Nut Controversy in Central Park

Nut Controversy in Central Park 

Jerkin’s Daily News

Sarah P. Swallows

Squirrels in New York City were subjected to a horrible beginning of their October.  A wild yet friendly Central Park resident, seen in the attached photograph, Samuel C. Samuels Esquire can be seen reacting with anguish and despair after the news came out that all Central Park nuts, including those brought in by visitors, are now off limits to any and all animals, domesticated or wild. 

A Change.org petition was started by Sarah Snorkin (now know in the squirrel community as THE SS) seventeen days ago pleading for, “the conservation of the Central Park environment, the prevention of the degradation of the visual characteristics of Central Park, and the denial of disruption to the Central Park grounds.”

After accumulating a mind-boggling seventeen million signatures, Mayor Bill de Blasio held a press conference at the main entrance to Central Park.  As he was perched at his pedestal surrounded by Wildlife Officers scanning the surroundings for any rogue rodents that may become filled with torment and lung at the ankles of New York’s beloved Mayor, “The conservation of this monumental landmark we know and love is not only the responsibility of all of New York City’s beloved residents, it is also going to be the responsibility of a new task force known as ‘Central Park Wildlife Neutralizers’.”

In the coming days, each and every nut will be inventoried and the data will be compiled into a database.  Each Wednesday there will be a follow up inventory followed by a weekly Friday audit.  The estimated costs of these new legislations is estimated to run nine hundred and seventy six thousand dollars per week but the environmental impact this will save the human inhabitants of New York City’s Central Park is priceless.

We were lucky enough to catch up with Mr. Samuels Esquire immediately following Mayor de Blasio’s statement.  When asked his thoughts about this new legislation Mr. Samuels Esquire replied with a torrent of hatred with a dash of confusion, “Have they [breaking] people lost their mother [freaking] minds?!  For [freak] sake, without nuts squirrels will have to rely on eating our [freaking] babies, [pooping] them out, and [freaking] eating them again!” 

Editor Notes: Mr. Samuels Esquire’s comments were edited due to malicious language, we try to provide a family friendly environment for our readers and take every step to ensure the integrity of our publication.

                As of this writing, Mr. Samuels Esquire has been detained by the CPWN for making disparaging comments about government officials.  His wife, Mrs. Lucille J. Samuels M.B.A., and their eighteen children, Lucy Samuels, Jane Samuels, Rebecca Samuels, Polly Samuels, Samuel A. Samuels Esquire, Samuel B. Samuels Esquire, Samuel C. Samuels Esquire II, Samuel D. Samuels Esquire, Samuel E. Samuels Esquire, Samuel F. Samuels Esquire, Samuel G. Samuels Esquire, Samuel H. Samuels Esquire, Samuel I. Samuels Esquire, Samuel J. Samuels Esquire, Samuel K. Samuels Esquire, Samuel L. Samuels Esquire, Samuel M. Samuels Esquire, and Jeff F. Samuels, were left dumbfounded and heartbroken at the recent detaining of their father and sole provider. 

Samuel L. Samuels provided a brief heartfelt statement, “My daddy is a great daddy.  He collects the most nuts, more than a normal squirrel could collect.  He even talks to my mommy about buts at night time when we’re all asleep and they giggle and make funny noises…” Mrs. Lucille J. Samuels jumped in, flush faced and awkwardly smiling as she corralled young Samuel L. back into their tree home.

                More to come on this matter.  Please let us know how you feel about this shocking legislation in the comments below.

Paper Pro One Finger 20 Sheet Power Stapler

The Paper Pro One Finger Stapler

Nothing on this land is greater than the Paper Pro One Finger Stapler w/ 20 Sheet Stapling Power! 

Some of you have driven exotic cars, a Lamborghini or an Aston Martin, the pure luxuriousness of such a vehicle is unmatched on the automotive landscape.  Others have jumped from buildings with only a fabric self-packed parachute or been in horrifying accidents only to escape unscathed. 

All that being said and noted, nothing compares to the violently satisfying SNAP of the Paper Pro Stapler. 

The firm, sturdy plastic is surprisingly withstanding considering the shear force that this complex machine launches staples.  The undercarriage of the Paper Pro One Finger Stapler is a luxurious gloss black plastic highlighted by a gorgeous ‘I’ shaped strip of rubber. 

