of Man Vs. Wild and other survival programs.

"Let's face facts - people get killed out there," he said, chasing his snack with a Bud Light. "Bear Grylls said that a two-pound coconut falling 30 feet from a palm tree gets over a ton of momentum by the time it hits the ground. The old lady is after me to clean the gutters and all that, but you can bet your ass I am going to wait until my skill set has progressed before I get into some crazy outdoor shit like old Bear does. Hoo-ee!"

Labels: Bear Grylls, Discovery Channel, Man Vs. Wild, Perrysburg

By Billy Pilgrim, Toledo Tales Rogue Editor

Bickens shuffles one step closer to death

(Toledo, OH) West Toledo native Esther Bickens, 73, has long been regarded by neighbors to be a stodgy, maternal figure in their sleepy part of town, and despite her curt, sour demeanor, has remained a mainstay of local color for countless years.

However, when this year’s holiday season came and went without a single visit from her oft-mentioned “no-good out of state relatives,” most came to the conclusion that Bickens is just a nasty old bitch, and quite far indeed from being a cantankerous grandmother who is merely set in her colorful ways.

“We moved next door back in ’97, and she’s never once waved to me in ten whole years,” remarked Stan Monk, 41, a civic engineer who lives next to the Commonwealth Avenue woman. “I’ve let it slide though, thinking she was a war widow or some shit. But this year I made sure to see if anybody came to visit at Christmas. Damned if that old bitty didn’t stay indoors the whole week with her nineteen cats.”

Other locals echoed Monk’s claim.

“Yeah, I’ve helped carry her groceries once or twice, but she’s never tipped or anything,” stated John Mayhew, 15, while idly spinning a Nerf football. “My mom said to be nice, since she’s probably had a hard life and her kids are all grown, but all the pictures in her house are of cats—not a single Sears portrait anywhere. And dude, that joint reeks. It smelled like a Sasquatch crapped bean burritos on her carpet or something.”

God only knows what the whack bitch is up to in there

Still, others in the community felt a heightened degree of empathy upon hearing that Bickens had voyaged through life without love or human companionship.

“Man, what a rough way to go out,” reflected Rita Cody, a stay-at-home mother. “It’s one thing to be the neighborhood ‘cat lady,’ but when she dies, the only way we’ll know is because of the smell. Or her mail piling up. She gets a lot of magazines on knitting, so that should tip us off when they start mounting on her porch.”

Labels: feisty neighbor, granny, old woman

"Piper," a local pharmaceuticals rep

(Toledo, OH) The 2006 holiday season was the "best ever" for the crew of a local dope man, peaking with more than 4 thousand orders placed by December 24.

"This far exceeded our wildest dreams," said an exuberant Piper, pausing to talk with Toledo Tales reporters. "As we head into 2007, we have the built some tremendous consumer momentum, and look forward to an even more profitable year."

Leading the holiday rush this year, said Piper, were crystal meth and heroin.

"Despite our projections, crank and smack users far outpaced the demand we anticpated," he said. "This resulted in quite a few tweaking shoppers, but we were able to negotiate some favorable deals with alternate producers to meet the high demand. We did have a couple of meth heads hanging around my Mom's house Friday night, but they behaved themselves and ate some ginger snaps until I showed up with the ice."

Left: Meth users helped drive holiday sales

Piper said that there was "considerable strength" in the addict sector this holiday season.

"Street-level dealers, their sales are up. They seem to be very strong and I think consumer confidence is up," he said. "Especially in the South Toledo, it appears the economy is back on track and there's a little bit more disposable income out there. Either that, or they have been stealing more TVs and DVD players than normal. Either way, the Piper-man has been rolling in the green. Keep calling, dudes!"

Labels: crystal meth, drug use, Toledo

Guest editorial by Marty Phelps, holiday consultant

Some people know it's Christmas when they hear the carols on the radio, while for other people it's mistletoe and all those hokey decorations.

Still others like a nice blanket of snow on the ground to announce the beginning of the holiday season.

