Toledo Tales

Local Man "Totally Cranking" American Idol Crystal Bowersox

2010-05-24T20:24:00.003-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Local embellishment specialist Dwayne Baxter told Toledo Tales reporters that his string of recent conquests includes local singer-songwriter Crystal Bowersox, a finalist in the 2010 American Idol competition.

"Straight up: Crystal was climbing all over my Johnson the other night," Baxter recounted. "She was riding my business like superglued cowgirl on a meth-snorting bronco, brother."

The unemployed sheet metalworker said that he and Bowersox met at a local pub after her recent return to the Toledo area.

"I was just sitting there, minding my own grill, when she came up behind me and reached around for a tug at Mr. Happy," he chuckled. "It's funny how even celebrity chicks forget about their reputations when they get a good look at my junk. Hell, just last week I was out to LA visiting some friends and I banged Jessica Simpson, Cameron Diaz, and Ellen DeGeneres at the same fucking party. Yessir: even the lesbians can't resist the sexual magnetism of Mr. Dwayne T. Baxter."

Baxter said that the "most challenging" nature of his relationship with Bowersox is her persistence.

"Unfortunately, the Bax-man has to move on after a couple of rounds of the old rodeo, but Crystal just won't take the hint," he said, pausing to scratch his package. "I know that women have a hard time saying goodbye to me, but damn: that girl is crazier than a sack of rabid weasels."

Listen Up, Readers

2009-06-02T15:43:00.000-04:00

Subcommandante Bob has been quite busy the last few months, in large measure due to some outstanding bench warrants and an aggravating, extended case of ennui. As a result, he has not updated the sites in quite a while, and it may be a few weeks before he gets the motivation to post new material.

However, know this: Bob loves you, especially when you buy the first and subsequent rounds. Also, he'll get around to being creative real soon. Promise.

Holy Water Scalds Toledo Mayor Carty Finkbeiner

2009-01-19T17:06:00.005-05:00

Religious leaders just before holy water incident

An ecumenical prayer service in the Valentine Theatre that was organized by a cross section of local Christian leaders was briefly interrupted when the sprinkling of holy water caused an "unfortunate reaction" on the skin of Toledo Mayor Carty Finkbeiner.

"I just finished my blessing and began to shake the aspergillum in the first few rows," said Rev. Martin Donnelly, pastor of Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church. "All of a sudden Carty howled just like a kitten in a crock pot. Sure enough, the holy water was bubbling on the Mayor's skin like water on a greased skillet. Crazy!"

A pock-marked Finkbeiner evades further divine pain

Aides to the stricken mayor blamed the reaction on a new cologne, but event attendees interviewed by Toledo Tales seemed doubtful.

"You ask me, the dude looked like a garlic-eating vampire," said Jason Caulfield of Sylvania. "The Mayor brought this shit upon himself - he ought to know better than to get close to anything holy. I'm surprised he didn't burst into flames the second his ass entered the narthex."

The Dope Industry Needs a Bailout, Too

2009-01-09T22:12:00.002-05:00

Guest editorial by "Piper,"
local pharmaceuticals rep

Listen up: we've just sent $800 billion to the big banks, and $25 billion to the auto companies, and Piper is cool with all that. After all, bankers love their blow and auto workers love their weed, and what's good for Citibank and GM is always good for Piper.

But let's face facts: banking and autos are just a fraction of the American economy, and America's dopemen are hurting. Big time.

That's why I call upon incoming President Barack Obama - no stranger to pharmaceuticals of dubious legality - to extend a helping hand to the nation's one million dope dudes and weed chicks, the hardworking entrepreneurs who will brave a winter's blizzard to get you a half-ounce of Chronic when you are snowed in.

You feel me?

In my own little empire, sales are down over 30 percent from 2007, and what's worse? Every fucking speed freak and stoner is busting my balls for price breaks. It's "oh I got laid off" and "my old lady took my weed money for diapers" and "brother can you spare a joint" all the damn day long. It's getting so bad that I may have to lay off some of my neighborhood rock and weed kids, who are the bread and butter of any good dope business.

Don't laugh - these 13-year-old crack hustlers bring home big money to their parents. When the dope industry suffers, so do thousands of low-income families, people who depend on a steady supply of wadded-up five-dollar bills to keep the lights on and the fridge stocked with 40-ouncers.

So, President Obama? Remember the humble dope man when you start your plans to reinvigorate the economy, 'cuz it's weed, smack, and meth that really make this country fly.

Kids With Leg Braces Be All Trippin' and Shit

2009-01-01T20:59:00.001-05:00

Guest editorial by Tre Phillips,
Toledo area wanksta

I don't mean to sound all cruel and shit, 'cuz we all got our issues. Me? I be all asking for triple dipping sauces with my chicken strips, and the bitch at the drive thru window be all, "Extra sauces are a quarter each," and I be all, "Fuck that, y'all, we outta here."

But kids with leg braces? They be all trippin' and shit.

Like this dude on my block, Jeremy. He's got like multiple shurosis or some shit, and he be all walking like Forrest Gump and shit one day, then KA-BAM! Down go his clumsy ass on the sidewalk.

And when my little brother Dre start laughing, then Jeremy really be trippin' and shit, talking 'bout his ass gonna get a gun and go all Dick Cheney on us and shit.

I mean, dude: no need to be all pulling a major trippin' episode and shit. Chill.

It's like this: we all gotta deal with what the Man Upstairs done throw us. Like this girl, Boo, who hangs around my hood and who still likes to do the freaky even though she picked up a nasty case of crotch crickets and everybody knows that she be nastier than a two-dolla hooker. Even though nobody would touch her even wearin' a bio-hazard suit and shit, she still keep smilin' and tryin' to work her magic on anybody new to the 'hood.

There just ain't no call for crippled kids to be all trippin' and shit.

I'm 'Bout to Throw Down on This Buffet, Dog

2008-12-20T21:15:00.003-05:00

Guest editorial by Brian Danziger,
food economist

You know, the folks at HomeTown Buffet have been real nice to me, in spite of the fact that I put away at least $140 worth of food for every $12.99 all-you-can-eat ticket I purchase. They never roll their eyes or make snotty-ass comments under their breath when I show up, unlike those jackasses at Golden Corral.

But look: I'm 'bout to thrown down on this here buffet, y'all, and it would be best to stand back when I hit that bee-atch full force.

Now, you understand I'm a smart eater at the buffet. I stay away from the bread and stuffing and mac-and-cheese that weighs you down with inexpensive bulk, and I plow my face into the baked chicken, sliced ham, and fried shrimp. You know, the fine-dining and high-class shit.

And don't get within elbow room of me when they start carving up the Cajun sirloin, 'cause I can scarf that motha faster than they can chop the shit with a machete.

I also have what I like to call my "secret strategy" at HomeTown Buffet, which involves a half-dozen of those quart-sized plastic bags hidden in my coat, my pants, and my toque. Each of those bad boys holds about two plates of shrimp cocktail or fried chicken, and I can usually walk out of that joint with four or five big-ass meals for the next day.

Yeah, I see some of those self-righteous pricks making smart-ass comments, but remember this, dickweeds: I get my money's worth out of this place, and if not for me, the buffet price would probably be about $9.99.

Boo-yah!

Area Family Burning Dreams to Stave Off Winter Chill

2008-12-17T20:05:00.002-05:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Toledo Tales Rogue Editor

The Yoders: Warming Their Hands by the Dream Fire

As the nation’s automotive woes continue to take a devastating toll on the Rust Belt economy, one family has taken a progressive step towards reducing their energy costs this holiday season: they’re burning their dreams for warmth.

“It was a tough decision for me and the missus to make, Billy, as I’m sure you’re aware,” explained Rick Yoder, 43, a Maumee-area HVAC installer. “I had always wanted to play bass in a local cover band, and my wife Traci had wanted to open her own salon some day. Sure, it stings to see our dreams literally go up in smoke, but it’s good to know we can cut our propane use back and fight this foreclosure for a few more months.

The Yoder children, taken by the spirit of Christmas giving, have also chosen to sacrifice some of their dreams for the betterment of the family despite the desperate pleas of their parents.

“Mom told us not to [throw our dreams on the raging bonfire], but us kids decided we need to do our part too, so we don’t, like, lose our house and die,” explained a somber Haley, president of her fifth grade class. “Michael’s not very coordinated, so he gave up his dream of being a famous baseball player. Beth can’t stand the sight of blood, so she tossed her veterinarian dream on there. And me—who ever heard of a fifth grade class president going to college anyway?”

Local Dog Pretty Sure You Are Taking His Ass to the Pound

2008-12-12T11:12:00.002-05:00

(Toledo, OH) Hopper, a local canine of uncertain ancestry, told Toledo Tales reporters that your recent layoff and the uncertainty of the economy means that his "time is just about up."

"They act like I don't know what 'foreclosure' means, or as if I'm too stupid to figure out that Mom crying all the time doesn't foretell doom," Hopper muttered. "And when I see the kids bawling and Dad saying: 'he'll be in a better place,' I can put two-and-two together. Fuckers."

Hopper said that the "moment of clarity" occurred during a recent episode of NBC Nightly News.

"They had some two-minute tear-jerker about the recession and its effects on families, and all of a sudden Mom leaves the room, honking like a gut-shot goose," he said, pausing to scratch behind his ears. "Then it hit me: 'this family is totally fucked. Totally fucked.'"

At the moment Hopper said that he is weighing his residential options.

"Look - I' still young, and I know how to act cute and fetch and all that shit," he said. "But you ca bet your ass I'm not going for a ride in the car with these fuckers any time soon."

Expanded Meth Lab to Add Jobs to Toledo Area

2008-11-16T20:19:00.001-05:00

Existing meth facility in an east side Toledo location

(Toledo, OH) Efforts to attract more high-tech jobs to Nortwhest Ohio bore some fruit today with the announcement that a local methamphetamine lab is expected to add 20 jobs in Toledo over the next year in a "multi-thousand dollar" manufacturing expansion.

A spokesman for the local methamphetamine cooperative expressed enthusiasm for the new facility's economic impact in Toledo.

"This new meth lab is a perfect example of everything the local government and area leaders are trying to accomplish with their economic development agenda," said "Piper," an area street-level pharmaceuticals operative. "This facility is non-automotive, and we are bringing together leaders in the field of health care and medicine with positive results for the city of Toledo."

Left: Meth manufacturing worker readying new lab for production

The city of Toledo has approved two tax abatement measures for up to 6 years to support the project. The value of the abatements is estimated at $1.2 million, which does not include what Piper termed "ancillary benefits" to municipal officials.

"Let's face it - city officials got to get their ice just like every other meth head," the spokesman chuckled. "But whatever we lose in free dope, we will surely recoup in the six months after the sampleage gets hoovered up."

Piper added that the deal simply "makes mondo sense" for local meth manufacturers.

"Remaining in Toledo allows us to move forward with our plans for a new product lineup, and helps us keep down costs," he said, noting that group was experimenting with cherry-flavored meth and dope delivered in a Pez-like dispenser. "If we're going to remain competitive as a meth producer, we have to limit our expenses, y'all. Staying in Toledo is the best way to do that, and it allows us to give a little sumpin-sumpin back to the community."

Don't Forget Your Catholic Catechism in the Voting Booth

2008-11-01T08:30:00.002-04:00

A Toledo Tales Guest Editorial
by Father Jon O’Brien

Another election is just about upon us, and it is time for faithful Catholics to engage in some soul-searching as they evaluate candidates for public office. To that end, I remind all Catholics that you are expected to vote along the lines of your faith.

You see, far too often in life we leave our moral consciences behind after Sunday mass, and we live our lives as though the Gospels were something easily tossed away, like a ten-dollar crack whore or a snot-encrusted Kleenex.

So vote for candidates who best represent the moral teachings of the Church. Like that Barack Obama fellow, who is much more pleasing in the eyes of God than his opponent, who I like to call "the Antichrist." Sure, Obama supports abortion, a moral failing if there ever was one, but did you see him driving in the lane in that pick-up basketball game on CNN the other day? Elbows flying, forearms shoving - the dude obviously spent some quality years in CYO leagues.

Unlike John McCain, the Antichrist, who probably wouldn't know a fast break from a triangle offense. He probably thinks Hack-a-Shaq is some Sunni militant group in Iraq, and that pick-and-roll refers to boogers.

Thus, when you go to the voting booth, remember your glorious CYO years, and know that God always loves a basketball player.

Local Man's Johnson is, Like, a Block Long and Shit

2008-10-17T22:00:00.002-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Local embellishment specialist Dwayne Baxter told Toledo Tales reporters that he is especially proud of his "extra-freaking-long" penis, and that he's "pretty damned sure" that his member is of world-record length.

"Straight up? Chicks sometimes run screaming when they see my package," he noted. "It's like the Japanese running from Godzilla in those monster movies - they are terrified of the size of the beast, but secretly they want to, you know, get up close and touch it."

Baxter said that his "python-like trouser snake" has been with him since birth.

"I have clear memories of the maternity ward nurses coming in and 'giving Mom a break,' as they called it," he remembered. "Then they'd take me into some broom closet and hop onto my five-day-old cock and hump me like crazed orangutans on Viagra, you dig?"

A recent trip to the gas station left Baxter "totally spent and sore."

"All I wanted was $20 worth of premium, but as soon as the cashier saw me, she started begging me for some cock," he recalled. "We went into the mop room and got right to business. In one smooth swift motion, she was straddling my cock with her dripping wet pussy. She drove my cock into her dripping hole as far as it could go. Her pussy was so wet as she pumped my cock for all it was worth. Then she reached around and shoved a fucking broom handle up her ass: me in the front, the broom in the back, and a dozen customers pissed because there was nobody to turn on the pumps. Lucky for her I shot my load in like ten minutes, or the whole city would have come to a crashing halt from a lack of gas. This kind of shit happens to me all the time, dude, on account of my 23-inch dick. More like a curse than a blessing if you ask me."

Retards Are Just Damned Funny

2008-10-07T20:12:00.003-04:00

Guest editorial by Nate Respert,
Connoisseur of imbecilic comedy

I know that we are supposed to be kind and sensitive and nice to people with disabilities and all that, but I just can't help myself. There is one class of disabled people I find really, really funny - so fricking hilarious that I sometimes laugh out loud in their faces.

I'm talking about retards: those happy-faced, drooling feebs who - if they were any more stupid, they'd have to be watered twice a week.

There's even a campaign now to eliminate the R-word, reminding us that we should respect and value people with intellectual disabilities. They even have a pledge you can sign:

I pledge and support the elimination of the derogatory use of the r-word from everyday speech and promote the acceptance and inclusion of people with intellectual disabilities.

But what would life be like if the average schmucks didn't have retards to laugh at? Take me, for example. I dropped out of high school, worked a series of shitty low-wage, dead-end jobs until I finally got hired in a factory that paid more than minimum wage, and then BAM! Plant closes, I'm running out of unemployment eligibility, and our double-wide's about to be foreclosed on.

Laughing at the silly antics of retards is about all I have left, folks. If you take that away from me, I'll start looking at how fucked up my life is, and I'll probably end up putting a loaded shotgun in my mouth and splattering a three-dimensional Jackson Pollack fest all over the paneling in my den.

And I'm sure the retards would rather me laughing than dead, right? Unless you're saying retards are mean-spirited like that - chuckling at tragedy - in which case I'll laugh at the fuckers even more.

Jaywalking: NOT a Victimless Crime

2008-09-12T10:44:00.003-04:00

Guest editorial by Edith Draheim,
pedestrian activist

I see you impatient people crossing the street any which-way, and I am shocked at your selfishness and bad attitude. Crossing walks and pedestrian crossing lights were invented for a reason, folks, and that reason is PUBLIC SAFETY.

Whose theory is it that jawalking is a victimless crime? I'll tell you: it’s the reckless pedestrians who race headlong across the street who spew those myths that there is no one hurt in this rampant wave of street crime.

And who are the victims, you ask? Let's start with the truly outstanding and industrious pedestrian, who follows all the rules but gets passed up by speed demons in expensive walking shoes. Sidewalks are about fundamental fairness. Not everyone walks exceptionally well, but the sidewalks were designed to level the playing field, so to speak. Jaywalkers reinforce distorted notions of superior mobility, and bring a sense of failure to those whose legs prevent them from dashing through traffic like a meth-crazed gazelle.

And what about the children, for gosh sakes? I am reminded that the average starting age for jaywalking is eight. EIGHT YEARS OLD! I think of these impressionable victims of the jaywalkers, the families involved, the prenatally damaged, the abused children of the jaywalkwers, and a society devastated by jaywalking. All of a sudden - those civil infractions seem like a joke.

And really: what's the big hurry, Mr. Fancy Pants? Whatever you are running to - or running from - will wait. If it won't it's probably something naughty you shouldn't even be doing, like my neighbor's boy Jimmy, who thinks no one's looking when he plays with his tally-whacker in his bedroom.

And you know what? Jimmy's a jaywalker, too. This is what they call one of those gateway behaviors: first jaywalking, then tally-whacking, and the next thing you know Jimmy's murdering little old ladies for their SSI checks.

