Volume XXXIX April 26, 2012

Banker Disastrously Stumbles Upon Coworker’s “Stink Locker”

Muscatine, Iowa— Geordie Fenech’s innocently wandering into a rarely used backroom resulted in olfactory violation most foul.

Fenech has been a teller at First National Bank of Muscatine for seven years but has never encountered anything as hideously fetid as when she opened the backroom door looking for a missing three-hole punch.

“The room is about ten-foot by eight-foot,” said a dry-heaving Fenech. “It’s really more of a closet than a room, and I knew there were some supplies in it, so I thought I’d check to see if maybe someone had inadvertently put the three-hole punch in there. As I approached the door, Al walked out, and I couldn’t figure out why he was avoiding my eye contact. He had a really downcast, kind of abashed look on his face. I remember entering the room and feeling as though hot, rotten liquid had hit me in the face. Then I think I blacked out a little because the next thing I remember is being on my hands and knees in the hallway choking and covering my nose. It was the most offensively horrific, vile, putrid, decomposing, rancid-rot stench I have ever inhaled, and I got a full mouth and nose full.”

Al Periwal, a branch loan specialist, claimed at first that he had never been in the room but eventually admitted to having regularly used the room as his own personal “stink locker” because he knew it was so long idle and unused. “Listen, I’m sorry that Geordie had to smell that—nobody was ever intended to have to smell those smells. I chose that room to frequent after particularly unsettling lunches so as to spare my coworkers from the smells that some others rudely let fly. I never wanted anyone to get caught up in my stink locker.”

Periwal claims it is a place of “contemplative examining and soul-searching” where he goes to release his pent-up gasses and stress.

Fenech described her interactions with Periwal following the incident as “terse, awkward, and rare” and doubts she will ever be able to look at him the same again.

-The Editors

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Sycophantic Youth Out-Haskells Haskell

Clinton Twp., Mich.— Timothy Schwartz has his friends’ parents recalling scenes from Leave It to Beaver as he compliments and schmoozes his way into their homes.

Schwartz’s first knowledge that parents were on to his game was when they began openly referring to him as the overly obsequious, wise-cracking Eddie Haskell.

“I’d be at my friend Bob’s house and his mom would always want to take our pictures. We’d be in his garage lighting school books and Master locks on fire with the gas can, and she’d run out with her camera snapping pictures and telling us to smile as we surreptitiously stomped and doused for all we were worth. We’d be up in his room lighting things on fire, and she’d come in snapping pictures and telling us to smile. We’d even sneak out onto the roof and light things on fire, and we’d see her head pop out one of the windows and try to take our pictures. Bob would always cringe and whine and say, ‘Aw, come on, Mom, lay off, will ya?’ and I would pipe in sweetly with a huge smile, ‘Bob and I would love to have a picture taken, Mrs. McMurray!’ and I’d put my arm around his shoulder and beam into the picture as he grimaced—it made for some really great pictures. She’d tell him to wipe his shoes off when we’d come inside, and I’d remove mine completely, and she’d say, ‘Why Tim, you can leave them on!’ and I’d say sweetly, ‘Oh thank you Mrs. McMurray, but I’d like to take them off if it’s all the same—you see, I know how hard you work to keep the carpet clean—it’s the least Bob and I can do to not make any extra work for you!’ Then at dinner when he’d snort at the table and swallow it, his mom would reprimand him and I would add, ‘Yes Bob, not only is it ill-mannered and inconsiderate, but swallowing phlegm can upset your stomach, too. Your mom and I only want what’s best for you.’ Mr. McMurray would just laugh and say that he didn’t know they’d invited Eddie Haskell for dinner, but Mrs. McMurray would nod her appreciation and tell Bob, ‘See, Bob? Maybe you wouldn’t have such bad gas and have to take those Lactaid pills so much if you blew your nose civilly instead of hacking and snorting and swallowing [the mucus].’ To tell you the truth, I don’t know why Bob kept inviting me over. I suspect his mom encouraged him to.”

Schwartz claimed that his friend Nick’s dad just laughed at his Haskellisms and began calling him “Eddie Haskell” every time he saw him.

Ironically, Schwartz became a huge Leave It to Beaver fan who watches all the seasons regularly. “I don’t think it would be a stretch to say that Haskell is my favorite [LItB] character and that his laugh inspires me to glory even in my late teens.”

-The Editors

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Son-In-Law Of Little Debbie Distributer Buys Hostess Pie, Disgraces Family

Roseville, Mich.— Jeremiah Cormack knew he was risking his Little Debbie windfall when he purchased a hostess chocolate pudding pie on Sunday.

When Cormack married his wife Donna, he did so two parts for love and one part for the seemingly endless flow of iced honey buns her father supplied to him. “When we were dating, it was sometimes feast or famine,” said Cormack. “One weekend there would be cases sitting near her door waiting for me when I arrived, and some weekends there would be none. The bottom line was, my pantry never ran out because the supply was constantly being replenished. Then we got married, and the feast turned more to famine. When I mentioned something to Donna about not receiving the regular flow of treats now that we had ‘sealed the deal,’ as her father often put it, I found a case of iced honey buns waiting on my porch upon arriving home from work that afternoon. On the case was a note in her father’s handwriting that said, ‘I keep up my end of the bargain.’ Needless to say, the marriage remained strong.”

That is until Sunday when Donna sent Cormack to Kroger for some necessities. After admiring the Little Debbie display, as is his custom, Cormack walked up the aisle to get the milk and yogurt he came for. On his way, however, a display of hostess treats caught his eye.

“It was the new packaging, I suppose,” said Cormack. “I saw those chocolate pudding pies and immediately I was a little kid with my mom at the Wonder Bread store when she’d let us, if we were really good, get a Hostess chocolate pie. I don’t think I have ever even had one since I was pre-school age, but I remember thinking there is no better invention in the world than taking a fruit pie and substituting chocolate for the fruit. I initially passed up [the pie] out of loyalty to the family business, but something brought me down that aisle at least three more times until I saw it, coveted it, and bought it. So brash were my actions already that I took a picture of the pie and texted it to my in-laws demanding that they not judge my actions.”

Said Cormack’s mother-in-law, “If he wants that plastic junk filled with poisonous chemicals, he can have at it. Let him throw money at a bankrupt company while his wife’s father slaves to hold a roof over our heads. It’s his inheritance. I am just sad about what kind of message he is sending to my grandson,” speaking of Cormack’s one-year-old son.

Cormack’s father-in-law was unavailable for comment.

Cormack claims that he hasn’t had a day yet this week to eat the pie because he keeps getting other desserts at work, and that the pie “sits in his drawer like Achan’s stolen gold and garments, waiting accusingly to be eaten.”

Cormack can only hope that the ancient Hebrew proverb rings true for him: “Stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant.”

-The Editors

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