Sargent Steven Sugarfish of the North Precinct said a detail has been assigned to look into three or ten incidents—he wasn’t quite sure of the number—allegedly committed by the geezer. Sargent Sugarfish said, “To be honest, I like that these little shitheads are afraid of this cranky fruit bomber. They don’t even run when we pull up anymore. They just stand there all entitled, sipping White Claws, like little princes and princesses, knowing that if we put them in the cruisers or arrest them, mommy and daddy will be pissed at us and sue the city.

A ”flyer of the old man with his backpack of oranges and his launcher has begun circulating in the community. The flyer reassures teens that they are welcome at the park and are treasured community members as dormant parts of their bodies blossom and become fully functional.  

Marcus, a sixteen-year-old boy who aspires to be a “Car Diver,” was hit in the stomach by the oompa loompa colored fruit. He was quite traumatized by the event. “I was in the loop by Hoyt Lake playing Pokémon Go. I was closing in on that rascally Charmander when I heard some guy yelling, ‘No teens in the park.’ Then splat, I’m doubled over with a softball-size Sunkist. It’s so disappointing because I recently got my mom’s Prius up to thirty-five going through the S curves on Delaware, and could see my Uber career fully crystallizing, but now I don’t know…I just don’t know.”  

Another victim whose shield was down and suffered a direct hit in the upper left arm is fifteen-year-old Dawn, who wants to be a “Website Creator” when she grows up. The attack left Dawn very angry. “I was sitting on a bench in the Rose Garden off Lincoln Parkway waiting for my friend Donny, who wants to be a website creator too. I had been crushing on Donny for weeks, and I was hoping that after some website creator talk we would slip off into the bushes and mess around with those dormant parts of our bodies that had blossomed and were now fully functional. But, no, this blue-haired lunatic smashes me in the arm with a fucking watermelon or whatever just as Donny shows up. My arm is all gross, and Donny has this horrified look on his face like I would be the last girl on earth with dormant body parts that had blossomed and were fully functional that he would ever want to mess around with.  Me and my fully functional, blossoming body are so pissed.” 

A seventeen-year-old boy named Mitch, who aspires to be a “Male Doctor,” took a direct hit in the forehead. “I was walking in the circle that surrounds the golf course reciting the Herman Munster “Bone Song,” when this Marcus Welby motherfucker—that’s how deep and serious I am about this “Male Doctor,” thing, Munster and Welby—pelts me in the forehead and I fall and bounce my skull off the pavement. Not only do I look stupid with a contusion on my frontal region frons, but I might have suffered a mild traumatic brain injury (mTBI) or perhaps even a cranial fracture. How can anybody become a “Male Doctor,” with a madman like this on the loose? At least my thumbs, which are essential to being a “Male Doctor,” didn’t sustain any injuries.”

Sargent Sugarfish, wiping the icy goodness of a cruller from his lips, said he will keep the public updated as events continue to unfold.   

The post Old Man With Device That Shoots Oranges Terrorizing Teens At Park appeared first on buffalomud.com.

United States, America—Purist fans of the legendary rock band The Replacements were universal in their condemnation of old school poster “Feelin-Like-A-Hundred-Bucks” for his positive Facebook response to a Beach Slang video. The video was a cover of the band’s 1985 tune “Bastards of Young.” Hundred-Bucks forgot that he was supposed to hate Beach Slang and innocently responded “Awesome,” to the song shot at Mohawk Place in his hometown of Buffalo, New York. 

“I fucked up,” Hundred-Bucks said. “My friend Daryl posted it and I was like yeah, not a bad version of the tune and ya know just gave it a quick “Awesome,” response. After everybody started coming down on me I did remember seeing a post in a secret Replacements group where people were ragging on Beach Slang frontman James Alex as nothing more than a saccharine rip off of the Mats. It’s so hard to keep track of all the things I’m supposed to hate.”

Hundred-Bucks went onto explain the purist bristle that Beach Slang took the nervy step to not only cover Bob Mould’s “I Hate Alternative Music,” but also to mine both The Replacements and front man Paul Westerberg’s catalogue, recording fan favorites such as “Androgynous,” “Skyway” and “AAA.” Additionally, the subject matter of Beach Slang originals “Spin The Dial,” and “Tommy in The 80’s” seemed to be culled directly from Replacements lore. 

Rock Fan (ARegular) Looking For Summer Return

Senior purist, “ARegular,” as in “Here Comes A Regular” said, “John Alex is nothing but a little fanboy trying to make a living trading on the legacy of “ The Mats” (Replacements nickname among the purists). It’s an abomination and Hundred-Bucks should be ashamed of himself.”