A Note to Readers

2008-09-03T15:39:00.001-04:00

By Subcomandante Bob

Bob has been busy of late, and has not gotten around to answering emails, updating the site, or even caring about much of anything. He'd like to be able to say it's because he's been busy with a revolution - or even chasing a really hot school nurse - but he's pretty much been lying on the beach and drinking himself into a daily stupor.

Thus, he may or may not get the groove and start writing today. It might also take him another two weeks of being a soused schlomo to finish this binge. We just don't know.

And Billy Pilgrim? Meh. He has his own substance abuse issues, plus the band said it wanted him back, and then there's his unfinished novel and the lawyers he's avoiding.... you get the picture.

But rest assured: at some point in the future Bob will be back. Oh yes, he will be back. And when he does, along with Rogue Editor Billy Pilgrim, the Internet will become an even filthier place.

Barack Obama is a Frrrrgggh Sheneffff

2008-08-20T20:55:00.002-04:00

Guest editorial by
a Drunk Guy at the end of the bar

Listen - LISTEN!!!! You godamned frggglersters and shit better just LISTEN UP. MMpph!

Barack Obama is a Ffrrrrgggh sheneffff, thass for damned sure.

That's what I'm talking about over here, but you and your thinks-she's-all-klobbyhardy and shit fucking smirking SMIRKING, I'll wipe that smile off your fuzzlereedypocker, that's what!

Maybe that John McCain is a certiffff war hermmmmmmm... and shit. But Bark Obrammer can kinnnnnnnn mmmpppph. Sure, sure, sure, SURE! You don't know nothing. NOTHING! Like I'd 'spect you to say different. And shit. Sittin' there, Mr. Laughin' Guy, thinks he's so funny and mmmpppphhh.

And shit.

Opinion: Morgan Freeman is a Very Non-Threatening Black Man

2008-08-13T20:30:00.005-04:00

Guest editorial by Susan Philips,
customer service representative

In my line of work I come across more than a few black men who are downright scary at times. I mean, it's not just the "call back later, bitch" and the "ain't nobody named 'James' staying here" that worry me. Heck - in phone work you're lucky when people don't threaten to kill you.

I'm talking about the black men who look like they would think nothing of pawing and fondling a defenseless and innocent woman like me, and I must say that Morgan Freeman is nothing like that.

You see, I could never imagine Morgan Freeman crawling over to my desk and sliding his tongue up my leg and licking my lady parts while I am on the phone, unlike that Carl Killiam in accounting. Why, every time he looks at me I can see that he's thinking of nothing but filling my hoo-ha with that 15-inch thingy of his.

And Morgan Freeman would never stoop so low as to bend me over a desk and ride me doggy-style, keeping the freak going for an hour. I just know that this is the only thing on the mind of our janitor, Marvin, who looks like he spends all of his time thinking of how to get me alone in the copier room so I would have to swallow his manhood and slurp that throbbing gristle like a Thanksgiving turkey gizzard.

No, Morgan Freeman is a gentleman, the kind of man who wouldn't try to rip off my mini skirt and have sex with me in the women's bathroom, using the hand lotion to help drill me hard up the you-know-what. That's why they always cast him as God, because God would not be scheming of ways to slip me whiskey, get me drunk, and slide his schlong in and out of my bazongas until that icky stuff shot all over my face.

Ewww - not my Morgan.

Kyle's Toys Can Still Have Deadly Poisons

2008-07-28T23:15:00.002-04:00

A Guest Editorial by Nathan Higgins
4th Grader at St. Rose

Yeah, maybe Congress agreed to ban toxins found in children's products, but that doesn't mean that every kid has to have toxin-free toys. Like this dookie-head Kyle Henderson at my school, for one. You can leave every bit of the phthalates or nitroglycerin or botulism toxin in Kyle's toys, and no one would care.

Not only is Kyle a total pee-drinker, but even his parents can't stand him. They drop him off at St. Rose at 7:00 am for the Early Bird program, and he's like the last one to get picked up from the after-school program. Sometimes his parents even leave him there until Mrs. Kerstner gets mad and calls them to pick up Kyle in the middle of the night.

Sometimes I almost feel sorry for him, except he still watches Veggie Tales and baby stuff like that. I mean, what kind of LOSER still waves and sings with Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber any more? I stopped that like a million-zillion years ago, but Kyle still has a Junior Asparagus lunchbox.

D-W-E-E-B. That's how Kyle spells his middle name, and that's why it's OK to let him play with poisoned toys. Otherwise, he's going to go to junior high with that stupid lunchbox, and the big kids will just slaughter him, so this is like helping him out before his life goes completely nutso.

Local Dog Says All Your Food is Tainted with Salmonella

2008-07-22T16:33:00.004-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Hopper, a local canine of uncertain ancestry, told Toledo Tales reporters that the source of a recent outbreak of Salmonella Saintpaul is your refrigerator.

"Definitely everything in your fridge is poison, dude," he said from behind a fence at the house next door. "If I were you, I'd dump all the food into that garbage can over there right away. You wouldn't want your children getting sick and dying, would you?"

Hopper added that - even though Salmonella bacteria were found at a distribution center in McAllen, Texas, and the distributor has agreed to recall the products - you shouldn't take chances with your family's health.

"Straight up, dude? Don't go there," he said, pausing to scratch behind his ear. "The best thing to do is throw out all your food, especially anything from the meat, grain, or dairy families. And if your can gets full, you can just toss that poisoned shit right here in my yard. I'll help you out, brother - I'm man's best friend, remember?"

His canine nose, Hopper said, is capable of detecting odors that humans cannot.

"And my schnozz is saying one thing right about now: BAD FOOD," he said. "The longer you wait, the more likely you will find yourself cradling the dead, twitching body of your young son Billy, saying to yourself: 'Why, oh WHY did I not listen to Hopper and throw out all that bad food??? Why did I have to make Billy eat that POISON???' I'm just trying to help, that's all. Say: are you going to eat those burgers you just grilled?"

Olive Garden Waiter: I'll Toss YOUR Salad, You Little Punk

2008-07-14T13:57:00.004-04:00

Guest editorial by Frank Jacoby,
irritated waiter

Listen: waiting tables at the freaking Olive Garden wasn't exactly my idea of the best ways to spend my golden years, that's for damned sure. But just go ahead and try to get a better job when you're age 55 and you've been working at some shitty auto parts plant for 20 years and it closes up.

But I'll tell you one thing: I don't have to sit here and listen to you little 19-year-old faggots make "tossed salad" jokes when it's time to place your order.

You think just because I've got a few gray hairs I'm too old to know that "toss your salad" is a euphemism for anal prison rape? Or that when you ask if I have a "hot Italian sausage" that I don't know this is some thinly-veiled reference to my dick?

Here's a word for you: FUCK YOU. OK, that's two words, but I sure as shit am not going to stand here and have you little bastards insult me, and then turn around and leave a fifty-cent tip. You better pray I never see your punk asses outside of this restaurant, or I'll cave your fucking craniums with an aluminum softball bat.

And for your information:Ziti al Forno has nothing to do with acne, you little asswipes, and it's pronounced "ZEE-tee." If you're gonna be a bunch of smart-ass pricks, at least come up with something original, dipshits.

Grandma- There Ain't SHIT in Your Medicine Cabinet

2008-07-10T12:10:00.003-04:00

Guest editorial by Jarold Hughes, pharmaceutical connoisseur

So I cut your grass and pulled the weeds around your fence and even hung up that stupid wind chime that blew down in the thunderstorm the other day, Grandma. I walked into your bathroom hoping to score a couple of quick pills, and BAM!

Empty cabinet.

Oh sure: you've got laxatives and vitamins and all sorts of useless douching products (I don't even want to THINK about that!), but all the good drugs you used to have?

There ain't SHIT in your medicine cabinet any more.

It wasn't that long ago when I could find a handful of Oxycontin to crush up and snort, or when I could open that magical mirrored door and find a full bottle of Xanax. But today, I leave Grandma's house empty-handed and annoyingly sober.

I mean, Christ - you haven't even got a bottle of Robitussin or NyQuil for a cheap buzz. What is the world coming to when a guy can't visit his infirm, elderly grandmother for a quick fix? And when Grandpa was still around, hanging on with the liver cancer, he used to have TONS of painkillers: good stuff, too, like Darvocet and Demerol, shit that could keep a young man like me flying for a week!

As far as I'm concerned, this is the worst kind of hospitality: after two hours of working around your house, the least you can do is keep your pills someplace I can find them. Now I've got to find a way to distract you so I can rifle through your underwear drawers.

And believe me - that's even worse than picking up the dog shit in the backyard.

Local Man: Vietnam "A Million Times Worse" than Iraq

2008-07-01T14:48:00.003-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Local embellishment specialist Dwayne Baxter told Toledo Tales reporters that his experiences serving in the Marines during the Vietnam War have convinced him that Iraq War veterans are "a bunch of fucking pansies."

"Listen: I once watched a buddy get blown up while I was shaking his hand, and all that was left was a bloody forearm, still twitching while the rest of him was splattered across forty yards of a gook village," he recalled. "And the scariest shit? The dead guy's hand gripped mine even tighter for about ten seconds, like it was Walter's way of saying: 'Bro, take care, you hear?' Man, it don't get more fucked-up than that. But these Iraq War vets? A bunch of limp-wristed, skirt-wearing douchebags, if you ask me."

Baxter said that claims about posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) among Iraq War vets are without merit.

"I ain't never seen such a group of pathetic, terrified-mutt ninnies as the PTSD types coming back from Iraq," he said, pausing to puff his Lucky Strike. "Back in 'Nam, it was either shit or get your fucking legs blown off by some bicycle-riding 10-year-old bomb-carrying girl who says: 'Mister, Mister' and then tosses a chunk of smoking C-4 in your face. BAM!!! Straight up: Vietnam was a MAN'S WAR, the kind of shit that separated the men from the diaper-wearing crybaby little bitches, not like this hand-wringing PTSD horseshit."

Baxter recalled a particularly gruesome scene from just outside Phnom Penh.

"We just finished this top-secret mission to take out some military officers when an artillery shell dropped in on us, taking out six good men from the platoon," he said. "Then this Viet Cong chick comes out of nowhere, grabs me by the crotch, and says: 'You fuck me NOW!' Before I know it, she's chomping on my Johnson like it's a buttered corn cob, and we're going at it like a couple of stray dogs, dig? And just as I am about to shoot my load, this crazy commie tells me to spooge it on her back while she starts humping my dead buddy Raymond's mangled thigh bone, sticking right through his torn pant leg. I says to myself: 'Fuck that!' And I grabbed my M-16 and blew her fucking head off, just as I am blasting off this geyser of man-juice all over my fatigues. Then, for just a second, Raymond's eyes open, and he gives me that little smile, and I knew right then and there I done the right thing with that Vietnamese whore. Now THAT'S some posttraumatic stress, mister."

Toledo Anarcho-Feminist Collective Frustrated at Working Class Apathy

2008-06-24T16:00:00.004-04:00

Left: United and committed to change

(Toledo, OH) The five members of the Toledo-area Workers' Solidarity Collective gathered together Sunday evening to share a cup of fair trade coffee and express their collective frustrations about the state of revolutionary activity in Toledo.

"Let's face it - the working class, regardless of its size, has to step up and boldly lead the revolutionary effort," said Mitch Bednarski, a member of the group. "If not, the middle class will just turn to fascism for protection from the worker's movement, kind of like when Sheila's dad totally bogarted us by throwing away those leaflets I copied on his new Laser Jet. Way uncool, I say."

Chris Piaget, another group member, added that the Collective should agree to adopt a state-by-state approach.

"The semi-autonomous nature of our so-called united states ought to be utilized," he argued, pausing to pick a particle of dirt from his big toe. "A vanguard party must always appear first in a single state in order for a national revolution to even be possible, kind of like how all of us got the munchies for Patrick's spicy Thai tofu stew with okra and lentils the other night. He just opened up that biodegradable container, and BAM! we were all down with the brown. Brown rice, that is, not brown people, although I must say I would have no problem getting it on with that black cashier at the food co-op, provided that she too shares my interests in the environment, social change, and avoiding deodorant."

Bednarski, before asking for a vote on whether the meeting should end or be continued until all members had exercised their rights as members to speak, offered his summation of local efforts to organize.

"Ultimately, action is critical, and activity always overpowers mass inertia - where power enters as a factor, we have to use and apply it," he noted. " If, nonetheless, we reject out of hand the doctrine of the revolutionary minority, this is just for the reason that it only leads to a mere semblance of power, like when Derek was trying to stifle that wicked red bean fart earlier. OUCH! That shit was stanky, my friend, though I'm not trying to impose my bourgeois values on you or anything. Still, bro, you could have taken that wave of ozone-eating evil outside - that's all I'm saying."

Top 10 Ways to Keep the Dude at the Next Urinal from Thinking You're Gay

2008-06-17T22:19:00.004-04:00

Guest Editorial by Brian Kershaw,
Guy Who Is Most Definitely Not Gay

We've all been there, right? I mean, taking a leak at the urinal when some other dude walks in and sidles up at the next pisser, trying not to make eye contact lest the other dude turns out to be gayer than a locker room full of Clay Aiken fans.

So, with the idea of keeping the rump-rangers at bay, I've compiled a handy list of the Top Ten Ways to Keep the Dude at the Next Urinal from Thinking You're Gay. You'll thank me later, mister.

10. Mutter a cuss word like "fuck" under your breath. Nothing says "I'm hetero" like a grunted F-bomb.

9. Hork up a giant phlegm wad and spit it in the urinal. Not only is this manly as hell, but it will likely make that queer in the next stall puke from being grossed out.

8. Whistle AC/DC's "Highway to Hell." Ain't no band tougher than those Aussie bad-asses, and Twinkle-Toes will probably run from you, thinking about the time he got his faggoty booty kicked by some dude wearing an AC/DC T-shirt in 8th grade.

7. Say something like: "Did you see that bitch out front with the tight-ass shorts? God, DAMN!" Mr. Limp Wrist will either have to pretend he's hetero, or he'll have to deny he saw the bitch, which means he's definitely gay, since a straight man's ass-radar is running 24/7.

6. Pick your nose. Yeah, normally you take a look both ways on account of the fact that you don't want people to think you're gross, but one thing's for sure about the gays: they are a clean people, and as much as they might want to chomp on your corn cob, the fear of snot will keep 'em away, kind of like vampires and garlic.

5. Always, ALWAYS wear your John Deere hat. No homo in the world's gonna be confused about a John Deere hat, unless you're wearing your John Deere hat while some queer has your dick in his mouth, in which case you are a sorry, sorry excuse for a John Deere owner, mister.

4. Punch the wall. Them faggery-daggery-doo types will mostly steer clear of a fellow punching a wall, except for the types who actually LIKE getting their ass beat, in which case you might as well help a gay boy out.

3. Holler something like: "FUCK! It ain't supposed to burn when you piss, is it?" Again, there's nothing that Mr. Butt Pirate would like better than to feel your huge hetero cock up his poop chute, but most gayboy types really don't dig a case of the clap, unless they're drunk as hell, and you're so horny you'll take a blowjob from anything with a warm wet mouth, in which case? Get the fuck away from me!

2. Talk up The Dukes of Hazard. Especially Daisy Duke, since faggots hate her for being: a) a woman; and b) a sleazy dresser. Ain't never been a queer what's sat through a whole episode of The Dukes of Hazard, and you can take that shit to the bank, Pancho.

1. Yell this: "I DON'T WANT NO HOMOS COMING NEAR ME, Y'HERE?" This is the best way to go, since anyone who answers is probably a queer, and in need of a shit-kicking. Now, if one of them answers with your dick up his ass, you have a real problem, since you ain't got no business pile-driving an ass that ain't your girlfriend, best friend's sister, or that freaky pimple-faced chick at the bar who fucks anyone, anytime, anyhow. Wipe off that nasty, crusty dick and find yourself a woman, for Chrissakes! Do I have to teach you everything?

If I Had Me a Pair of Goats, I'd Never Have to Cut My Goddamn Lawn

2008-06-12T21:32:00.004-04:00

Guest editorial by Jake Mannheim, homeowner

I've been cutting my own grass for over forty years, and frankly? I'm pretty sick of pushing that fucking lawnmower around day after day, week after week, when I could be sitting on the patio and sipping an icy-cold brewski, you dig?

Life is passing me by, pal, and it's about time the Jake-O-Nator (that's my nickname over at Dewey's Bar) did some real living.

I figure if I had a pair of hungry-munching goats, I'd never have to cut this goddamn lawn again.

I know what you're thinking: "Jake, you live in the city, for Gosh sakes. You can't keep a goat in the city!"

But I've been working on that part. I figure as long as I keep their little goat-horns filed down, people will just assume they're just a couple of long-legged terriers or something, especially after I get their vocal cords cut, and they won't be baa-ing or bleating or whatever goats usually say, at least without severed goat-throat tendons and shit.

Get a-chomping, you little goat bastards!

