FFWD Weekly
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Mr. Smutty by James Martin Pennypinchers & skinflints, arise & shop! Spendthrifts & cheapskates, rejoice! Our big "March Madness" sale continues until month-end, w/ half-off all decapitation gags. We've gotta make room for a big shipment of fancy French "nouveau" humour, so we're slashing prices on all current stock. Bladder-control jokes are priced to go! Gas-leak giggles are thru the roof! And defenestration one-liners are out the window! You say you like the phecal phunnies? Then check out this li'l diamond. Fresh-squeezed from coal (not concentrate), it's the perfect "congrats" gift for the potty-trained toddler in yr life: Halfway around the globe, the tiny African kingdom of Sw__z__land (no, not "Switzerland," but good guess) has been rocked by allegations that the Speaker of Parliament stole some of the King's cow dung. The royal dung, kept in the royal byre & produced by royal cows, is believed to hold special powers. According to legend, the person who smears her/his body w/ the magic dung will be rendered untouchable by enemies. Friends, too. Commonfolk are thusly not allowed to touch the dung, under punishment by, like, death or something. Scholars trace this tradition back to a squeamish, lazy farmhand. Last week, a mystic awoke in a cold sweat, shaking from a dream depicting cow-pie poachery. Invoking the little-used Emergency Inventory Act, the King discovered that, indeed, some of his shit was missing. (Linguistic note: altho "shit" has recently entered into the English vernacular as a coarse synonym for "stuff" or "belongings," it is here used in its purest form.) Tongues were a-wag, fingers a-sniffed, and suspicions a-fell upon the Speaker of Parliament. The accused dismissed the charges as "total BS," but tipped his guilty hand(s) by wearing stained dungarees (a style of casual trouser colloquially known as "shit-knickers") to the Parliament Building. He later admitted to pilfering a patty under orders from a holy vision, but denied the theft was part of a would-be power-play to gain control of the throne (in poli-sci jargon, a "poup d'état"). "God told me to swipe the manure," he insists. "The Devil told me to not wash up afterwards." After much heated debate, theologians agree that God was probably just playing a "foolie." A dyed-in-the-wool screwup, the Speaker has never been popular w/in gov't circles. Shortly before the theft, he was publicly accused of gross incompetence. "Gross incompetence?!" he shouted in embarrassed disbelief. "That only happened the one time, when I still had a touch of dysentery. It was gross, I'll grant you that much, but it's not like I make a habit of cra...oh! Incompetence. Sorry, I thought you said something else. It's kinda hard to hear overtop all the yelling." The manure manoeuvre cinched the Speaker's bad rep. Members of Parliament lobbied to kick him outta office, but fell short of the requisite two-thirds majority vote. (A one-third vote would only require him to sit downwind during parliamentary proceedings.) The Attorney General, however, detected "irregularities" in the voting process, and has since granted the MPs a second ballot, under the condition that everyone eats more bran. Not only is the country in turmoil, but the palace has been torn asunder. The royal pup, a Heinz 57 w/ a great disposition but abandonment issues, is distraught ’cuz nobody has stolen the "gift" he left behind the couch. He is considering chewing a shoe as retribution. Well, gentle consumer, that's just a sampling of the great gaggery we've got for sale. So pack up the family and come on down. We've got free coffee for the grown-ups, and a "Tetanus Pete's Frigate O' Fun" pirate-themed playroom for the kids! Prices are rock-bottom, and our accountant sez we're certifiably insane. Then again, he drinks.

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