But for me, nothing kicks off the holidays like picking up a crack whore.

Not just any crack whore, mind you. It's got to be one of those really emaciated, down-on-her-luck types that walk along Jefferson Avenue on a Sunday morning looking like a strung-out skeleton, one of those sick freaky types that make you shudder but at the same time give you that weird kind of spontaneous dirt-lust.

Left: Sw-e-e-e-et!

Then driving her into an alley some place outside of downtown and doing the dirty right out in public, my bare ass bouncing up and down in the back of my PT Cruiser while she tries to call her dealer to spend the $20 she just made.

The best part about my holiday crack whore ritual is going to Midnight Mass with that smirk on my face, everyone thinking I'm just in the holiday spirit. Little do they know that I'm smiling as I think about what a wild-ass start to the holiday season I just had, and that I didn't even take a shower before loading the family off to church, just wallowing in my nastiness.

Yes, some people like their egg nog and Bailey's Irish Cream, but me? I like starting off the season having illicit sex with a crack whore.

And don't even ask what I do for New Year's. That's a level of "crazy" that you're probably not ready to hear about from the Marty-man.

Labels: crack whore, holidays

Left: Misunderstood at Mass

(Toledo, OH) Ted Loffler doesn't consider himself paricularly "freaky," and he can't understand why the parishioners at St. Patrick's of Heatherdowns voiced such strenuous objections to his presence at the Catholic church.

"I've worn provocative clothing to church like, twice, but these people apparently have memories like elephants," he said, polishing his boots. "I mean, What Would Jesus Wear if he wanted to strike up a conversation with a good-looking couple?"

Loffler said that church ushers "forcibly removed" him last week when he appeared in drag.

"It was completely tasteful, sort of a Bo Peep meets Laura Ingalls Wilder deal, complete with pigtails," he said. "What's so wrong with looking like a young belle on her way to Mass?"

Left: "Have you seen my sheep, ma'am?"

Loffler said that he may have to switch parishes if the situation does not improve soon.

"For a Church that allowed Popes to have illegitimate children they sure are tight-assed - sorry for the cussing," he apologized. "It's just that I have so much to give, and people keep shutting me out. If they would just spend a few minutes with me, they would find out I am really a nice guy who just wants to get it on with a hot husband-and-wife team. Is that really so sinful?"

Guest editorial by Nathan Higgins, 4th grade

Yeah, it's the Christmas season, and every kid wants to be extra good so Santa brings him a Wii or PlayStation 3 or blah blah blah.

And you want to earn every penny of your allowance so you can buy your stupid sister a bunch of sparkle markers or a Barbie dress or whatever stupid present she wants that's under five dollars because that's the Grab Bag limit.

But only idiots actually do all of their chores for their allowance.

Here's a few lessons I have learned in my nine years on this God-given planet that I will pass along to you, the poor suckers who actually do their chores. They are arranged by chore, so you can skip any chores you don't have to do. See? I just saved you a couple of seconds, unless you stopped to read this last part.

Or this one. Or this one. Or this one.

On with the list!

Dishwasher: Why waste time finding out where all those stupid clean dishes go? Just stick the clean ones back in the sink, and leave a few on the counter, or in your sister's room, where she'll get blamed for sneaking food into her room. Ha ha!

Laundry: For those of you who have mean moms like mine who make you wash your own clothes, a few pointers. Skip the whole washing machine bit and just throw everything in the dryer with about nine of those scented dryer sheets. Clothes smell good, all the wrinkles are gone, the pork rinds in your pants pocket are fresh, and you just cut your time in half!

Sweep and mop: You can't get out of the sweeping part, at least not totally, but if you spray some of that orange or lemon cleaner after you sweep, it will smell like you mopped. Make sure you do this when your mom is on the phone, and can't stand over you going blah blah blah while you do this chore. She'll come back in, see that all the Cocoa Puffs are off the floor, smell the orange, and be really happy!