And I'm not going to name them something gay like "Billy" or "Clover" or "Frappaccino" or some other butt-piratey name. No sir - my goats are going to have ballsy names, like "Lothar" or "Tsunami" or "Buster Cherry," names that will stand up like a horny sixteen-year-old eating fistfuls of Viagra, you dig?

I got to think that two weeks of starving the little goat-fuckers out to be enough to make my turf look mighty tasty, and after that the goats will take to the lawn like aquarium fish take to sewer water, you feel me?

Then I'll have my whole summer to get drunk, download porn, and generally live like a man's supposed to live: relaxed and grass free. And with a couple of horn-less goats to roast come Thanksgiving.

Local Man Tired of Being Asked if He Was a B-Ball Star

2008-05-29T19:09:00.000-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Local resident Jon Hewitt, who recently began work at a local branch of a Big 8 accounting firm, says that he has been "overwhelmed" by coworkers asking him if he used to play basketball.

"Yes, I am black, and no, I cannot slam dunk," said Hewitt. "I can't believe these people; I'm only 6' 1", for chrissakes. I can barely touch the rim."

Hewitt, who just graduated from UT with a double major in accounting and finance, said that even company officers ask him about hoops.

"This one VP stopped in the middle of a department meeting and began to pretend like he was driving in the lane," he said, adding that he hasn't played the game since 4th grade gym. "He started this: "You got game, motherfucker?" crap, and wouldn't let up until I elbowed him."

Hewitt said that he hopes the novelty of a black accountant will soon pass.

"I'd hate to leave this place because the money is good and there are advancement opportunities here," he said. "But the next SOB who comes up and tries to do a skyhook over me when I am next to a trash can is going to get an ass-kicking."

FOX Affiliate Unveils Crime Show: "Negroes Getting Tazed"

2008-05-11T22:02:00.003-04:00

Negro being tazed

(Toledo, OH) Amid struggling ratings in a crowded media market, Toledo FOX affiliate WUPW-36 unveiled a locally-produced reality program that executives believe will provide a boost to the station's limited number of viewers.

Negroes Getting Tazed follows themes successfully developed in national programs like COPS, Most Extreme Videos, and America's Most Wanted.

"Quite frankly, viewers really enjoy watching people get tasered," said WUPW station manager Frank Oberlin. "And what they enjoy most of all is Negroes being tasered. Full jolt."

Oberlin denied that the station's decision to focus on African American taser recipients was racially motivated.

"Our focus groups showed an overwhelming preference for black taserings," he said, pointing to a spreadsheet. "Even other African Americans seemed to prefer Negroes being tazed over any other group, excepting Uzbekistanis, but we can't seem to find enough tazed Uzbekistanis to make one episode, let alone a series."

Local NAACP representative Franklin Moore expressed "conflicted feelings" about the focus of the program.

"Look: as a black man, I find racial profiling to be reprehensible and disturbing, especially in the 21st century," he noted. "Still, when those Toledo cops tazed that dreadlocked idiot with his ass hanging out of his pants, I couldn't help but chuckle. I mean, did you see the video of that young man twitch and dance when he got hit with the 300-volt prongs? That shit was funnier than a candy bar floating in the public swimming pool."

Waldo: I'm Still Looking for You, You Filthy Punk

2008-05-05T10:41:00.003-04:00

Guest editorial by Will Gerharding, frustrated searcher

I've been staring at this stupid Where's Waldo game off and on for over a year now, and for the life of me I can't find this skinny little prick. I swear to God: I will hunt down this stripey bastard, and I will take a fucking aluminum softball bat to his hidey-hidey self.

Part of my problem is that I am color-blind, so I'm already at a disadvantage here. Waldo knows this, and he must be figuring that his red shirt looks like every other light-gray hue on the board. Yes, Mr. Waldo is a sneaky son-of-a-bitch, and he's probably guessed that I'm nearsighted, too.

He's fucking-A right, that's what he is.

Left: Waldo's days are numbered

So this is personal to me, this embarrassing "game" of tormenting old Bad-Eyes Billy that Waldo is playing. The way I figure, the shifty bastard is moving around when I look away, hiding in spots I already checked out with my magnifying glass.

But will let you in on a secret: Waldo can't hide forever.

Whn I get my hands on Waldo, I'm going to make this fucker pay. I'll cut off his fingers one-by-one and make him eat them. Then I'm going to choke him with his stripey shirt while I gouge out his eyeballs, after which I'm going to socket-fuck him while he screams in agony.

Yes, the day of vengeance will arrive soon, my friend - just wait.

Ma'am: You Need to Clean Out Your Stanky Ride

2008-04-30T11:52:00.004-04:00

Guest editorial by Andy Tremain,
grocery bagger

Now I know you must be a busy person, ma'am, and I can see that your three kids make their share of messes. I also know you must be having a hard time as a single mom (I couldn't help but notice you aren't wearing a wedding ring).

But listen: if you and I are going to have a future together, you need to do something about that stanky minvan you are driving.

Listen - I understand cars can get a little cluttered, and Lord knows I've left my share of CDs and gym bags and whatnot laying around in my fine-ass 2003 Honda Civic Si. I do baby my four-wheeled slice of heaven, though, what with its 2.0-liter dual overhead cam motor with a factory rated 160 hp coupled with 132 lb-ft of torque, and a total displacement of 1998cc, its static compression ratio of 9.8:1, the finely-machined 16 valves, and those four imported pistons whose 86mm bore diameters travel in a "square motor" configuration of 86mm stroke.

But I digress.

The first time you opened the hatch, my nose was hit with a smell that was equal parts dead cat and moldy chicken nuggets, with a dash of dirty diaper for good measure. I about blew chunks right there in the parking lot, and if you weren't wearing that tank top, with your bouncing I'm-nursing-so-they're-really-huge tits a-swinging in the back set there, I would have turned my ass right around and made Ricardo, the retarded cart boy, help you with your groceries.

Look - we might have some kind of future, and I took the hint when you gave me that dollar for loading your groceries that you are all about jumping on the stallion for a wild ride. But if you can't get rid of that God-awful smell in your car, there ain't never gonna be a "you and me."

Local Peep Show Fan Angered at Price Hikes, Service Cuts

2008-04-24T16:58:00.005-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Larry Pelham acknowledges that he has been a patron of area adult video parlors for most of his adult life.

"I can remember when you could watch a 10-minute porno for 50 cents," he said. "Back in the day, a fellow could enjoy himself real cheap like, and still have a couple of bucks to get a sandwich and a soda afterwards."

Pelham expressed anger with reporters over what he calls "thieving hustlers" at the Alexis Road Adult Video store.

"How can they live with themselves knowing that they make so much money off the working man?" he asked, pausing to scratch his rear end. "I mean, they've been showing the same 16mm clips for twenty fucking years, Scotch-taped together when they break. It's not as if they've been spending money on going digital or whatnot."

As an example, Pelham described the $.25 peep show being advertised on the store's marquee.

"So I plunk in a quarter and I haven't even got my dick out before time's up," he recalled, picking at something in his ear. "I toss in two more quarters, and the clip ends just as I am getting going. Then I have to go out and get some change, and after four more quarters, I'm just about to shoot my wad and then BAM! Show's over, I'm going limp, and I'm out of fucking quarters. Total bullshit, if you ask me."

Pelham also bemoaned the "rank nasty" condition of the private booth.

"Look - I know that a thousand dudes have been here before me, so I ain't expecting the Trump Plaza," he said. "Still, it's hard to develop a relationship with the on-screen actress when the room smells like rancid jizz, and you're stepping on Fritos and popcorn and Taco Bell wrappers and whatnot. For my money, the joint needs a good douching, if you ask me."

Your Brother Smells Like Pee

2008-04-21T10:39:00.002-04:00

A Guest Editorial by Nathan Higgins
4th Grader at St. Rose

Jordan, we've been friends since way back in October, and I like coming over to your house to play video games and make prank phone calls and stuff. Your mom buys lots of cool snacks like Oreos and PopTarts, which is good, 'cuz my mom only buys "healthy snacks" like carrots and apples and crapola.

But I definitely don't like your little brother Derek hanging around us, 'cuz he always smells like pee.

I mean, what's up with that? Does the little dude ever change his whitey-tighties, or what? I was sitting next to him while we were playing Grand Theft Auto and every time he moved his legs, all you could smell was stinking piss.

I really think he just pees his pants or something. Maybe he ought to be wearing diapers or those Big Boy Pullups, like my 3-year-old brother Jason wears, walking around saying "I'm a big boy" like it's something special not to have dookie sticking to your butt.

The only good thing is it's springtime, and we can open some windows so Mr. Pee Pee Pants doesn't stink up your house. But you know what? Even my dog Molly smells better than Derek, and she rolls around in her own mess and eats her own puke and stuff.

It's not my business, but Derek has got to do something about his stanky self, or we are going to have to move the PS-3 outside.

If a Priest Had Diddled Me, I Could've Met the Pope

2008-04-17T21:40:00.006-04:00

Guest editorial by Paul Myler,
un-molested Catholic

I was reading today where Pope Benedict XVI met with a bunch of people who were sexually abused by priests, and I have to say that some people have all the damned luck. Too bad for me: my childhood never featured some raving pedophile priest trying to trick me into the sacristy and ramming me hard up the poop chute.

If a only a Catholic priest had diddled me, I could've met the freaking Pope.

But no - all the priests in my grade school and at Blessed Sacrament parish were all your normal, boring, Three-Hail-Marys-and-a-Rosary types. Not once did a priest try to convince me that Jesus wanted me to let Father suck on my prepubescent schlong, nor did a priest ever try to climb in my sleeping bag on a campout and try to shove his quivering, gristly knob up my unsuspecting asshole.

Not me. No sir: I never had a priest dress up as a naughty nun and have me give him a reacharound while I pounded his greased bunghole with my adolescent boner as he sang "Ave Maria" in a lusty falsetto. And I never had a priest take one of the Fun-O-Rama petting donkeys and make me give the beast a blowjob, while he jerked off his throbbing purple-headed chode behind a stack of musty hay bales.

Nope. Now my only chance is to travel to the Vatican and wait in line with a million other losers hoping I win the papal lottery for a 10-second blessing. Christ, if I had known that getting a withered priest-cock shoved down my gagging throat was a ticket to glory, I would've been chasing those befrocked fuckers into the confession booth myself.

Witness: Car Crash "Must Have Had a Hundred Dead Bodies"

2008-04-14T20:22:00.004-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Local embellishment specialist Dwayne Baxter told Toledo Tales reporters that a serious accident on I-75 near Detroit Avenue was "the worst fucking thing" he ever saw.

"Straight up: that was some awful, awful carnage," Baxter recalled. "I seen two dudes walking around with no arms, and blood spurting out their ripped shoulders like red water gushing from a garden hose, and there were three - THREE - fuckers completely decapitated, heads rolling around like lopsided bowling balls and shit. I swear to God, it was ten times worse than anything I seen over there in 'Nam, that's for damned sure."

Baxter said that emergency personnel were unprepared for the extent of the casualties.

"Listen - half-a-dozen of those EMS techs were puking by the side of the road, pouring out chunky blasts of vomit in unison, like they practiced the shit beforehand, barbershop-quartet style," he said. "And I never seen so many cops crying, collapsed on the freeway shoulder crying like a bunch of baby kittens dumped in a vat of bacon grease. Christ!"

The roadside tragedy was not without its positive aspects, Baxter was quick to point out.

"After they got the blood all mopped up, I noticed this blonde paramedic hottie looking at me while she packed up her paramedic shit," he recalled. "Next thing I know, me and her is going at it right there on highway, her ass getting all sticky with blood and gravel and pieces of burnt tires and shit. Then she tells me: 'Shoot your load on that dead guy's head.' Seemed kinda sacreligious to me, being Catholic and all, so I says 'no way, baby,' then she goes down on me, deep-throat-no-gag. After she sucked me off, she walks over to this sorry-looking chopped-off head and horks out my jizz, just a-loogeying it down in the fucker's empty eye socket. I swear to God - people are fucking strange, if you ask me."

Yer Damned Right I'm Mmmmppphhhhh!

2008-04-07T17:15:00.002-04:00

Guest editorial by
a Drunk Guy at the end of the bar

Lookie, lookie at Little Lord Fauntleroy and shit, sitting over there with his mothernothing uptight-ass girlfriend and shit. Yeah, I'm talking to you, peckerweeder-face, acting all bad and mmppphhhh and glungggg.

Fozzlewozzle, fucker! And you're lucky I'm sitting and shezzervellywaddle and shit!

Listen...listen...LISTEN! That's what I'm talking about over here, while you and your thinks-she's-all-klobbyhardy and shit fucking smirking SMIRKING, I'll wipe that smile off your fuzzlereedypocker, that's what!

Glibbbbokerfelltoon! Cmrtmph mpfff mmpha fht, mmpph mppph!! Dickhead!

Angry Burglar: White Van Mistaken for Pedophile Mobile

2008-04-01T21:36:00.004-04:00

(Perrysburg, OH) Local merchandise acquisition specialist Craig Holland admits that he sometimes engages in extra-legal activity.

"Yeah, I spend quite a few hours cruising the wealthy neighborhoods looking for unattended houses that are ripe for the picking," he noted. "And it used to be that my van usually got mistaken for a plumber's vehicle."

Lately, though, Holland said that his white van is more likely to carry more sinister connotations.

"Now every soccer mom in the area is hyped up over pedophiles coming to snatch their little darlings," he mused. "So when I'm casing a neighborhood, you can bet that some uptight bitch is on the phone with 911, demanding the cops come check out a pervert. Listen: for the record, I like 30-year-old women with long legs, firm asses, and big hooters, OK? I'm pretty normal, if you ask me."

Holland also took to task local police, who he says are engaged in unfair stereotyping.

"You know, not every middle-aged dude in a white van wants to boff your kiddies," he said. "I resent getting pulled over because drooling idiots are watching too many Lifetime channel movies starring pedos in white vans."

Even worse, Holland pointed out, is the fact that he has faced problems in his own neighborhood.

"Listen: I don't eat where I shit, if you know what I mean," he said. "So when I'm pulling up to my own house and unloading a bunch of heisted goods, I don't need the extra attention, right? But I can't even drive this fucker to a Taco Bell drive-thru without getting tailed by a cop. I think it's time to start driving an ice-cream truck or some other shit."

Cock-in-Picnic-Table Guy Ready For New Challenges

2008-03-29T10:42:00.004-04:00

(Bellevue, OH) Art Price, the man who was caught on tape having sex outdoors with a picnic table, told Toledo Tales reporters that he plans to "rise to the occasion" in light of his newly acquired notoriety.

"I'm thinking, maybe, a reality TV show where I stick my cock in a bunch of ridiculous places," he said, pausing to scratch his package. "I got a few plot ideas already, like where I bungee-jump off the Brooklyn Bridge and try to ram my pecker in a bucket of raw ground beef held by a couple of supermodels. Then there's the one where I hang from the roof of the car wash bay and slide my Johnson in the metal tube that holds the spray hose. I got a ton of these ideas."

Price added that he hopes to nail a few endorsement deals to further capitalize on his sudden fame.

"Jergens Lotion would be an obvious choice, given my reputation for poking my man-meat in places that produce genital chafing," he noted. "But the big money has to be with condoms. I'm thinking there could be a safe sex awareness campaign to promote condom use among table fuckers, kind of like this: 'The picnic table you are plowing has had sex with a dozen perverts,' or something like that. A guy's gotta be careful, you know?"

His recent arrest, added Price, has been "kind of liberating, in a way."

"My wife was getting kind of tired of having to strap on a bunch of two-by-fours every time we had sex," he noted, referencing his attempt to duplicate table-love in the bedroom. "And it's time to move on, you know? I've kind of neglected my other interests, like shoving hot dogs up my ass while I jerk off to the Power Rangers. You have to stop and smell the roses, right? Or at least grab a couple of rose branches and flog your bloody dick with them, I always say."

I'll Come Home When I Want to Fucking Come Home

2008-03-26T21:28:00.003-04:00

Guest editorial by Hank Freeman, angry spouse

You got a lot of nerve calling me on my cell, babe, whining about how it's 3:00 am and the bars closed an hour ago and even Taco Bell is closed and where the hell am I? It's like I'm your goddamned kid or something, instead of the meal ticket who brings home what's left of his big-ass paycheck every week for you to waste at Kroger's for bread and KMart on kid clothes and Payless on another pair of stupid shoes and shit.

Let me tell you one thing: I'll come home when I want to fucking come home, that's when.

When we got married, was there a clause after "for better or worse" that said anything about curfews? I think not, and if there was, some lousy bastard typed it in after the fact. Probably that pussy-assed brother of yours. And - quite frankly, babe - what I do on my time is my own fucking business. Do I stick my nose in your book club or church choir shit? Hell no, so long as the food is on the table before you split, and there's plenty of cold beer in the fridge.

And one more thing - the next time you come crawling back from some battered women's shelter, there's one thing you need to do right away.

The dishes.

Ha! Get it? The fucking dishes! I totally kill me.