In a world full of fully autonomous utilities, it’s nice to have to use some force, as little as it may be, to actually functionalize the Paper Pro One Finger Stapler.   

When it comes to self-service office supplies, the Paper Pro One Finger Stapler glorifies the ways of the past and blending them with unrivaled power and quality.

A word of caution, the Paper Pro One Finger Stapler should be handled with care.  The 3/8”x1/32” stainless steel staples are quiet sharp and are released with a force unmatched on this Earth. 

Always where your PPE when operating or risk a wicked flesh wound that will leave you crippled for minutes if not tens of minutes!

Sleep well, stay strong, and most of all NEVER CONFORM!

Chapter 1: Untitled

New book I'm working on.

By posting this, copyright is already established.

Stephen King said "Keep it simple."

The unfinished first chapter:

Untitled:

C1:

The room is decorated with shattered pictures, hanging on catawampus.  A wedding picture, their wedding picture, lays dismember on the stained carpet.  A broken lamp envelops one corner, a smashed television hangs on the wall, spider web glass serving as proof.  The drywall covered with fist sized black caves on all four sides.  Screws embedded into studs, their purpose unserved now. 

Twenty or so prescription bottles, most spilled during the struggle, rest on her nightstand, chipped faux wood, resembling a shelf from the drugstore.  One says Xanax, the other Valium, the next Lexapro, Paxil, Welbutrin, Fluoxetine, Clonazepam, Lorazepam, etc, etc.  Accumulated over years of distress, compounded on top of a marriage not quite kosher. 

This life isn’t the life she had envisioned.  Stereotypical white picket fenced house, vibrant green ensconced backyard filled with children’s laughter and glee.  A puppy giving chase, joining the family as they cookout with their neighbors and tell tales of yesteryears.  That life never happened, nor will it ever.

A his and her disaster piece.

Her chest heaves outward, followed by a deep sigh.

I love you he says.

I know she says as she looks down at the debris riddled floor.

This was for us, my gesture to us he says.

I know she says never looking up from her shattered life.  Her chest bulges with oxygen, followed by another bellowing sigh.

This changes nothing he says.  His hand reaches out to console her shoulder, she recoils.

Blood riddles their distressed faces.  Skin tore from freshly manicured fingernail.  Their hair is tangled and vandalized. 

Her pale white skin, contrasts with fresh red abrasions.  That blouse he bought her two birthdays ago, tore on the shoulder, stretch from his raged grip.  Her bra, black and white striped shows through.  She sits on the bed, comforter disheveled, pillows and sheets whisked around, in her torn blouse that barely hung low enough to cover her panties.  They seem unharmed. 

Her chest heaves rolls upward, followed by a tired sigh.

A decal clings to the wall, ‘Live Life Love’.  The three L’s for a happy, meaningful existence.  The first thing she read that morning, that last thing she saw when she closed her eyes.  Now it hangs half on, half off the wall, reading ‘Live Li’.  Her stomach swells, pursued by an agonizing sigh

The air is thick with hate, disgust.  A heat radiates through the room, burning their insides, discomfort.  Never looking towards one another, not even for a second.  Tears rain down moistening the woman’s hand.  Mucus slyly tries to escape her nose, sniffled back in. 

The man, her husband, surveys the damage.  Eyes wondering from left to right, just like yours.  Blood is on the carpet, patches of dark maroon trying to blend in.  So much blood.  Too much blood. 

Raising his hands to his war torn face, tracing the landscape searching for wounds, for pain.  Wetting his thumb, rubbing away a dried spot of blood on his forearm, he sits.  Motionless.  Slouched in shame.

The room smells of copper, metallic, all the blood.  The battle that took place was just as much psychologically damaging as it was physically. 

I am who I am he says.

I know she says, sniffling in between.  Her breasts rise, a sigh chases afterwards.

This changes nothing he says.  Repetition buying time for deeper thought. 

The crying deepens, from the soul, from the deepest spectrums of the inner body.  Looking face to face at the shattered family photo, probably the second thing smashed, thrown across the small white room.  Him, her, and their son.  Across the bottom it reads, ‘The Anderson Family’.  The perfect family. 