When all else fails on any chore, you can always start yelling "I DID that chore already! I swear to the Lord Jesus Christ Son of God Redeemer of the World I did that chore!" Your Mom will give you a bunch of blah blah blah about taking the Lord's name in vain, and will probably forget she told you to take out the trash or whatever it was.

For those of you kids who are Jewish or Muslim, the same rules apply, except that you probably won't be eating pork rinds, on account of the Lord God Almighty told you not to eat pork rinds and hot dogs or those Snausages treats for dogs.

I don't eat Snausages, either, but I used to give them to my sister and tell her they were "pigs in a blanket." What a stupid-head!

By Billy Pilgrim, Toledo Tales Rogue Editor

God-fearing Christian girls perform songs for their Messiah

Fourth graders Max Weinstein and Ruth Finkle eagerly awaited this morning’s field trip to Toledo's Rogers High School for several weeks, hoping to spend some precious time with “the big kids” and relish the holiday season by enjoying an hour-long choral performance of some beloved Hanukkah classics.

Instead, Weinstein and Finkle learned their first lesson in bigotry, since every tune on the 13-song set list celebrated the birth of Jesus of Nazareth, whom neither child views as the divine savior of humankind.

“I could hardly sleep last night, hoping to hear the Dreidel Song,” remarked a frustrated Weinstein, 9, as he stooped to tie his shoes. “Instead it was all about mangers and golden stars. I don’t even know what a ‘manger’ is. But some of these older girls have boobs, so that was cool.”

No dreidels for the Jewish kids this Hanukkah season

For her part, Finkle, 10, saw a deeper and more ominous significance for the omission of Hebrew hymns at the holiday concert.

“My dad told me this day would come—the day I learned that the world hates us for our faith and perseverance,” Finkle bemoaned, tossing a half finished times-tables ditto to the floor. “I mean, I can understand not having any Kwanzaa songs, because that’s a load of crap anyway, but not even one verse from ‘Maoz Tzur’? America is just like a playground. The bullies always win.”

Labels: Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Toledo

Guest editorial by "Piper," a local pharmaceuticals rep

Many of you are scrambling to find that perfect gift for that special someone. What you should be doing is calling the Piperman to take care of your holiday shopping needs.

Nothing says "Happy Holidays" like a half-ounce of Maui Wowie. Imagine the surprise on Cousin Nick's face when he opens what he thought was another stupid tie! Spark up, dude!

And for the Nervous Nellies in your family, be sure to hook them up with a couple dozen Valium. Even better, slip a few in the old egg nog for a laid-back holiday, even in a room full of the most tight-assed people around.

We've got all sizes, colors, and dosages for every addict on your list

For your fashion-conscious relatives, be sure to check out our lines of designer drugs. It ain't a night of clubbing without a little Ecstasy, ketamine, or some retro LSD as you dance the night away.

Finally, if you're not sure exactly what drugs that loopy uncle of yours is on, just stick a $50 bill and my number on a scrap of paper (419-DOPEMAN). If there's one thing that an addict is happy to see it's hard, cold, spendable cash.

Oh, and a Merry Christmas to you and yours this holiday season!

Labels: drugs, holidays

Guest editorial by Elias Baumgartner, retiree

I think all this talk of who said what and how they said it is just a bunch of mass-debating.

And, of course, we know that mass-debating is wrong because the Church says so, and Onan paid with his life. You should have just left it in there Onan and got the job done!

However, we have to be realistic. We know that people will not stop mass-debating, but I think people should at least stop mass-debating in public and get in touch with their real feelings, because we know that mass-debating only leads to other things. You know what I'm talking about, things like simple-minded pap that has no intellectual or political value!

If we all simply stopped mass-debating in public we would be able to see things clearly. We would no longer see our political leaders as just objects to satisfy our lustful desire for safety, security, and an escape from personal responsibility.

That is why I support a Constitutional amendment banning all public mass-debating, except in the case of the life of the mother. If fact, I believe that all mass-debating should be only between a man and a woman--and, that the Constitution should be modified to protect this practice.