Local Dog Admits Barack Obama Makes Him Growl

2008-03-19T21:06:00.004-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Hopper, a local canine of uncertain ancestry, told Toledo Tales reporters that there's something about Democratic presidential contender Barack Obama that raises his hackles.

"Look: I'm not racist, OK?" he said, pausing to scratch behind his ear. "But every time I see Obama on TV, I have the urge to snap and bite. It's, like, hard-wired or something, you know?"

Hopper said that his owners have tried conditioning him to accept the African-American politician, but their efforts have so far been unsuccessful.

"Oh yeah, they've used everything from the rolled-up newspaper to Liv-a-Snaps, but I keep charging the TV every time I see the bastard grinning on MSNBC," he acknowledged, briefly sniffing the ground. "They were really embarassed when the Wilsons were over last week. They kept apologizing, but you could tell old man Wilson was thinking they trained me to go ape-shit on black folks."

If Obama is elected President, noted Hopper, there may be "unforseeable consequences."

"I can just see the Secret Service pulling up and hauling my ass to Guantanamo Bay," he said, chewing on a muddy stick he discovered. "I'll be over at someone's house, President Obama will come on TV, and there I will be, trying to rip out his throat and howling about how I'm going to kill him. No jury in the world would acquit my mongrel ass, either, especially if they get me on video foaming at the mouth about Obama. Funny thing? I actually like the dude, and if they'd let me into the polls, I'd probably pull the lever for him."

Local Man's "Perfectly Delicious" Fart Wasted During Trip Outside

2008-03-16T17:18:00.005-04:00

Hauptmann: denied his moment of aromatic reverie

(Toledo, OH) An afternoon of "olfactory bliss" that resulted from the production of particularly noxious gastrointestinal effluvia came to a sudden end after Toledo resident Craig Hauptmann took out the trash.

"I knew as soon as I stood up that I was on the verge of emitting the granddaddy of all rectal honks," he said. "By the time I walked back to the trash cans, it was apparent that I would not make it back into the house to wallow in this epic wave of crop dustery."

Hauptmann said that the "titanic blast" brought him temporary relief, but he was disappointed that he was not able to enjoy its lingering odors.

"Unfortunately, I was only able to briefly savor its delicate aroma," he noted. "It had superbly strong bitter overtones with a complex palate, consisting of a delicate aroma of hops delightfully balanced by a prominent malty character, with hints of cruciferous vegetables, lentils, and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups."

Hauptmann added that he holds his wife Linda responsible for the missed flatulent opportunity.

"Linda has been criminally and negligently obstructing and disregarding this important work for decades," he noted. "A person can learn a great deal about the state of his bowel health from the detailed study of his colonic calliopes. If I wind up with intestinal cancer, the blame is all Linda's."

Rising Gas Prices Hurting Local Meth Dealer

2008-03-08T17:40:00.003-05:00

(Toledo, OH) Gas prices topping $3.25 a gallon for unleaded gasoline are causing profits to drop for many small businesses in Northwest Ohio. Among the victims of the rising gas prices is local methamphetamine dealer Paul "DeeDee" Jeffords.

"When the gas prices go up, meth-heads aren't getting stoned as much and my business goes down," he noted. "That, plus a ten-mile trip to deliver a $20 late night fix to a regular customer just ain't as profitable as it once was."

Jeffords said that the spike in oil prices hurts his business in more ways than just delivery costs.

"Oil price hikes affects everything: from the retail price of the meth itself, to the production costs of supplies and packaging, much of which is made from petroleum-based products," he said. "Plus, it takes a lot of gas or kerosene to run a large scale meth lab, like what I got out in my garage. Pretty soon a $10 rock's gonna be, like, $15 or something."

Jeffords added that his customers are demonstrating resistance to inflationary pressures.

"Addicts got to understand that, as retail prices rise, it's not the local dealer that's causing the inflation," he said. "Inflation just keeps getting passed from the top down to the end user. That, plus they need to know that it is way uncool to be pilfering CDs and shit out of the dope man's car behind his back, especially after he drove across town in rush hour traffic to be bringing your ass some meth. Some shit is just wrong, you know?"

Finkbeiner Proposes "Incarceration District" for Moribund Downtown Toledo

2008-02-29T18:04:00.009-05:00

Left: Artist's rendition of the proposed new "incarceration district" with One Government Center at far right

(Toledo, OH) Frustrated by efforts to attract commercial and retail entrepreneurs to Toledo's downtown business district - while simultaneously facing a $57 million drop in taxes with the likely defeat of the city's 3/4% temporary income tax - Toledo mayor Carty Finkbeiner announced today that the city will reposition itself as the "correctional center of America."

"Let's face it - the single industry that has shown consistent growth over the last twenty years is that of domestic prisons," he told reporters gathered at the press conference . "It is time that Toledo stands up and declares that we are primed for the business of housing the nation's burgeoning incarcerated population. Philadelphia's gangsters and Chicago's rapists will be a source of much-needed tax revenue and local jobs. That, plus the area hotels and motels will get a boost from the out-of-town visitors of inmates. Win-freaking-win, baby!"

Finkbeiner said that estimates from the city's economic development specialists project a $200-400 million growth in the local economy due to the opening of a cluster of minimum, medium, and maximum security prison facilities in what was once the central business district.

"While we might prefer the relocation of Fortune 500 companies here in downtown Toledo, we have to be realistic about our dwindling options," he said, pausing to slap an imaginary bug on his arm. "It was either prisons, or we go all-out into making Toledo the nation's crystal meth capital. I do kind of like the nickname 'Crystal Valley," though. It kind of meshes well with 'Glass City,' you know?"

Left: Finkbeiner hoping Toledo becomes jail-bait for international correctional firms

An added bonus to the incarceration district, added Finkbeiner, was the rise of "ancillary industries" in the region.

"Look - inmates need all kinds of shit while they are in the calaboose, from toiletries to shanks to sympathetic rape counselors," he noted. "We've got all that and more. Toledo's doors are open so that they can be slammed shut behind the poor, the minorities, and the convicted of this country. Give Toledo your prisoners, America!"

Finkbeiner added that the city was also exploring similar options with foreign governments.

"Hey: why should those lazy Cubans and Bulgarians get a monopoly on the extra-judicial torture gravy train?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at an unseen adversary. "We've got an international airport here, and there's a booming business in extraordinary rendition black ops sites. It's time that Toledo gets a piece of the international abuse industry, and I am the mayor to lead the way."

Toledo Man Offers Ohio Primary Vote to Top Bidder

2008-02-25T22:41:00.003-05:00

(Toledo, OH) Local bowling afficianado and underemployed lawn maintenance technician Nathan "Nappy" Jazubowski has a "bitchin' offer" to Democratic presidential candidates Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton.

"Pretty basically, people: Nappy's vote is on the auction block," announced Jazubowski to local media members. "The Napster can be yours for the taking, and I can even gift-wrap the ballot, if you got a shiny box or whatever."

Jazubowski noted that the close race means that "every extra vote counts."

"It's like demand and supply, dudes: a vote from Nappy might just put your ass over the top," he said, pausing to draw a big-league toke from his blunt. "I figure that my incremental vote should bring at least $50 or so."

The proceeds of the auction, added Jazubowski, benefit a "worthy cause."

"The cash shall be righteously applied to important medical supplies," he said. "HIPPA laws prevent me from disclosing the specifics, but you can rest assured that the pharmaceutical acquisitions will address a Chronic need."

Local Man Would Have "Splattered the Floor" with NIU Killer Steven Kazmierczak

2008-02-15T17:36:00.003-05:00

(Toledo, OH) Local embellishment specialist Dwayne Baxter told Toledo Tales reporters that he would have wasted no time finishing off NIU gunman Steven Kazmierczak.

"Look, man: I was a sharpshooter in 'Nam, and I never leave home without my Nova .12gauge with a #18 barrel and ghost sights," he noted. "No choke, smoothbore. I can launch a slug and hit a 24"x12" target at 500 yards with no problems, and I'd have blown that skinny punk's head clean off, like a grape getting hit with baseball bat."

Baxter said that he once faced an even more serious situation than the NIU massacre.

"I once got jumped by five Mexican MS-13 gang members with semi-automatic Barettas," he recalled. "I killed two by breaking their necks with my bare hands, then shot two with one bullet, straight through both of their fucking heads. I turned the last one into a drooling quadraplegic, but left him alive as a reminder that no one - NO ONE - messes with the Baxter-man."

Baxter added that the MS-13 attack left him with an unexpected problem.

"When I finished off the last beaner, his hot Chicana girlfriend came on to me," he said. "She was like J-Lo, except with bigger hooters. I'm telling you dude, she was all over me like ants on candy, right there in the alley. She unzipped my fly and took out my hard cock and started rubbing it all over her tits. Then she went down on me until I came, blowing this half-quart load on her face. Freaky shit, dude, but hand-to-God true, every bit."

Turn Signals Are For Total Pussies

2008-02-10T17:59:00.000-05:00

Guest Editorial by Connor Mason,
local bodybuilder

I can't believe all the dipwads who think they have turn on their gay-ass turn signals every time they change lanes or make a U-turn or whatever. What a total bunch of losers - you'd think that the BMV goes out of its way to issue licenses to whiny little bitches or something.

As far as the Connor-man is concerned, turn signals are for total pussies.

Turn signals are like hazard indicators: only to be used for emergencies, like when you have a cop on your tail and there's three open beers and a steroid syringe in the backseat. But I see idiots all the time using the damn things, and it's almost like they are saying I am stupid or something - if my front end is twelve inches from your bumper, chances are I am totally paying attention to the fact that you are turning, Homie.

You know what those turn signal queers are really saying, don't you? They are saying: "I am a rump-loving faggot, and I want some musclebound dude like Connor to shove his ten-inch ripped cock straight up my asshole!" That's what they are telling you when they go "dinky, dinky, dinky," and Connor ain't listening, y'all. The last place I'd be looking for rough roadside sex would be on the highway, what with all the hot action going on at the rest stops.

Hell, there's some totally hot chicks hanging out there, like this tall chick named Mel I hook up with sometimes at the I-75 rest area near Monroe, MI. She gives one hell of a blowjob, and the bitch has quite a set of biceps, which is really hot on a woman, let me tell you. And when I run my fingers through her bleach-blonde crewcut as she bobs on my knob behind the dumpster, I know what the word "nirvana" means, you know?

And you can bet Mel doesn't use her faggoty turn signals, although it's too bad about her terrible accident that keeps her from experiencing regular sex. Man, what I wouldn't give to run my hands on Mel's tight muscular thighs, but I respect her wanting privacy, what with the blow-torch that freaked-out psycho used on her when she was just a little kid, giving her all that grisly tissue in her woman-parts area. Almost makes her look like she's getting a woody, which would be totally gay.

So, don't use those turn signals, unless you are the kind of weirdo who likes getting butt-drilled by anonymous muscular men out in the woods. And if you're that kind of freak, better hope I doesn't find out, because I'd wrestle your fruity gay ass to the ground in a heartbeat, pal, and you'd get a hot earful from me about your degenerate ways.

High Fiber Meal Gives Local Man His Own Super Bowl

2008-02-04T08:43:00.000-05:00

(Toledo, OH) The incessant gut rumblings, which began for Toledo resident Paul Montague "four hours after a bowl of All-Bran," bode well for the local man.

His decision to choose a high-fiber cereal over a breakfast of leftover pizza gave Montague what he termed his "own personal Super Bowl."

"The first score was a little dump-off, nothing too fancy," he recalled. "But it was the second one - the long bomb - that told me my bowels were really cooking."

Montague said that the next two touchdowns were the result of "intestinal fortitude."

"Both were running scores, and on both plays I thought I wasn't going to make it," he said. "Both scores were the result of some lightning quick moves and lucky breaks, since the can was empty each time. Otherwise, I was looking at fourth and shart."

Capping the scoring for Montague was a late score by the defense.

"I wasn't sure if I had any more in me, so I allowed a safety just to be prudent," he noted of the unusual call to sit on the toilet without an urge to defecate. "Better to give myself room for a free kick, if you know what I mean."

Gonna Kick Your Everlovinbitchassssself, Understand Me?

2008-01-29T20:27:00.000-05:00

Guest editorial by
a Drunk Guy at the end of the bar

Smilin' and laughin' over there like you fuckinknoweverthing and shit... I oughtta come over and beat the fuckingbejeezuschristus outta your punk ass.

Mmmppppphh! Faggoty-dooeey little punkassmotherfuckerenshit.

Yeah, you're all talk and shit, you and your friends, watchin' your basketball and hockey and thinkin' you're all that and the bag of motherfuckin' mulch nuggets. You're lucky I'm in a good mood and shit, faggery-boy, or I'd slide on over and mmmpppphhhh.

Ferguddery?!? Don't even THINK about talkin' 'bout my gggrrnn, asshole!

Sheenmmmmppphhhh!

Local Dog Decries Quality of Presidential Candidates

2008-01-23T08:51:00.000-05:00

(Toledo, OH) Hopper, a local canine of uncertain ancestry, told Toledo Tales reporters that he is "completely disappointed" with the slate of presidential candidates.

"I sure as hell don't want another four years of George W. Bush, but I am sick and tired of hearing politicians spout off about who can best bring change," Hopper said, pausing to scratch behind his ears. "Candidates love that word, because it establishes a connection with voters, but I want a candidate who will bring REAL change, like better-tasting canned dog food, or rawhide flips that last more than 45 minutes."

Hoper said that he believes the candidates are taking the canine vote for granted.

"Our political leaders cannot take the dogs by the leash this time round and think that they will be supported after throwing the country into a mess," he noted. "And what's with Mitt Romney and that "Who Let The Dogs Out" horseshit? Listen - every time I hear that fucking song, I bark uncontrollably for ten goddamn minutes. Would Mitt flash a strobe light at a bunch of epileptics or stuff candy in the mouths of diabetics? I think not."

Dogs, added Hopper, are much ore savvy voters than politicians realize.

"Its sickening to be treated like we are retarded, telling us stories, patting us on the head, and going 'Woof Woof' when we show up at rallies," he complained. "I swear to God, the next time a politician asks me: 'Who's a good widdle boy-ee?' I'm going to take a chunk out of the fucker's leg. I'll bet most of these assholes have never even seen the inside of a kennel."

Toledo Recruit Definitely Getting "Army Shtrong"

2008-01-16T11:06:00.000-05:00

(Toledo, OH) Local resident James Phillips, speaking to Toledo Tales reporters from an Army base in Fort Benning, Georgia, said that his boot camp training has fulfilled his expectations.

"They told me I would be 'Army Shtrong,' and they shure kept their promishes," he said. "I was shertainly shurprised to see how shtrong and shkilled I became being shtationed here at thish bashe."

Phillips, who hopes to become an Army tank mechanic, said that his instructors have been "sherious but shupportive."

"The shergeants shometimesh give ush a lot of tough talk, but you know they jusht want you to shucsheed," he said. "One drill inshtructor, though, was kind of weird. He shaid I had to do a bunch of shitups, but every time I shat on the toilet, my shit went down. Pretty shtrange, if you ashk me."

Local Peeping Tom Concerned About Your Recent Lack of Masturbation

2008-01-09T18:43:00.000-05:00

(Toledo, OH) Neighborhood voyeur Evan Pisanelli, who can often be found gazing through your bedroom windows, believes you are not spending enough "quality time with yourself."

"Look - masturbation and the exploration of your body as a sexual being is normal, and when approached in a healthy manner, is completely safe," he advised. "I am worried that your lack of self-stimulation lately is evidence of a deeper underlying problem, like depression. Or that you are getting off somewhere I can't see."

Pisanelli wants you to know that your interest in masturbation is "perfectly typical" for someone your age.

"You should not feel ashamed about masturbation, and no one will chastise or punish you for your private sexual explorations," he said. "And considering the kinky games the Nelsons play over on Crestwood, your sexual urges are highly ordinary. Except that thing you used to do with the hammer handle. THAT was weird, I gotta admit."

Meth Review: Toledo Blue, 2007

2008-01-05T12:30:00.000-05:00

Reviewed by Scooter,
Toledo meth afficianado

Producer: Jimmy G. on Dexter Street
Vintage: 2007
Appellation: Maumee River
Meth Type: blue crystal
Primary Varietal: battery acid
Designation: Good and Cheap
Price: $90-$100 per gram

Raspberry, blueberry, and a hint of milk chocolate on the nose are features of this radiant methamphetamine. The ice has a smooth, velvety texture, a good backbone, with a touch of oak and vanilla on a finish that tapers nicely, and which packs one hell of a buzz.

This particular crystal received 14 hours' worth of basement aging before it was hydrogenated, and the smoke slides along the tongue with a sort of slight fizz, and a firm but dry aftertaste. Not the lengthiest finish, but this blue is strong enough to be paired with weed as well as liquor, though I would advise against pairing this crystal with another stimulant.

I did find the bugging sensation to be somewhat enhanced with this rock, and I spent about ten minutes digging furiously at what I was convinced was an army of subcutaneous termites in my left arm. And - even though I remember tasting the 2004 blue when it was first released and being under-whelmed by it - I highly recommend this meth for serious users. Jimmy G. has outdone himself this year!