Say cheese and smile.

The perfect family.

Hold each other close.

The perfect family.

Eyes forward, shiny with love.

The perfect family. 

That’s gone now, forever, never coming back forever.  They sit back to back, too ashamed to face one another.  Every attempt he makes to physically sympathize with her, shunned, unwanted.  The room begins to yellow.  Brightness shines through, slowly at first, shards of light finding the gaps in the distraught window dressing.  Destroyed in the heat of passion, demolished by the heartbreak, ruined by the disgrace.

The sunlight captures a world unseen in the darkness.  Particles floating, swaying to the atmosphere.  Dancing in the light, disappearing into insignificance. 

I am your husband, I am the same Jim you married sixteen years ago he says. 

Her head shakes, the tears roll off the side of her peach bruised cheeks.  This is not who I married she says.  Why couldn’t you have started smoking, she says, or started drinking?  Why this?  Why turn to this?  She paws at a small plush frog, spotted with blood.  Her hand tremble, anxious of what’s next.  The frog, eyes innocent, peers into hers, eyes of pain, suffering, hurricane of emotion. 

Melissa, this changes nothing, he says, absolutely nothing.

Shreds of newspaper are strewn across the bed, almost resembling sheets, there’s so much of it.   The clippings from the man’s escapades.  His adventures, Jim’s “hobby”. 

This changes nothing he says again.  Eva, this changes nothing.  Shame can be heard in his voice, no conviction, no belief.

Tires can be heard screeching to a stop, close by.  Lots of them.  Vehicles sliding to a standstill quickly and precisely.  Muffled voices, commands echo out in the nearby. 

 
This changes nothing he says. 

One more sigh escapes before the voices are clear and it begins.

 

THAT'S IT.  HOPE IT WAS GOOD FOR YOU.

 

 

 

The art of dumping

What is the first thing you think about when you wake up?

Go ahead, take a second, I’ll wait.

If you didn’t say “taking a dump” then you are sincerely living the wrong type of life my friend.

Nothing in this world is more fulfilling than dropping a nice deuce first thing in the morning.  The feeling of relief that comes from that seemingly normal action is remarkable.  It’s all about timing, we all dump at some point during the day but timing it just right can have an enormous effect on your day. 

I want to caution you though, if you have a Snickers bar or chunky peanut butter late in the day or right before bedtime, you may want to let that beast settle.  No one, not even the most self-masochistic of them all, likes feeling the sharpness of a peanut poop clawing its way through your rectum, eventually leading to a small eruption of agony and overall demising self-worth.

9 out of 10 doctors recommend a morning deuce drop.  That’s 90 percent!  That was a real survey that was taken throughout the United States in 2011.  Every person holding a medical license or degree was asked this question, “At what time during the day would you recommend the average person to squeeze out a foot long tootsie roll?”  The response was a miraculous, “Morning – Between 7am-8am”.

You go to the doctor for everything else, why wouldn’t you listen to them now?  A dump in the morning is proven to increase a persons’ mood, their outlook on the day and increase their internal desire for either green fruit or raw turkey bacon (both of which are healthy for you, so says the FDA).

One other note, or caution, if you have to push so hard that you are seeing stars once you begin to cycle oxygen through your body again then you’re doing it wrong.  A morning dump between 7am and 8am may not be for you. 

You may have to build up your body’s desire to dump at that hour.  A couple tricks for doing so.  Squat above something dangerously sharp.  I know, I know, that sounds ridiculous but it works.  A) Squatting is proven to increase the body’s need and desire to defecate (poop), B) The increased anxiety from knowing if you make a fatal mistake you’ll have something horrible happen to you pooper will increase the flow of secretions inside the body and basically force you to urgently go deuce it up.

Another way to try to fall in the recommended time frame for morning dumping is to place a 1980 or older penny in your left hand, clinched tightly and push your belly button in with your right hand.  These directions are crucial because if done incorrectly the results could end up erasing every memory you have stored in your brain that falls on an odd numbered day.  Seriously.  Left hand 1980 or older penny and right hand pushing your belly button with no more than 6 lb-ft of pressure, just enough to crush and egg slowly.  

Take my advice, it’s doctor recommended and approved. 

Sleep well, stay strong and most of all NEVER CONFORM!