I support a referendum to provide public monies for mass-debating, but only in the home. This will be known as the "Faith-Based Mass-Debating Initiative" or FBMDI. If everything works as I envision it every one in every home will soon be mass-debating in the privacy of their own homes while thinking about our government. This is how it has always been and this is how it should always be.

You rotten bastards - where did you put my Preparation-H? Don't think I don't see you over there laughing your asses off at an old man. God have mercy on your soul, because I won't.

Left: Keeping the peace, 1960s style

(Toledo, OH) Local police officer Thaddeus Stepanski does not agree with recent efforts to reduce violent conflict with suspects.

"As far as I am concerned, nothing gets a suspect's attention quicker than a nightstick to the skull," said the 28-year veteran. "In the old days we could have a confession out of a suspect in thirty seconds, flat."

Stepanski said that his trademark method of getting a wild suspect under control involved his handcuffs.

"Not putting on the handcuffs - that came later," he said. "No, you put the cuffs across your knuckles and put a couple dozen diamond-shaped dents in a fucker's head, and then you cuff 'im."

Another techniques from a bygone era was the ubiquitous stairwell, said Stepanski.

"Anybody who was trouble on the fifth floor was a quiet little lamb by the first floor," he smiled. "There is something about falling down a couple flights of stairs that makes even the biggest punk shut right the hell up. Ah - if we could only return to the good old days."

An open letter from Subcomandante Bob

Dear Friends (and creditors who want to get paid):

The 2006 Blog It! Toledo Readers Contest is underway, looking for the top Toledo and national blogs. It is imperative that we get out the vote for Toledo Tales.

Some of you may be asking yourself: "Why should I vote? It really doesn't matter, and I could be downloading porn right now." Well friends - nothing could be further from the truth.

Toledo Tales has stood strong for freedom, democracy, and cheap booze, while terrorist sympathizers like Matt Sussman at the Futon Report and Michael Brooks at Historymike have been rolling out the red carpet for Osama bin Laden.

This website is your one dependable source for Toledo truthiness, and we would never cut-and-run, unless there was some really hot trust-fund babe at the end of the bar. Then you'd be out of luck.

So email Lisa Renee at glasscityjungle@gmail.com and help make America safe for hamsters.

Guest editorial by Perry Dawson, Toledo-area fatass and wannabe gangsta

S’up. I assume The Perry needs no introduction, so let me skip the bullshit and get to the hardcore. This joint is weak, yo. I’m here every Friday, and there ain’t a single shorty up in here. But on Monroe Street, the ghetto of Glass City, I hold this shit down regardless, dig? I’m the baddest motherfucker up in this Red Lobster, so you best recognize.

After another long-ass week at the post office, I be kickin’ here, drinking some beers and eating my fills of some good-ass shrimp. But you know what? This new waitress be spittin’ some whack game about appetizers and cocktails. She better recognize. I been chillin’ at this motherfuckin’ booth since before she knew how to give dome. So bitch: step off, before I trick your ass behind a barrel of tartar sauce.

And another thing, yo. I’m sick of this bus boy makin’ noise n’ shit. Clankin’ those dishes, as if my ass ain’t tryin’ to unwind with this third order of hush puppies. Busboy: you best recognize. The last time I saw some punk break a coffee cup, I popped him in the balls with my .45. If you doubt me, nigga, go ahead and step.

Representin' da Crustacea, y'all

But I’m not trippin’, even though this cook is playin’ mind games with my ass. These crab legs? Colder than the projects of Detroit. Eighth-a-mile. Holla. But you hear me, right? This punk can’t even use the microwave for The Perry — get his meal good n’ warm after a hard day of registerin’ packing receipts for The Man. Line cook: you best recognize or I’ll stab your ass. Seriously. I’ll stab you in your motherfucking ass with this butter knife. Don’t be trifflin’ with me.

So like I said, I’m the baddest motherfucker up in here. Rec-og-nize. By the way, any you niggas got two or three Washingtons? The Perry is short on his tip. After all, I gots a reputation to uphold.