Grade: A minus

I Say We Should Blow Up Michael P. Gagnon With Dynamite, Lasers, and Nuclear Bombs

2008-01-02T17:11:00.000-05:00

A Guest Editorial by Nathan Higgins
4th Grader at St. Rose School

My mom and dad have been crying and stuff about that family that got killed on the freeway the other day, especially how some of God's Little Angels could be taken away by that Really Scuzzy Bastard Michael P. Gagnon (don't tell my mom I wrote one of the B-words or she'll be really, really MAD).

Now, I know I'm just a kid, but I've played lots of games at Dustin's house that I am not supposed to be playing, like World of Warcraft and Doom and Grand Theft Auto, so I know a whole lot about how to make bad people pay big time.

I say we should totally blow up Michael P. Gagnon with dynamite, lasers, and nuclear bombs.

I think we should start with the lasers and zap him parts of his body that would really hurt, like his eyes and his nipples and his Private Parts and inside of his ears. Then, after he goes through about a week of laser-torture, we should bring out the dynamite.

But we should only use the dynamite to blow up near Michael P. Gagnon, so he gets a leg or an arm or his peter blown off, piece-by-piece. We should have a doctor come by and sew him up after each piece gets ka-blooied, and use really big needles, so he's alive to feel the next piece get blown away.

After all that, we should use the nuclear bombs to blow him to Kingdom Come, where God the Almighty will blast him with a bunch of lightning bolts and fire and brimstone for a thousand years, and then throw what's left of his soul to Hell, where Satan can spend all of eternity poking Michael P. Gagnon in the butt with his pitchfork and make him sit on really hot lava and throw smelly poop on him, just for fun.

My mom says he should go to jail for a long, long, long time, because our Holy Father the Pope does not like to see people get killed, but I think my way is a lot better. If that doesn't work, though, maybe we could make Michael P. Gagnon morph into a Grand Theft Auto hooker, and run him over with stolen Chevvys and shoot him with sawed-off shotguns and stuff.

Want Another Two Black Eyes? Just Keep Running Your Mouth

2007-12-30T11:56:00.000-05:00

Guest editorial by Hank Freeman, angry spouse

I'm a guy who does not have the longest fuse in the world, so to speak. And to hear you spouting off about how I drink too much, or can't hold a job, or stay out too late at night - well, it sends me right over the fucking edge, babe.

So if you want another two black eyes, then just keep running your mouth.

It would be different if I was beating you all the time, like every day or something. But the fact is, I beat you only when you are out of line. Even more, I've only beat one woman in my life: you, babe. If that doesn't say "love," I don't know what does.

Look: would you go to work and bust the balls of your boss the way you do to me? I mean, if she was a man and had balls? This shit is a two-way street, you know - I sure wouldn't need to be the paddling daddy-type if you weren't always the spoiled little eight-year-old brat type, always whining and crying about how there's not enough money for milk and bread, but you always seem to scrape enough cash to go to your fucking women's support group and shit.

What's that? I didn't catch that. Did you just say: "Hank, I need a beatdown?" 'Cuz that's what it sure as hell sounded like. And - truth be told - every time you ever got a little reprimand from me always started with you running your mouth.

Think about it, babe, the next time that words start forming in that low-IQ brain of yours.

Car Sex in 1991 Still Defining Moment for Local Man

2007-12-27T09:18:00.000-05:00

(Toledo, OH) A 1991 teenaged tryst between local resident Terry Hillebrand and "this really hot cheerleader" continues to be a source of pride and sexual inspiration for the sales manager.

"Dude - it was like the heavens opened or something, the night I nailed [cheerleader] Kerry Grogan," he recalled over a beer with fellow bar patrons. "We're talking crazy sex here, brother, like straddling-the-gearshift kind of shit. We did things porn stars haven't thought of. It was nuts, man, NUTS!"

The encounter, which took place behind the old FoodTown store at the Deveaux Village shopping center, continues to provide Hillebrand with fond memories.

"Whenever the old Johnson needs to be fired up, all I have to do is travel back to that night," he noted. "All it takes is a quick vision of that tight little ass of Kerry's and I am good to go, mister. It's just too bad about her going off to Florida for school, because she was hotter than a set of jumper cables after a Cinco de Mayo dance."

Hillebrand admits that he has at least one regret about the "epic score."

"If I had boned her in, like, 2002 or something, I might have had one of those digital cameras to record the insanity," he said, downing a proffered shot of Jägermeister. "Except we were screwing like rabbits on crystal meth, and we probably would have knocked the camera off the dash. Still, what I wouldn't give for a film of that nasty night."

Which One of You Idiot Bastards is Out to Get Me?

2007-12-23T13:23:00.000-05:00

Guest Editorial by
Ed Lammers, motorist

After ten minutes on the road this morning - in the middle of what whould have been a quiet Sunday trip to the grocery store, I might add - I am well aware that there is a conspiracy to cause my untimely death at the hands of some unknown motorists. It started with the insane, newspaper-scanning woman who cut across three lanes to make a sudden left turn to look at a 3-month-old yard sale on a telephone pole, and it continued with the old man who locked his brakes in front of some 200 feet before the red light.

The problem is this: I don't know exactly which of you idiot bastards is out to get me.

The conspiracy is quite evident, people. When I stopped at Kroger's for two gallons of milk and a bottle of Rolaids, no less than six of you fucking freaks tried to back into my car. And when that brain-dead twit stopped his car halfway into the intersection, causing me to halt and leaving me wide open for the three psychopaths who tried to rear-end me, I knew that my odds of surviving this coordinated attack were slim indeed.

Thus, I now resolve myself to go on the offensive. I am packing every weapon I know, and anyone of you who gets within 30 yards of my Honda is going to get both barrels. I'm dreaming of a deadly Christmas, and it sure as hell ain't going to be my name on the short list.

Local DJ Vows 6-Song Rotation on Tasteless Listeners

2007-12-19T21:54:00.000-05:00

Orleans waits for your stupid call

(Toledo, OH) Kevin Orleans, overnight and weekend DJ for Toledo's WXKR-94.5, has "just about had it" with listeners of the album-oriented station.

"I get nothing but requests for overplayed songs like ZZ Top's 'Legs' and AC-DC's 'You Shook Me All Night Long,'" noted Orleans. "So from this point forward I'm going to play the same six songs all fucking shift long."

Orleans said that the other four songs on the "shit list" include John Cougar Mellencamp's "Pink Houses," Bob Seger's "Turn the Page," Bon Jovi's "Dead or Alive," and - no surprise - Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Freebird."

"My goal here is to beat the aural idiocy to death, or to numb myself into a stupor, whichever happens first," Orleans admitted. "It's either that, or I start drinking heavily to make it through a shift. Listening to these feebs callin the station is worse than chewing a couple of warm sweat socks from a biker on a three-day bender."

Local Woman Recalls Empty Toilet Paper Terror

2007-12-15T15:11:00.000-05:00

(Toledo, OH) A Sylvania woman spent two days trapped in a public restroom stall at a local gas station last week after finding herself without toilet paper.

47-year-old Jennifer Killeen was finally rescued by store employees, who heard her pleas for paper through the ventilation ducts.

"I just finished pinching a runny loaf when I noticed there was noting for wiping," she recalled. "So basically I was frozen to the spot: if I left that toilet, I'd have been covered in shit."

Survival techniques helped the medical assistant make it through her 44-hour ordeal.

"I had nothing with me to eat or drink, so I sipped cold water from the [toilet] tank to keep me going," Killeen said. "And I splashed some on my duff to keep from getting crusties."

After hearing the Sylvania woman's "plaintive cries," attendants at the Alexis Road Speedway brought fresh rolls of toilet paper to the restroom.

"At first we thought she was a pregnant cat or something, with that low howl and whatnot," noted Speedway employee Crystal McIntyre. "But when I got in there, and saw her clenched on the can, I felt really bad about skipping the last few bathroom checks. I mean, I could see the skid marks on the floor and the smeared feces on the wall: desperate people do crazy things, you know?"

Latta to Unveil New "Weirauch is a Filthy Whore" Ads

2007-12-10T11:32:00.000-05:00

Ohio Republican Bob Latta, running for Congress in Ohio's Fifth Congressional District, announced today that his campaign will launch a new round of attack ads against Democratic congressional candidate Robin Weirauch.

The television and radio spots will address what the Latta campaign describes as "personal failures" of their opponent.

"Quite simply, Robin Weirauch is the skankiest, nastiest, piece of trash I have ever met, and I know some real human filth," noted Latta. "She's so nasty, if she threw her underwear on the wall, it would stick."

Latta indicated that the new campaign had been initiated in response to a "lack of enthusiasm" for earlier attack ads, as well as being in response to Weirauch's "Bob Latta Murdered JFK" ads.

"I have to admit, I was surprised when the 'Robin Weirauch is a terrorist' and 'Robin Weirauch is a socialist' spots failed to resonate with the voters," he admitted. "Still, the 'Robin Weirauch is a filthy whore' spots look like a can't-miss campaign."

Latta provided Toledo Tales reporters with some hints of the upcoming commercials.

"We Photo-shopped her head over this porno with some crackwhore taking on eleven homeless dudes," he chuckled. "Then we followed it up with an ominous-sounding voiceover asking: 'Do you want the STD-carrying super-slut Robin Weirauch being a role model for your daughters?' My God - that commercial says it all. Besides, the only thing nastier than Robin Weirauch is the Kleenex I filled this morning, what with my sinus infection and all. And Robin Weirauch is so nasty, she'd probably eat that Kleenex. Hey - get the ad agency on the phone - we need to update the 'filthy whore' spots."

Just Because You're at Church in December Doesn't Mean God Won't Forget You've Slacked at Mass All Year

2007-12-08T15:17:00.001-05:00

A Toledo Tales Guest Editorial
by Father Jon O’Brien

Sure, you and your family are all smiles, walking up to me after Mass and shaking my hand like you are regulars here. And there was no way I could miss the way you made such a show of dropping that $20 bill in the collection plate, so I'm sure that you're prouder than a retarded kid coming home with a macarnoi wreath.

But don't get to thinking God is fooled by your sudden appearance at church during Advent, people.

You see, while Santa Claus knows when you are sleeping and awake, God knows every last detail about your miserable lives, like when you skipped church to watch reruns of SpongeBob Square Pants, or that time in high school when you were drunk and you felt up your 14-year-old cousin at Thanksgiving.

Yes, even that.

So if you want to make it right with the Man Upstairs, I suggest that you'd better start making Mass a regular part of your routine, instead of being less visible than a gay black man at a GOP fund-raiser.

Toledo Anarcho-Feminist Collective Pretty Sure Revolution Has Started

2007-12-03T18:19:00.000-05:00

Left: United and committed to change

(Toledo, OH) The five members of the Toledo-area Workers' Solidarity Collective said that they are convinced that a workers' revolution is "only weeks or months away" after a demonstration this weekend in West Toledo.

"The people at the demonstration expressed their determination to act, instead of being passive sheep," said Mitch Bednarski, a member of the group. "Everyday people came to our Act-Out Session to link up with like-minded people and in search of answers to some deep questions about just exactly what is behind these dismal times of endless war and the culture of medeival mentalities that suppresses any questioning of the status quo. That, and this dude brought some vegan burritos that really hit the spot in that 25-degree cold."

Bednarski said that "over a dozen hardcore supporters" showed up for the event, and that passersby were "way geeked" about the impending uprising.

"Without a doubt, every person who took a flyer looked like they were down for a radical upending of the murderous capitalist system, but just didn’t know how to go about doing it," he noted. "We are seeing a critical mass of support among the proletariat, the emo kids, and Ray-Ray, this homeless dude who shows up at every event we hold for the free food. I suspect that Ray-Ray has a true revolutionary's heart under the six layers of clothing he wears, although his stench takes a little getting used to."

Bednarski added that the group is "totally committed" to worldwide revoltuion, and believes that Toledo is the perfect base for spreading revolutionary ideals.

"Face it - the perfect system of political rule is the dictatorship of the proletariat, and where better to make this happen than Toledo?" he declared. "And all this cannot happen without a vanguard of the proletariat to lead it in carrying out the complex and intense struggle to bring about changes in society and in the world. That vanguard is us, people, and we are going to make Toledo radiate revolution like a hundred thousand pillars of interstellar light. Or at least like a couple of those heavy-duty flashlights the cops carry, those lackeys of the capitalist state."

Man's Credit So Good They Raised Upper End to 1200

2007-11-28T20:04:00.000-05:00

(Toledo, OH) Local embellishment specialist Dwayne Baxter told Toledo Tales reporters that his "mondo-bitchin' credit" is so exemplary that lenders have raised the FICO scale just for him.

"Yeah, right now I'm at 1189, closing in on the record," he said, pointing to a spreadsheet he created on his PC. "My credit's so awesome, every card company in the country is sending me applications and the phone's ringing off the hook. Matter of fact, this hot telemarketing chick took one look at my FICO score - and my 14-inch schlong - and 20 minutes later we were rockin' the mattress. Turns out she lives across town, one of those bored-housewife, undersexed 26-38-26 types with a salesman husband who's always out of town. She used to be a supermodel, with Vogue or some shit, too, and she could suck the drunk off an Irishman - swear to God!"

Baxter said that credit-reporting agencies have been "falling all over themselves" in their efforts to recognize his stellar credit record.

"Matter of fact, Equifax is creating a 'Credit Score of the Year' award, and they nominated me as the very first recipient - with a $20,000 check for starters," he noted. "Plus they're throwing in a Jaguar and a West Palm Beach condo, too. Last time I was down in Florida I was banging this pair of 19-year-old lesbian punk rock twins, dude, and these bitches couldn't figure out if the whole dyke deal was worth it after I trained 'em with the Dwayne-meat. They were begging for it, dude, down on all fours and begging like malnourished seagulls for my dick. It got to the point where I had to take a goddamn crow bar to pry them off my Johnson, you know? If I didn't have those 50-yard-line seats for the Super Bowl with my buddy Bobby DeNiro, I might still be down there in a 24/7 sex fest and shit. In fact, DeNiro was telling me to forget the Super Bowl, and asked me to hook him up with the blonde lesbo twin, but she didn't like Taxi Driver, saying it creeped her out how he was almost like a pedo with that Jodie Foster, then he got pissed and I had to go up there to calm him down before he went and drove the Goodyear blimp into the stadium like he was talking. Got there just in time, too, 'cuz he had the throttle in his hand and a mean look in his eye, like when he played Noodles Aaronson in Once Upon a Time in America, you know? I mean CRAZY-crazy and shit."

Loose Cockatiel No Match for Tennis Racket

2007-11-26T16:07:00.000-05:00

(Toledo, OH) The yellow-and-white Australian cockatiel named "Sparky" had been flying around the PetCo location on Monroe Street for "three or four days," according to store employees, and attempts to coax the bird back in his cage had been unsuccessful.

That is, until part-time stock clerk Josh Terwilliger showed up on Sunday afternoon.

"Pretty basically, it only took one swing of my tennis racket to subdue the bird," chuckled Terwilliger, demonstrating the forehand that brought the renegade bird back in line. "It flew by me near the aquarium aisle, and then: THWOK! Down went Sparky."

Terwilliger said that this is not the first "unconventional capture" of a runaway animal he has engineered in the three months he has worked at PetCo.

"I snagged a loose iguana with a pair of wire cutters I had in the storeroom last month," he recalled. "And then there was the pair of tarantulas I chased back into their tank with a can of hairspray and a lighter. Listen - all it took was one look at the 'Fireball of Death' to send those creepy bastards running."

Store manager Pam Kelleher, while disapproving of Terwilliger's methods, nonetheless admitted the clerk "has a knack" for retrieving wayward creatures.

"Josh does get results," she said, nervously eyeing Terwilliger as he shoveled bunnies back into an open hutch. "What he lacks in diplomacy he makes up for in lower merchandise costs. Still, the whole guinea-pig-on-a-skewer incident did leave some bad feelings with the Girl Scouts who accidentally let Scamper out of his cage last week."

Kids with Leg Braces Be All Trippin' and Shit

2007-11-21T12:36:00.000-05:00

Toledo Man Helps Jump Start Local Economy

2007-11-16T22:27:00.000-05:00

Left: Buck is shelling out bucks

(Toledo, OH) Howard "Buck" Jackson saw news items this week on the economy, and saw fit to do his part to stimulate consumer spending.

"I saw this collection of them ceramic elves over at Odd Lots, and I bought the bunch for my wife," he said, setting down his ninth Bud Light. "She got a real kick out of them, although you wouldn't know it in the old marital department, if you know where I'm going."

Jackson also attempted to help out the automobile sector of the nation's economy.

"Pep Boys had a deal on chrome wheels - not those ugly-ass spinner kind like the dope dealers all have - so I got me a nice set for $800," he said, punctuating his reply with a loud belch. "Yessir - everyone has to pitch in to get America rolling again, and - despite my appearances - I'm going to do the patriotic thing and spend me some money."

His next economic contribution, said Jackson, will likely be in the area of home improvements.

"The missus has been after me about getting one of those rollup awnings for the double-wide," he said, pausing to scratch his package. "But I am kind of leaning toward an extra shed to the transmission I am rebuilding. It's taking up way too much space in the living room."

Jackson said that his ability to flood the local economy with disposable income is due in large part to a recent settlement.

"While getting my vasectomy a few years back, the surgeon sort of butchered my left nut," he said. "Don't get me wrong - everything works just fine - but any hopes I had of doing porno went goodbye, unless I was to do one of them 'freak of nature' films. Picture a golf ball next to a marble, and you'll get where I'm coming from."

Jackson thought for a moment and pondered: "Do you think $3,000 is enough for a beat-up testicle, or should I have held out for a little more?"

Local Man Hoping Enlistment Makes Him "Army Shtrong"

2007-11-12T21:21:00.000-05:00

(Toledo, OH) Local resident James Phillips, speaking to Toledo Tales reporters from Army boot camp in Fort Benning, Georgia, said that he hopes his training will live up to its billing.

"You know what they shay: 'There's shtrong, and there's Army Shtrong,'" he chuckled. "I sure hope that my shtrength and shkills show shome shignificant improvement during my shtay down here in shunny Georgia."

Phillips was enthusiastic about his initial time in camp.

"I just finished my firsht AIT tesht. It was on technical manualsh," he recalled. "It wash sho easy, it wash a joke. We were given 90 minutesh to complete the test, but I finished the tesht in 10 minutesh. These drillsh aren't sho bad, either."

Life in camp is not all fun and hijinks, added Phillips.

"It'sh pretty hard to find a shpot to shit in the canteen," he said. "And when I finally got a shpot to shit, they told me I had to shit in the latrine. Lotsh of shtuff you have to learn to be Army Shtrong."

I Totally Look Like an Eskimo in My New Mukluks

2007-11-08T19:27:00.000-05:00

Guest editorial by Hannah Phillips,
Inuit fashion expert

So, pretty much everyone in my class and on MySpace is totally into mukluks, and u just know that they are 2 much! Hannah just bought her first pair, cuz Hannah had to have sum 2, and I totally look like an Eskimo in my new mukluks.

It's not like I eat raw fish or anything, or kill baby seals (WHICH ARE JUST 2 CUTE!!!!!) and I definitely would never live in an igloo.

But I totally am into this Eskimo fashion, and I think I'm going 2 get a bone through my nose, 2!

Not!

Had u going, though, didn't I? You totally thought I was going to do the whalebone implants, like Sasha-the-whore, right? No way. And she totally sticks any old kind of bone in her.

Yes, I went there.

All I need now is a parka and a name like Qimugkauyar or Tulukaruk or K’eyghashutnu, and I could walk in The Gap at the Iqaluit Mall in Nunavit and totally fit in. And u could come 2, and we could meet Eskimo boys n stuff!

Extinction of All The World's Bees Would Be Cool By Me

2007-11-01T18:01:00.001-04:00

Guest editorial by Bradley Reeger,
recent victim of bee swarming

I just read an article about Colony Collapse Disorder, the phenomenon in which worker bees from a beehive or bee colony abruptly disappear. Yes, bees are one of nature’s most important pollinators, and our food depends on them, and almost half the foods in the American diet are reliant upon bee pollination.

But as far as I am concerned, every fucking bee, hornet, and wasp can die.

Right now, please.

You see, I was just mowing my lawn when I ran over a hive in the ground. I had my iPod on, and didn't realize I agitated 20,000 maniacal flying bastard bugs. The next thing I know, I'm getting stung on every square inch of my body.

Ever been stung on your dick? Well, I have. SIXTEEN FUCKING TIMES. Penis bee stings burn worse than a Taliban rebel in an Army leafpile.

I have daydreams of renting a flamethrower and going on a bee-killing rampage, igniting up hive after evil hive. Or going out and buying myself one of those industrial sized magnifying glasses and using the sun to scorch a couple million of those soulless arthropods, enjoying every moment of every dead bee and imagining I hear a tiny little scream as the focused heat burns a hole right through their little thoraxes.

And Mr. Jerry Seinfeld, with your cute little "Bee Movie"? A great big "Fuck You," pal, for trying to make us forget that the toxic monsters are trying to kill us on a daily basis. When the revolution comes, you'll be lined up against a brick wall and face the firing squad with the rest of your bee buddies.

And I thought "Yadda, Yadda, Yadda" was a total piece of shit, too, and Lenny Bruce is gonna kick your ass in the afterlife.

Local Family Finds Loads of Savings in Recycled Toilet Paper

2007-10-30T17:11:00.000-04:00

(Toledo, OH)For area resident Pat Islington, recycling is about much more than a green attitude toward the environment. The West Toledo resident has found that there is a great deal of green in recycled toilet paper.

"Pretty basically, we buy the heavy-duty brands and wash out every sheet after wiping," said the Vermaas Street resident. "Then we hang them to dry on the line, saving even more money on running the dryer. I figure we've banked over $200 in the last year on toilet paper, baby wipes, and Kleenexes."

Islington said that his wife, however, has been "resistant" to his efforts at saving money through recycling such products as bathroom tissue, disposable diapers, and Q-Tips.

"For the first few weeks she wouldn't talk to me, but lately she's started having short conversations about the kids' grades and stuff," he noted. "Still, She won't give up her 'secret stash' of toilet paper that she swipes from work and from our friends. Pretty sad, isn't it, what desperation will do to some people?"

Neighbors of the Islingtons, however, fail to share Pat's enthusiasm over what he calls his "de-pooperative efforts."

"Dude is crazier than a run-over dog drunk on antifreeze," said next-door neighbor Eustus Patchett. "Next thing he'll be telling the missus to throw her stanky old tampons in the rinse cycle. Whoops - better not give his nutty ass any funny ideas, right?

Chick at the Mall Had Hooters the Size of Small Planets, Notes Local Exaggerator

2007-10-26T17:57:00.000-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Local embellishment specialist Dwayne Baxter told Toledo Tales reporters that a young woman at Westfield Shopping Center was especially attractive.

"Dude - this chick had tits bigger than a couple of ripe pumpkins," he enthused. "I swear to God those hooters just about bounced in my face clear across the food court."

Baxter said that the beautiful woman had a noticeable effect on his state of arousal.

"Listen - looking at that ass made me hornier than a busload of Boy Scouts passing a nudist camp," he recalled. "My cock was harder than a 4-day-old loaf of French bread, brother, and I could tell she was ready to take every last inch of my raging man-meat."

Unfortunately, said Baxter, there were complications in what had appeared to be shaping up as a memorable sexual encounter.

"Turns out I just hit the fucking lottery: fifty grand!" he said. "So I'm thinking: 'Nail this bitch, or head to Columbus and collect my cash.' I finally decided that I could buy a truckload of strippers with fifty grand, so I told the supermodel to take a rain check. Hell, I'm surprised I can even remember that mall chick, what with the wild-ass weekend I spent with those Ohio State cheerleaders I picked up in Columbus. I swear to God I never knew chicks who were so into anal and oral sex as those two crazy coeds! Man, I am aching like dry ice on an abcessed tooth today, mister."

Local Man Hoping IE-7 Loads Porn Faster Than IE-6

2007-10-21T19:52:00.000-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Local porn afficianado Lucas Dreighton, who just upgraded to Internet Explorer 7 from the earlier version, hopes that the new web browser will bring his favorite hardcore films quicker.

"You know, I really like IE-6, but it's slower than a Tasered turtle," Dreighton noted. "When I'm downloading some hot girl-on-donkey action, I need a web browser that can handle high-density digital video."

Dreighton said that IE-6 had a number of "logistical inadequacies."

"Look: when I'm trying to blow a load of pent-up jizz, the last thing I need is the browser freezing up on an image of some guy's hairy ass," he said. "That happened last week, leaving me with some pretty strange feelings as I shot my wad."

IE-7 might also offer additional benefits, added Dreighton.

"I'm all about safe surfing, and if you use IE 6 you can get a very serious virus infection, tied with malware and with a Trojan payload," he said. "I don't know about you, but I worry about what I might come down with chasing all these virtual whores and sluts. I mean, watching some chick slobber all over a horse's schlong is pretty cool, but would you French her afterwards? I think not."

Local Dog "Betrayed" by Neutering Ruse

2007-10-16T17:13:00.000-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Hopper, a local canine of uncertain ancestry, expressed "shock and shame" at the deceptive tactics that led to his recent castration.

"Sure - it was all 'Wanna go for a ride?' and 'Let's go bye-bye!' and 'Wanna treat?'" Hopper recalled, visibly agitated at the memory. "Next thing I know the vet is sawing off my gonads and sewing me up with industrial grade wire. You people are bastards, just complete bastards."

Hopper said that there was "more than just the physical pain" involved in the fateful trip to the veterinarian's office.

"Let's face facts: I was totally fucked over, pure and simple," he noted. "How you would feel if somebody promised you a free BMW or Prada purse and then sliced off your genitalia? Pretty damned low, that's how."

As a result of the "nasty trickery," added Hopper, there will be consequences.

"Mark my words: this is personal, and there WILL be payback. You can count on it, my friend," he said, pausing to lick his still-aching scrotum. "I will use my fury against you, and I will get revenge. When my fury is unleashed against you, you will know that I, Hopper, spoke to you while I was in castratorical recovery, and that your sick games brought on a world of pain. Believe it. Either that, or I will leave loose turd-piles in your jacket pocket and in your shoes. But either way, Hopper WILL have his vengeance."

This Softcore Is About as Real as the Tooth Fairy

2007-10-11T18:30:00.000-04:00

A Toledo Tales Guest Editorial
By Mickey Peterson, Local Porn Connoisseur

Peterson: Passionate About His Porn

I’m gonna hit the ground running: I watch a lot of porn. And I mean A LOT. In fact, I have two flash drives in my pocket right now full of my favorite pics and videos in case my hard drive ever shits the bed.

But now that my wife Rachel has quit her job to be a stay-at-home mom, the only porn I’ve been able to watch is the late-night stuff on cable, and let me tell you—this softcore shit is about as real as the tooth fairy.

Honestly, I don’t even know where to begin. You’d think a sex film would, oh I don’t know, SHOW SOME ACTUAL FUCKING, but most of these erotic scenes are full of lame, extended caresses that fade or jump-cut before you see any penetration, all while some Kenny G elevator music pulses throughout the scene. I could catch more bush on a middle school playground.

And the intercourse in these movies is just goddamn ridiculous. I’m no gynecologist, but there’s no way you can grind some chick’s box while sitting a solid foot above her waist. Im-fucking-possible. Besides, who moans like that? Honey, if some guy is moving back and forth two inches, and you’re wailing like Christ himself is frenching your clit, then you need to give ol’ Mick here a call. Honestly. If that’s your idea of performance, I’m the Second Coming, pun intended.

The bottom line is that I’ve got to get my rocks off to this softcore stuff now that Rachel has dibs on our home computer. So to all of you pansy producers at Cinemax, listen up: I want to see wang and cunt. I want ass to mouth. I want all manner of vag ooze and sperm glistening down some chick’s thighs, and I certainly want to see some hard fucking.

And yes, maybe my wife would bang me more if I paid more attention to our relationship, but damn it, a man’s got to have his priorities straight.

Husband's Pronunciation of 'Chipotle' Drives Wife Batty

2007-10-07T23:20:00.000-04:00

Trascher: Losing it over chipotle

(Toledo, OH) Susan Trascher has been married to her husband Mark for ten years, and she admits that "he does some things that really get under [her] skin."

Still, Mark's insistence on pronouncing the word "chipotle" in a fashion that rhymes with "bottle" is proving to be an insurmountable hurdle for the couple, she told Toledo Tales reporters.

"When he first did it at the Lawrence's barbecue last summer, I just kind of winced and let it go," she said, adding that she corrected him on the way home. "But since then he seems to be taking a perverse pleasure in pronouncing it that way."

Trascher said that her husband's initial mispronunciation was just the beginning.

"Then he starts pronouncing the first syllable sound like 'sky,' so now it's coming out like 'CHY-pottle,'" she said, clenching her fists. "And what's worse is that he's always sneaking a look at me when he does it, like he's trying to purposely set me off. God!"

Left: Herbal source of strife between the Traschers

To make matters worse, said Trascher, Mark seems to be going out of his way to use the smoke-dried jalapeño chilis in meals.

"Yeah, all of a sudden he's Paul-fucking-Prudhomme in the kitchen, all the while yapping about his Chy-pottles," she grimaced. "This from a guy who couldn't make Kraft Easy Mac without burning the noodles until last year. I'll tell you what - the next time I do something that rattles him, I am going to become the world's foremost authority on whatever annoying shit it turns out to be."

Road Construction Destroying Business of Street-Level Crack Dealers

2007-10-01T09:42:00.000-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Construction along Toledo's Detroit Avenue has brought aboutr a marked decrease in business for local crack dealers, who expressed their frustrations with Toledo Tales reporters.

"Since it started, road construction on Detroit has cut my business nearly in half," replied an angry Kyle Prentice. "Most of my people usually come in the afternoon, and they haven’t come in lately because traffic has been backed up. People don't want to drive through a construction zone to buy rock when they can go around the corner without any hassles."

Fellow dealer Tre Manning said that his regular customers may have switched to other dealers on clear streets.

"I think crackheads have forgotten that we're here and what good deals we can hook them up with," he said, shaking his head. "Crackheads are notoriously fickle customers, and they probably think the orange barrels have cops hiding in them or something."

Detroit Avenue crack dealers have few options beyond acquiescence, added Manning.

"It's not like we can pick up and start moving the rock on somebody else's corner. There's fixed costs, existing leases, and the likelihood the other guy will bust a fat cap in your ass," he mused. "It's obvious Mayor Finkbeiner and the city just don't care about small businessmen, and it's a shame that the little man always gets screwed."

Toledo Family Uses Dog to Paint House

2007-09-29T22:43:00.001-04:00

Ellen Hinckley prepares Sheila for house painting

(Toledo, OH) The Hinckley family has developed a novel, labor-saving approach to paiting their house - they use their 4-year-old Irish setter Sheila to do the work.

"Pretty basically, we just pour the paint on her, stick her by the house, and wait for her to fling herself dry," chuckled Gary Hinckley. "It's not the most efficient use of paint, but it's funnier than hell to watch. Plus, Sheila seems to get quite a kick out of it."

Hinckley said that the painting pooch has been used on a number of redecorating projects around the house.

"We had her do the den, the family room, and the kid's playroom," he said of the dog's exploits. "I even tried to have her paint this old Chevelle I have in the garage, but that Hawthorne acrylic lacquer auto paint was a real bitch to get out of her fur."

Sheila's first coat of latex on the back of the Hinckley house

Hinckley said that he is considering renting out Sheila to the neighbors.

"Look - she's a hard worker and she works for Milkbones," he said, finishing a Bud Light. "The only downside is when a squirrel gets in her sight, but hey - could there be anything more hilarious than a paint-oozing Irish setter treeing a screaming squirrel? I think not."

How Dare You Ogle What I’m Flaunting

2007-09-28T12:27:00.000-04:00

A Toledo Tales Guest Editorial
By Sarah McWren

McWren: Stacked, Stocked, and Shocked by Your Prying Stare

As a paralegal in the great Toledo area, I endure a grueling schedule of meetings, court briefings, and case reviews each and every day.

So even though I pride myself on being physical fit as well a young intellectual, I find it disgusting when men ogle the body I flaunt.

I spent four hard years cramming at the University of Michigan to earn my pre-law degree. You know, the human brain is only so big, so it took a lot of really stiff shoving to get all that knowledge in there. And even though I’ve yet to pass the state bar exam, I put my massive legal expertise on the line everyday when I help attorneys prepare for their touchiest cases, most of which overflow with intensity.

But why do my coworkers, who know how smart I am, shamelessly gaze at me when I wear clothes that hug my ass and tits like spandex? Don’t they know how embarrassing and shallow it is to look at someone’s breasts when they’re talking about their second breast augmentation? And when a girl sighs that ‘she’s so horny she could fuck in the broom closet,’ it’s not an outright offer to Rex Williams from accounting. It’s just an expression—the Kappa Phi girls said that shit all the time back in the day.

In conclusion, fellas, treat a gal like a person, not a piece of meat. And when she wears a low-cut top and grabs your balls in the supply room when no one’s looking, be a gentleman—keep your eyes where they belong.

Local Record Store Owner Hates Your Taste in Music

2007-09-21T19:53:00.000-04:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Toledo Tales Rogue Editor

Murkowski: O How He Loves the Bands You’ve Never Heard Of

(Toledo, OH) Veteran record store owner Lars Murkowski has by all accounts an encyclopedic knowledge of music, ranging from turn-of-the-century ragtime to obscure European techno, and everything in between.

Unfortunately, Murkowski uses this incredibly vast musical intelligence to berate his customers on a daily basis, and mock what he views as “the most white-bread pedestrian taste in music I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life.”