Guest editorial by Nathan Higgins, 4th grade

Okay, Aladdin - I mean Yussef. Yeah, you play basketball OK, and Katie Jefferson likes you, and you can speak Arab, and blah, blah, blah.

But my God can kick your God's ass. Totally!

Who says? I say, that's who! And Reverend Mitchell at our church, him too! So there!

He says your God - Ali Babba or whatever - is a false idol, and a gravestone image, and all of that. Plus, he said the Crusaders totally beat your sand-eating people in every war.

If your God is so tough, why does he always make you lose? You losers! Plus, my God's got fire, and brimstone, and lightning, and nuclear bombs, but all your God has is a dinky tin sword.

If your God is all that and a bag of Hot Cheetoes, tell him to come out and show us. I'm waiting! Still waiting... still waiting... still waiting... still waiting.

Guess he's afraid of little old Nathan, too. What a wussy-God!

Tell you what, loser - better find a cool God, like Jesus H. Christ. Now there's a guy who can kick your ass.

What? Chicken? Thought so. But if your God ever stops being a baby-God, tell him to meet me and Jesus out here. Any day. Any time.

Loser!

By Billy Pilgrim, Toledo Tales Rogue Editor

DuFont on Saturday evening: another table for one

(Toledo, OH) Jeremy DuFont has by all accounts had a difficult year. His wife of four years, Pamela, left him for a co-worker, he was denied yet another promotion at the Jeep plant, and with Christmas only a few short weeks away, he barely has any savings left to buy gifts for his loved ones.

In these trying times, when lesser men would turn to the bottle, and others would attempt to rediscover their faith, Jeremy DuFont turns to the one thing that gives him solace and dignity: Stubb’s Barbeque Sauce.

“I know your readers will think I’m a freak or something, but this barbeque sauce has saved my life,” DuFont revealed in an exclusive interview with Toledo Tales. “Some mornings I just lie in bed after hitting the snooze button, too depressed to jerk off. And then I remember there are some leftover riblets, or a piece of baked chicken in the fridge, and it gives me hope—hope that Stubb’s can get me through another bullshit day.”

DuFont feels that it was nothing short of divine intervention that led him to Stubb’s “magical elixir” in the first place.

“It was the day after Pam left me. I forced myself to go grocery shopping, though in retrospect, I had no desire for food—I just wanted to die,” DuFont revealed. “So I’m standing there in aisle 9, staring blankly at row after row of condiments, and I see it: the holy grail of sauces. On the label it read MY LIFE IS IN THESE BOTTLES. From that moment on I knew I’d be okay.”

So while the future remains uncertain, DuFont seems to have found the courage to continue his solemn trek through life.

“I’m a working man, so like all working men, the world is constantly thinking up new ways to fuck me,” DuFont huffed. “But I’m making a stand. Me and this sauce are gonna make it—sticky-fingered and bloated, maybe—but we’ll make it nonetheless.”

(Toledo, OH) Toledoan Aaron Rice, who weighs in at a hefty 377 pounds, said that he is embarking on a campaign to add a new event to the Summer Olympics: the 10-meter dash.

"It's pretty simple, really - there's no way in hell I could even walk 100 meters," he said. "I figure I'd at least have a fighting chance if the distance was shortened."

Rice said that he has mapped out a 10-meter course in his house, and is engaged in regular training.

"In my house it's exactly the distance from the couch to the refrigerator," he said, flexing his leg muscles. "You've got to be pretty damned fast to get to the fridge, find something to eat, and run back before the Final Jeopardy answers get revealed."

Left: Training begins with a healthy infusion of carbs, according to Rice

Rice also believes that there is another advantage to his participation in the proposed 10-meter dash.

"With a fortuitous jump, gravity and momentum should give me an edge against those skinny sprinters," he noted. "Plus, in the shorter sprint my competitors will actually travel farther, since they have to go around me. All in all - I was made for this event."