“Last week I had some cute paralegal come in looking for a George Thorogood live album for her boyfriend—I believe it was released in ’99,” Murkowski remarked while re-alphabetizing the Dollar Bin near his store’s main entrance. “I told that bitch to hit Circuit City, buy the overpriced CD there, and then shove it up her boyfriend’s Corona-swilling ass. Can you believe that shit? George Thorogood. Jesus, if you wanna get drunk and listen to slide guitar, at least have the decency to buy a Little Feat record for fuck’s sake.”

Murkowski continued to outline how his usual patrons are intellectually incapable of making an informed purchase at his establishment.

“Occasionally I’ll get a college kid who’s looking for some Charlie Mingus, or Massive Attack, or on rare occasions some Uriah Heep, and in those cases I can just talk for hours,” Murkowski beamed. “But my average customer is dumber than a kindergarten dropout huffing paint thinner, and I tell them as such.”

When prompted on how his crass demeanor affected potential sales transactions, Murkowski revealed his innovative business plan.

“Yeah, I get that question a lot—how can I keep this place running if I tell everyone what a dumb bastard they are,” Murkowski chuckled. “It’s pretty simple: I turn into Johnny Kiss-Ass between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and normally pull in about fifty grand to float me through the upcoming year. Any other time, though, all bets are off. So are you faggots gonna buy something or what?”

O Flashing VCR, Stop Mocking Me!

2007-09-19T20:40:00.000-04:00

A Guest Editorial
by Darren Uphill, programming lackey

You sit there flashing that stupid "12:00" at me over and over again, knowing that it is not within my power to control your bullying behavior.

My greatest anguish as a child came from my lack of programming ability, which denied me the freedom to enjoy the activities that all small, growing boys participated in, like Pong or Space Invaders. Like any other young child, I longed to run and jump about, play hide and seek, be mischievous and laugh with the others.

But you sit there and mock me, mock me, endlessly torturing me every 60 seconds with another flash, knowing full well of my electronic impotence and my history of struggling with anything that needs to be set or programmed.

In second grade a couple of stupid girls were teasing me because I didn't know how to work my calculator and I walked away without saying anything in return — just like they tell you to - and after recess they lied - LIED!!! - to the teacher saying I threw ice at them and Mrs. Pratt would hear none of my story, nothing, and even my parents didn't believe me and that stupid-head teacher made me write an apology to the girls saying "I will not throw ice. I will not throw ice. It is not nice. It is as hard as rocks and could hurt other kids" a hundred times.

So fuck you, O Mean Machine. Flash away, because you don't care, just like the rest of the world.

One Crazy Day in Music Class

2007-09-13T19:41:00.000-04:00

A Guest Editorial by Nathan Higgins
4th Grader at St. Rose

Look - all I did was tape a few piano keys together. It's not my fault Mrs. Kelleher went all spazz-o during music class when she hit them.

We were singing that dumb song "Old Dan Tucker" - and it was Stephen who sang it with an "F," not me - and then she finally went up high enough to hit the keys with the tape.

B-R-E-E-E-E-R-R-R-R-T!!!

So Mrs. Killa-her - that's what we call her - got really mad and peeled off the tape and started screaming at us about what bad apples we were and how she hoped none of us came back next year.

So she started playing again, and we started singing, and then she hit the SECOND piece of Scotch tape.

B-R-E-E-E-E-R-R-R-R-T!!!

And then Mrs. Killa-her started crying and put her head down on the piano and nobody said a word, not one word. And I kinda felt bad about making her cry, at least until Jason Oberheimer let out this NASTY fart that was loud and smelly and we all were trying not to laugh and then Mrs. Lolich came in and she was super-mad. We had to write an apology letter to Mrs. Killa-her about the Scotch tape, and then we heard she wasn't going to teach music any more on account of her nerves.

But all I did was put on some Scotch tape. I wasn't the one who Super Glued her special piano slippers to the closet floor, that was Aaron. So blah, blah, blah and stuff.

Local Voyeur Believes You Need to Spend More Shower Time on Your "Stink Zones"

2007-09-09T11:19:00.001-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Neighborhood voyeur Evan Pisanelli, who spends a great deal of time gazing through your windows, has some recommendations about your shower regimen.

"Quite frankly, you are spending way too much time washing parts of your body that never stink," he noted. "Quite frankly, your shower priorities are quite skewed."

Pisanelli said that your obsession with washing your elbows is "downright puzzling."

"I swear to God - you spent two minutes with that loofah sponge on your elbows. Your ELBOWS, for Chrissakes," he said, shaking his head. "Meanwhile you never so much a ran a washcloth down your ass crack. Now, I'm no olfactorologist or anything, but I got to believe the butt region generates more stink particles per square inch than just about any part of your body."

The time you spend washing you chest is "gratifying," said Pisanelli, but he is concerned you might be neglecting potential sources of body odor.

"Look - letting shampoo and soap dribble down to your toes is no way to get rid of that stale Cheetos smell you've got going. I should know - I sniff your socks every time you leave them out on the deck," he added. "And that quickie blast of water under your arms is no replacement for a good armpit scrubbing. Frankly, my friend, you need a refresher course in showering, and your next-door neighboors simply out-clean you in every category. I just thought you should know, that's all."

Local Alcoholic Says You Should "Shut Your Shit Up"

2007-09-06T19:32:00.001-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Marlon Tavares has a problem with you.

"I see you over there lookin' at me and shit," he said in your direction. "You think you're all bad and shit? Then come right the fuck over, you little whatever. I'll fuck your shit up and shit."

The problem apparently began when you entered his "personal space," which seems to extend about 100 yards in any direction Tavares looks.

"Yeah, you're all big and bad and shit," he added, pausing to take a long pull from his bottle. "But you ain't never messed with someone till you started messin' with me. I'll fuck your shit up and shit."

Tavares added that he has a "piece of vice" for you.

"Here's a piece of vice, m'friend: DON'T-START-NO-SHIT-WITH-ME," he said, punctuating his oratory with a belch. "Just because you think you're bad and shit, don't make you bad and shit. Am I right?'

Pausing to wipe his face on his sleeve, Tavares answered his own rhetorical question.

"You bet your mothernothing ass I'm right and shit," he said menacingly.

Local Dork Even Dorkier with Oakley Sunglasses

2007-09-04T18:23:00.001-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Acquaintances of Toledo resident Marty Granhelm are adamant that the local man remains a "serial doofus" despite his recent purchase of a $200 pair of Oakley sunglasses.

"Face it - even with new specs and a Bluetooth, Marty's a complete, drooling feeb," muttered coworker Kevin Johanssen. "We Saran-wrapped the toliet seat on him, and he was all the way back to his cubicle before he figured out he had piss all over his khakis. Yessir - those Oakleys made a difference there!"

Ex-girlfriend Melissa Draheim, whose three-month romance with Granhelm ended in July, said that Marty believes the sunglasses "are like magic, or something."

"I'd be yelling at him to stop being such a fucking douchebag and demand a promotion, and on would go his Oakleys," she recalled, shaking her head. "He's such a pussy that he doesn't even warrant the honor of a bullet-delivered death. Oh, and in bed? Can't even get it up without the fucking sunglasses."

Neighbor Tanya Cappaletty said that Granhelm's new look is like "putting gas in a car you've already wrecked."

"Flat out - he looks like a jackass with those sunglasses," she said. "And, not like I'd ever sleep with the mong or anything, because there's a better chance of seeing Bin Laden and Bush having a latte than me boinking Marty, but the glasses got to go, dude."

Die, You Cheap Parking Lot Tart

2007-09-01T17:30:00.001-04:00

A guest editorial by Steve Johanian,
jilted motorist

I saw you walking out of the Franklin Park mall by the Marshall Field's store, and you looked terrific. I was especially attracted to you for your purposeful ztride as you crossed the lot to your nearby car.

"There," I thought to myself, "is a woman with purpose. A woman of substance. A woman who has a close-ass parking place in this busy motherfucking mall parking lot."

But, no. You walked to your Honda Accord, third spot in the first aisle, and opened your trunk, took out a bag, and walked back into the mall. Just like that, you betrayed my trust in you, a trust that was built upon you leaving the mall.

For that, you two-timing bitch, I hope you die.

You led me on with that "park-hither" look of yours, our eyes meeting in an unspoken gesture of cognition, and it was clear that you were promising me your spot. I could just glide right in, feeling the warmth of your engine on the pavement as we completed our short courtship:

Come, and trip it as ye go,
On the light fantastick toe.
And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The Mountaineer, sweet Jeep Liberty.

But as quickly as our love commenced, you stabbed me in the back with your glistening stiletto of treachery. Then you looked at me with those scheming, evil white orbs, pretending that we never were an item. I felt so ashamed and guilt-ridden, and I cringed at the thought of anyone knowing that I had experienced this lot rape.

I must shower now, you filthy tramp.

Divorced Man to Replace Entire Wardrobe with LL Bean Wear

2007-08-28T19:45:00.000-04:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Toledo Tales Rogue Editor

(Toledo, OH)—Bruce Makuck was devastated last October when his wife Deborah left him for a younger, more stylish man after 19 years of loyal marriage.

That’s why this fall, after losing 30 pounds jogging all summer, Makuck plans to revamp his entire autumn wardrobe with rugged, overpriced slacks and sweaters from mail-order clothier L.L. Bean.

“When Debbie left, I was devastated,” Makuck somberly reflected. “And then I found out the guy she was banging was one of these…metrosexuals. You know, one of these pseudo-fags who wear argyle socks and think pink and purple match? I decided then and there I was going to have a new look this fall, come hell or high water.”

Makuck, a life-long civil engineer and admitted “clock puncher,” feels that L.L. Bean’s expansive collection of flannel, corduroy, and denim will help project a more “outdoorsy persona.”

“I used to be the guy at the office who ate nine doughnuts before lunchtime,” Makuck remarked, disgusted with his former lifestyle. “But I took two weeks of personal leave in June, grew a beard, and threw out every Oxford shirt I owned. Nobody fucks with me now.”

Left: The old Bruce

Ultimately, Makuck hopes to rejuvenate his love life through this highly spiritual wardrobe reinvention.

“There’s this receptionist down the hall, so if I make the office softball team this year, it would do me a real solid,” Makuck beamed. “When I tried to ask her out in April, I had grape jelly all over my Dilbert tie. Didn’t go so well. This time…she [Administrative Assistant Josie Fowler] doesn’t know it, but I’m about to go all woodsman on her sexy ass.”

Local Man Observes 'Left Turn Miracle'

2007-08-24T15:30:00.001-04:00

(Toledo, OH) The six-way intersection at Laskey, Tremainsville and Douglas roads in West Toledo is notorious for rush hour backups, but local resident Pat Reeger observed what he called "divine traffic intervention" last week.

"Dude - it was waaay cool," he told a Toledo Tales reporter. "That left turn lane normally lets only three, maybe four cars turn. I watched nine - count 'em nine - goddamn cars make that light, mister. No way that coulda happened without the Big Man getting involved."

Reeger said that the first five cars through the intersection proceeded at an orderly, though quick, pace.

"They weren't like, flooring it or anything," he said, ackowledging that the event was "heightened" for him by some acid he'd dropped. "But they were definitely in tune with each other, you know? But those next two cars - I mean, whoa! They were really hauling ass."

Left: Reeger was "blown away" by the miracle

The moment of "righteous power" occurred as vehicles eight and nine made it through the light, said Reeger.

"I swear that I have never seen a ten-second yellow light in my life, but that light took forever - for-e-ver - to change," he said, still glowing from observing the "holy" event. "You can't tell me that I didn't just see the Almighty Himself out there, brother. There is no other explanation."

If I Hear That NEXTEL Chirp Again, I'm Tossing You Out of Mass

2007-08-23T15:41:00.000-04:00

A Toledo Tales Guest Editorial
by Father Jon O’Brien

I had just started the Act of Penitence when I first heard your NEXTEL walkie-talkie chirp. Being the forgiving sort I am, I let it slide.

Then I started into the Gloria in Excelsis Deo when I heard your mobile communication device go off again. I looked up and saw you crouching low behind a pew, talking to God only knows who right in the middle of Mass.

As Jesus and the Holy Spirit are my Witnesses, if I hear that NEXTEL chirp again in church, I'm tossing you out of Mass on your gluteus maximus.

Did you ever read in the Gospels the part about turning off your cell phones and pagers before Mass starts? No, because the blasted things weren't invented then. But if they were, God would have written a special rule about them, and if He were here now, you can bet He would kick your ever-loving derriere right out of here.

And, just for grins, what could be so importnat that you have to interrupt Mass for an electronic conversation? At 10:00 AM, it's hardly an important sports event like the Super Bowl, and if it's work, I am sure it will still be there at 10:56 AM when I am saying the Benediction.

Have I ever carried Mass past 11:00? No sir.

Thus, it is with concern for both your physical and spiritual well being that I urge you to shut that device off, or else I'll send a bunch of hungover Knights of Columbus to give you a holy fists-and-boots beatdown in your driveway. Amen.

Bob Talks About Lap Bands

2007-08-23T04:01:00.000-04:00

Subcomandante Bob knows that many of you are struggling to keep your weight in check, and he came across an organization that specializes in lap band procedures.

Journey Lite specializes in Laparoscopic Adjustable Gastric Banding (which is also known as the LAGB or the LAP BAND System procedure). The LAPBAND Adjustable Gastric Band is designed to help you lose excess body weight, improve weight-related health conditions and enhance your quality of life. It reduces the capacity of your stomach and restricts the amount of food that can be consumed at one time.

This procedure is not for everyone, but be sure to follow the above link to learn more about the innovations in lap bands.

Expanded Meth Lab to Add 20 Jobs in Toledo Area

2007-08-17T09:19:00.000-04:00

When You Need Quality Garage Storage Cabinets

2007-08-17T07:59:00.000-04:00

Subcomandante Bob knows that sometimes a guy's gotta hide things, stuff that he doesn't want people to know about. Bulky things, sometimes things with duct tape over their mouths and things that sometimes are still wriggling when you need to stuff them someplace.

If you are a guy with special garage storage needs, be sure to check out the Ultimate garage storage cabinets at CarGuyGarage.com. Look - we're just saying, OK? Nobody's prying into your business here.

So, no matter what you need to keep locked up tight, you can find strong, 3/4" PVC thermofused laminate cabinets with unique polyurethane coated cabinet fronts for added durability and smooth automotive finish over at the CarGuyGarage.com. Just click on the above link, and don't be so testy. Nobody's looking in your cabinets, pal.

Somebody Should Kill Bon Jovi in Front of Their Kids

2007-08-15T18:52:00.000-04:00

A Toledo Tales Guest Editorial
By Derek Pulser, Local Jazz Bassist

Pulser: A Musician with Integrity, Dignity, and Bloodlust

Let me hit the ground running here: I play jazz bass and am going to say a few things about music. So if you listen to Brad Paisley, or Jay-Z, or Panic! At the Disco, or even if know two guitar chords (both of which are probably variants of G major), you need to go buy an issue of Teen People, roll it up tightly, and stick it down your motherfucking throat.

For too long I have played Mingus and Coltrane covers to drunk college kids and Ottawa Hills yuppies who have asked me—after the most blistering, soulful sets of my life—“to play something they can sing to…you know, something from the radio.” And because of this, I pray the same prayer every day of my life: oh, that someone would kill the band Bon Jovi in front of their children.

Why Bon Jovi? I know they’ve already enjoyed their lame, late-eighties peak of third tier hair rock and are now just coasting through Botox Wonderland. But what drives me up a wall is that these ass-lickers continue to make cheesy, disposable pop-rock that cute, 30-something single mothers buy impulsively when they’re shopping for kid shoes at Target. I have a Masters in Music Theory and Composition, do five gigs a week, and can’t even get a date, but these guys write lines like “I just wanna live while I’m alive” and every woman between 28 and 45 drops their fucking panties. Bad poetry and power chord clichés: such things, my friends, are why people fly planes into our buildings.

I propose that some brave soul round these faggots up, bind their hands and feet with duct tape, and make them listen to their entire catalog of crap while their kids squeal with terror a few feet away. And then after everyone’s shit themselves, and begged for their pathetic corporate lives, and pledged fervently to make real music with a real message, they get blown to bits by a bazooka.

You may say that I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. The day popular music got reduced to the lowest common denominator of bouffant-haired Jersey pride, millions of purists like myself had a dream of restoration. Now if only someone was willing to do life in prison without parole for this dream, I’d be one happy bassist.

Local Flasher "Getting Psyched" for Start of School Year

2007-08-11T19:13:00.000-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Local public exhibitionist Terrance Islington, contacted by Toledo Tales, expressed excitement about the upcoming return to classes by area students.

"No doubt, the summer's been kind of slow, except for hanging out by the pools," he noted. "And since the city opened only half of the pools this year, I have had to drive clear across town to get an audience."

Islington took aim at what he called "an overabundance of stupid summer programs" that affected his ability to practice his art.

"You got kids in libraries, kids at YMCA camp, and kids doing volunteer work for the elderly," he muttered. "But what about my needs? Does Mayor Carty Finkbeiner ever stop to think that exhibitionists are people, too? No, sir - it's always 'stick it to the naked guy' whenever city hall gets involved."

If next summer is like 2007, added Islington, he might have to consider relocation.

"It is impossible to achieve any economic growth in this city when you are chasing away residents," he said, practicing his 'quick-flash' technique for photographers. "Toledo simply is not a friendly place for exhibitionists to conduct their livelihood, and it's time for the Finkbeiner administration to explain how - or even if - it intends to change this downward spiral and its relentless attacks on people who like to share themselves with the community."

Local Teens Form Streetlight Slingshot League

2007-08-11T10:14:00.000-04:00

Left: Hobson takes aim

(Toledo, OH) A group of enterprising Toledo teens has banded together and formed the Toledo Area Street Slingshot League (TASSL), combining traditional vandalism in a competitive, standardized format.

The group now has eight-two member teams competing throughout the city, said group spokesman Brian Hobson.

"We have been pleased with the initial interest," he said during a break in practice. "While sponsors have been difficult to find, and city approval is still forthcoming, we nonetheless had an excellent preseason."

Hobson said that league scoring formulas are "pretty simple."

"Hitting a light is worth two points, while a hit that makes the light inoperable is worth five," he said. "Knocking off those photoelectric cells off the support bar that tell the lights when to turn on is worth ten points, but the cell must land intact."

Left: Standard light in league play

Participants use laser-guided slings and fire 20 mm steel bearings. Hobson said that the league currently plays day games, but may consider adding night matches in the future.

"Problems arise when players knock out the streetlight, since the next contestants would then have to fire in the dark," he said, adding that play must continue on one fixture until "it's been totally demolished," or when police arrive.

"Until we solve the lighting dilemma, we'll have to stick to day games," he said.

My Kid Wouldn’t Know a Hottie If One Kneeled to Suck His Cock

2007-08-07T16:35:00.000-04:00

A Toledo Tales Guest Editorial
By Richard Magsen, Parent

Nick Magsen and Shrapnel Face: Not a Desirable Combination

Our son Nick is a good kid. He gets solid grades, stays out of trouble, and for a 16 year-old, is pretty damn honest and respectful to Linda and me. The only thing that bothers me, though, is that he keeps hanging out with all these weirdo girls that he meets through his high school’s theatre company.

It seems like my kid wouldn’t know a hottie if one kneeled in a mall parking lot to suck his still-developing cock.

Nick will be a junior this year, so he needs to start to take his reputation seriously. If he gets pegged as the chubby theatre kid who hangs out with fatties and brace-faces, he’s gonna be a bottom-feeder well through college.

Like this girl Christina he brought home last Saturday. This girl’s face looked like it took some heavy shrapnel at Normandy, and she was wearing, of all things, a slinky Marilyn Manson t-shirt. Marilyn Manson? Is it 1997 or something? I’m not very hip seeing as I still crank the best of Bachman-Turner Overdrive on my Friday drives home from work, but I’m pretty sure Marilyn Manson doesn’t even listen to Marilyn Manson anymore. I think he teaches at Berkeley or some shit now.

I’ve been working a lot of overtime lately, so maybe me and Nick should go clothes shopping before school starts next month to straighten him out. Hit Hollister, The Gap—you know, really spruce the kid up. Maybe even buy some hair gel at one of those faggy fragrance stores. If he ever hopes to bang a chick like Suzie Collins who lives three houses down, he better wise up. That Collins girl will only be a sophomore this year, but she’s like, a hundred pounds soaking wet and has tits the size of Alaska. I bet dollars to doughnuts she gets a million offers to this year’s winter formal and ends up blowing some guy in the back seat of a Honda Civic, all whacked out on peach schnapps.

That guy needs to be my son. And if he could just ditch these loser bitches, buy a new wardrobe, and maybe use those free weights I got him for Christmas, he’ll have a fighting chance.

You Think the I-35 Collapse Was a Disaster? It Was Nothing Like Kyle's Lame-O Party

2007-08-03T15:39:00.000-04:00

Guest Editorial
By Nathan "Nappy" Jazubowski

People are going nuts about that I-35 bridge collapse that killed a bunch of Minnesota peeps and sent all kinds of cars into the muddy Mississippi and shit.

But that ain't NOTHING like the disaster that was Kyle Pemberville's wack-ass party last night.

Sure, the bridge collapse had missing people, but the 18 poor suckers that they can't find in the rubble just doesn't compare with the hundreds of no-shows at Kyle's place last night. He billed it as "The Bash to End All Keggers," and he promised tons of hotties, but the closest thing to booty I saw was Kyle's 14-year-old sister Amanda. I mean, she had it working, but braces and the Disney Channel are not my bag, you know?

And I know that the I-35W bridge is supposed to be "structurally deficient," but Kyle has that beat hands down. He's both mentally and financially deficient, and the dumb fucker thinks one keg and three bags of pretzels equals "party preparation." After I smoked this big bowl of Chronic, I had some serious munchies, and all I could find were those no-brand pretzel rods. What kind of a state of party readiness is that? I mean, sure, you can dip the pretzels in peanut butter or mustard or mayonnaise or stale salsa, but after that you are totally screwed. And having to sit next to some retarded ninth grader watching a History Channel episode about the rise of Nazi Germany pretty much blows, too. How about some pornos or music videos, Kyle-O?

Even stoners have standards.

Thus, while the Nappy-man recognizes the pain of the Minnesota families whose loved ones were so sorely smited in the I-35 collapse, I must hold fast to the assessment that Kyle Pemberville's party-of-epic-fail was a far greater disaster.

Local Accountant “Totally Regrets Nailing” Pregnant Bartender

2007-08-02T11:48:00.000-04:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Toledo Tales Rogue Editor

A Very Pregnant Winston, Rum and Coke in Hand

Otis Cavafy, an accountant in the greater Toledo area, recently expressed remorse over what he perceived to be one-time sexual encounter with pregnant waitress Maxine Winston last Friday evening.

And unfortunately for Cavafy, this “totally awesome life-long fantasy bang” has resulted in endless phone calls, emails, and other forms of unwanted and unwarranted correspondence.

“So I’m like, getting this righteous buzz last Friday night down at Nick & Jimmy’s with some buds from the office, dig, and somewhere around beer three I realize the bartender is smokin’ hot, about seven months pregnant, and coming onto me like a Catholic school girl at summer camp,” Cavafy remarked while closing some Excel spreadsheets on his sleek Apple laptop. “Next thing I know, we’re back at my place, both half-drunk, and I’m pounding her harder than a merchant marine on shore leave. It was awesome—no condom, that huge, sexy-ass belly and her swollen tits…and the best part was knowing there was zero chance she was gonna fart out my kid.”

Cavafy Plots Another Elaborate Excuse to Avoid Winston’s Psycho Pregnant Ass

Cavafy noted, however, that this carefree erotic experience was short-lived, as Winston became emotionally unstable in the following hours and days.

“The morning after, Maxine was a totally different person. First of all, she fucked up my scrambled eggs, and then she wanted to look at my family photo albums and didn’t leave until noon. Shit hit the fan Sunday night though, around text message 73 or 74—I’d lost count by that point—when she dropped the phrase ‘u my soulmate 4 RL.’ Brother, I knew then I was screwed.”

Only time will tell, it seems, if Cavafy can maneuver his way out of this delicate predicament.

“I guess I should have known only a crazy chick would be slurping rum and cokes and banging a guy she knew for a total of 38 minutes,” reflected Cavafy. “But we all make mistakes. Christ. Do you know she called my office today? I didn’t even give her that fucking number.”

Bob Recomends "Freeze It," a Pain-Relieving Gel

2007-08-02T08:22:00.000-04:00

Subcomandante Bob is a character who finds himself in more than his share of altercations. Last night he got into a protracted round of fisticuffs with another resident of Toledo's Cherry Street Mission, whose name is Ray-Ray, over the possession of a cot near the industrial-sized fan that cools the sleeping quarters of this fabled homeless shelter.

Oh, the humanity! Rare indeed is a battle so lacking in decency, so exempt from the normal rules of combat, so filled with depravity and eye-gouging as was the epic throwdown between Bob and his chemically-fueled shelter-mate.

Alas, though Bob persevered, keeping the cot and sending Ray-Ray headlong down a short flight of stairs, he woke up this morning with a pounding headache and some serious bodyaches.

The headache, of course, was due to Bob's complete lack of temperance, but the body aches were a difficult burden to bear. That is, until one of Bob's friends provided him with some samples of Freeze It, which is a new topical pain ointment that is greaseless and effective.

Within seconds Bob could feel the deep resonance of the menthol/camphor blend working into his tired muscles, chasing away the pains inflicted the night before by Ray-Ray. Bob felt young again, as though the world was his oyster, and that he could grab that slimy, disgusting mollusk and make a fine chowder.

Thus, it is with the highest of recommendations that Bob suggests you try the nearly-miraculous powers of Freeze It. You might not receive punches and kicks from an angry homeless man over a cot, but Bob would be willing to bet that your arthritis and muscle aches can be just as painful as one of Ray-Ray's haymakers.

This Throne Is for My Ass Only

2007-07-25T11:24:00.000-04:00

A Toledo Tales Guest Editorial
by Rick Waterson

Waterson: Hard at Work and Full of Shit

Sarah, honey, I know that you like to have your friends over now that it’s summer, and your favorite place to hang out is in the basement, with the big TV and video games. But we need to talk, because you and your friends do nothing but drink Pepsi and eat Doritos down there, and you need to know that when nature calls, you need to go upstairs.

Because the basement toilet is a throne, and it’s a throne for my ass only.

Maybe I should back up. I work ten hours a day on other people’s roofs. We’ve need a new roof for three years now, and every day I wake up at six a.m. to lay tar and shingle while your idiot brother Mark wastes another semester at Bowling Green on my dime, and your mother feels the need to pay $3 extra every week for name-brand aspirin. So when I come home dehydrated and cranky, my bowels are aching for a hefty man-shit, and the last thing I want is to sit where one of your 9th grade friends just blew out a Happy Meal.

(Besides, that may even be against the law or something—putting my ass where a minor had just put hers like, an hour beforehand. I’ll look into it.)

And did I tell you last week I found a tampon in the trash? It’s not like I was rummaging, it was just conspicuously atop the dirty tissues and floss. That’s the kind of nonsense I’m talking about—I don’t want to embarrass you, because you’re still at that delicate age, but you girls need to throw that stuff away in the pink bathroom on the main floor. I never go in there except to steal my comb back from your mother, so you can do your private vaginal hygiene stuff in there.

So Sarah, know that I’m your father, and love you very much, but please don’t use my throne. When I lock that door, turn on the fan, and blast a hard day’s turd while flipping through the new Carhartt catalog, it’s the only moment of peace I get. I beg you, don’t take that away from me.

Delivery Man Fakes Palsy for Tips

2007-07-20T15:49:00.001-04:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Toledo Tales Rogue Editor

Left: Marcuso and Wan reveling in their profits

(Toledo, OH)—Ed Marcuso, a full-time courier for Wan’s Hunan in downtown Toledo, has seen a drastic increase in gratuities this summer since he began faking the visible side-effects of palsy.

Marcuso, 38, is in relatively good health despite living in his mother’s basement and avoiding voluntary exercise.

This, however, has not prevented him from developing “the perfect scam.”

“I normally start the limp as soon as I’m out of the car,” Marcuso thoughtfully reflected. “Most folks peek out the window when they hear you pull up, so this is critical. The trick is to drag your right foot like your ex-girlfriend smashed it with a cinder block.”

Marcuso continued to detail his intricate routine.

“I normally greet people really, really loud — so goddamn loud they figure I’m smart enough to drive a car, but too retarded to check my public behavior,” revealed Marcuso. “That’s what I call the ‘pity ratio.’ From there, it’s all downhill — I drool a bit when smiling, count their money out loud…on a good night, I average $7 per house.”

One of Mancuso's favorite gimmicks is what he calls "palsy arms"

Marcuso’s employer, Jimmy Wan, wishes his other couriers would take the initiative to generate additional income.

“That guy good—so good I fire single mother last week who beg for job,” Wan remarked. “He should teach acting class. My daughter sign up. She need to learn business.”

I Heard Mommy and Daddy Wrestling Last Night, AGAIN!

2007-07-18T17:25:00.000-04:00

A Guest Editorial by Nathan Higgins
4th Grader at St. Rose

My parents are pretty dumb. I wouldn’t say they’re nanny-poop heads, but sometimes they come close. Anyway, last night they sent me to bed early. And instead of playing video games or watching a DVD or playing with our collie Sparks they went and did some wrestling AGAIN!

Sometimes you gotta wrestle. One time I wrestled with Mark Vewinski because he took my pretzels at lunch and I was like “hey dumbface those are my pretzels why don’t you tell your mom to stop drinking so much!” And so we had to wrestle right there in cafeteria.

But Mom and Dad aren’t even angry when they wrestle. They normally do it after a glass of wine, or Mom has a really good day at work and then Dad rubs her feet and they just talk and talk and like I’m not even there.

And boy are they loud! The mattress goes boink-boink and I can’t even read comic books when they wrestle and it’s like the whole house shakes. I wish they wouldn’t do it so close to bedtime, like maybe after breakfast would be better when they have coffee and juice and bagels and I’m not trying to get some sleep because I have a big quiz on fractions the next day.

Thank gosh it only lasts for a few minutes. I think Mom always wins, because I can hear Dad say something like “Jesus” or “Uggggggh” and he’s all out of breath like Mom pinned him real good and had him in a headlock and maybe even gave him a Wet Willie.

So Mom and Dad, if you read this, give the wrestling a break, will ya? It’s like what you always tell me and Jimmy Baxter about climbing trees: it seems fun now, but just wait until someone falls down and breaks their arm.

Check Out FitnessDates.com

2007-07-18T12:14:00.000-04:00

Subcomandante Bob knows that many of you single readers are putting in overtime to make yourselves look good, hitting the gym and staying away from unhealthy foods. Yet you still struggle to find that perfect person to share your life with.

What you should be doing is checking out the fitness singlesopportunities at FitnessDates.com. This is a site that is set up for people who are really into fitness, and should really be considered a fitness dating website.

Bob's idea of fitness dating is hanging around the gym on Ladies' Day, trying to score with the single moms. Unfortunately, they tend to be turned off by the aroma of spilled Stolichnaya and stale Fritos that frequently clings to Bob like a hungry gator.

Animal Shelter Worker Happy That Poodle Was Put Down

2007-07-17T16:42:00.000-04:00

Left: Marlowe recalling the unwanted guest

(Perrysburg, OH) Loving Paws worker Sheila Marlowe admitted to Toledo Tales reporters that she was "happy as hell" that a 7-year-old poodle mix named "Pepper" had to be put to sleep last week.

"Oh yeah - that dog had the most annoying bark, and bit everyone foolish enough to put a hand near it," she said, recalling the former resident of the animal shelter. "After the third or fourth time it sunk its teeth into my arm, I was ready to beat it like a baby harp seal."

Peppers came to the shelter six weeks ago when a family claimed it was moving to an apartment that did not allow pets, said Marlowe.

"But the fact is that those people lied. Flat-out lied," she said, pausing as she groomed a new arrival. "This mongrel was the most unloveable beast I have ever seen, and it was clear that they dropped off the mutt because they absolutely hated it."

Left: Peppers never quite fit in at Loving Paws

Marlowe said that the decision by staffers to euthanize Peppers was "unanimous."

"Usually there's one or two soft-hearted types who want to give an animal another week," she said. "But we all but threw a party after the vote on this mangy cur. May you rot in hell, you worthless, yapping incubus."

Local Grocery Clerk Comes Out About Yogurt Fetish

2007-07-12T11:37:00.000-04:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Toledo Tales Rogue Editor

Robeson with His Many Blueberry Mistresses

Local dairy clerk Terrance Robeson, 49, has been leading a double life for nearly three decades ever since he graduated from high school and started his career in the grocery business: he has a voracious lust for yogurt, and often engages in sexual congress while on the clock.

“Billy, for years I lived in shame, while the fags and the dykes had their revolution and even some of those freaks who like to bang kittens,” Robeson sighed while restocking gallons of skim milk. “But for people like me, there’s no national dialogue, no equality, and dammit, I won’t stand for it anymore: I’m here! I’m sincere! I stick my dick in yogurt!”

Robeson continued to express that his amorous connection to yogurt was not merely a “life choice,” but rather a biological predisposition engrained in his genetic composition.

“I knew from a young age that I was a yogurt thumper,” Robeson candidly revealed. “I remember being at the lunch table in high school, getting a full-on chubby as the Peach Cobbler and Strawberry Swirl spooned into other kids’ mouths. I also knew that it was a living thing—a live culture—capable of complex feelings such as attraction and commitment. So you can call me a freak if you want, and slander me as I smear Mixed Berry on my man-sack in the privacy of the break room, but I assure you this goopy bliss is love.”