Other fans were quick to bury “Feelin-Like-A-Hundred-Bucks” too:

Elizabeth (Boston, Ma.): “Hundred-Bucks was the most forgettable poster ever. He’s the kind of guy you don’t even have to see to know you would totally ignore him if you ever met him in person. And, now we know, he’s a shitty Mats fan too.” 

Nudge (Elk Horn, Iowa): “I sent that prick two of my self-made cd’s and told him not to worry about sending any cash and you know what—he didn’t. Here I am, an Aussie, in the middle of bum fuck Iowa with seven kids and a barn full of soy products I can’t bring to market and that asshole didn’t know I didn’t really mean it when I told him not to send any cash? Screw him, he deserves this.”

El Goodo (Memphis, Tn.): “When we were getting to know each other and I told him I was from Alabama, he asked me, how many pies and chickens it costs to get a Mats album in Mobile. This coming from a guy in Buffalo, no less. Fuck him.”

ILuvBobStinson (Minneapolis, Mn.): “Hundred-Bucks was just another Paul Westerberg loving robot who would never accept that the true greatness of the band came from Bob Stinson (lead guitarist, first four records) and it was just a shell of its former self once Bob was fired. He can rot in fucking hell with all of the other Westerberg loving robots as far as I’m concerned.”

Hundred-Bucks plans to lay low for awhile and then slowly reintegrate back into purist population by latching onto the next big thing the purists’ hate.  

The post Replacement Purists Condemn Response To Beach Slang Video appeared first on buffalomud.com.

After going over a few bookstore items at the local non-profit he listened to three South Buffalo natives: P.A. Kane, Jesse Holmes and Jack Conrad talk about all the people they knew in common in South Buffalo.  

Helmbrecht said, “In Cheektavegas, where I come from, we do this crazy thing—we talk to each other, not about the people we know. Ya know, we ask about your job, kids, maybe some new project you have going on at the house. These three South Buffalo numbnuts spent two hours talking about this “Jackson” or that “Coughlin.” I don’t get it—South Buffalo people talking about other South Buffalo people. Listening to them made me feel, I don’t know—dumber. Like  I lost IQ points or something.”

After the Saint Patrick’s day recollections Helmbrecht noted the three most common elements in all the stories were: Caz Park . . . drinking . . . and fighting— with some poor lass getting knocked up on a pool table or in the back of a Corolla coming in a not so distant fourth. The stories went something like this: Someone named Mclaughlin or Quinn or Whalen would be at the Caz Golf Course bridge drinking with friends. One of those guys would accuse someone named McNamara or McCarthy or O’Sullivan of dumping their beer. A fight would follow. A girlfriend named Eileen or Margret or Katie would become upset and cry.

At that point, Kane, Holmes and Conrad would pause and ask, “Whatever happened to her, she was a good kid?” Invariably, the answer was that she got  knocked up by some guy named Ryan or O’Grady or McLanahan, who was either a cop or a fireman.

That was another thing that amazed Helmbrecht. Everybody from South Buffalo was either a cop or a fireman.

Shaking his head at the lack of traffic in the book store Helmbrecht said, “I get it why no one is buying any books. To get anyone in this neighborhood to buy a book we’d also have to be sell beer.”

Trying to drown out the inane conversation of Kane, Holmes and Conrad, Helmbrecht spent the remainder of his shift poking through local author  Patricia Reilly Panara’s arresting book: Sisterly Advice.  

The post Cheektowaga Man Miffed And Amazed By South Buffalo Conversation appeared first on buffalomud.com.

Forget the odor of decomposing fish and and the elevated levels of bacteria, Lebron James is not only going to save Woodlawn Beach, but all of Buffalo. In a sweeping interview the superstar tells Jim Nance  how.

Jim Nance: LeBron, thank you for your time today.

LeBron James: Always happy to talk to the little people.

JN: So, everyone was pretty shocked by the announcement that in 2019 you’ll be taking your talents to Woodlawn Beach.

LJ: Not just Woodlawn. Hamburg and Bennett Beach too. I actually plan on bringing my talents to the whole greater Buffalo area.

JN:  Despite the fact that Buffalo has no professional basketball team.

LJ: My talents reach far beyond the basketball court. I hope to bring the Stanley Cup and the Lombardi Trophy home to Buffalo in the coming year.

JN:  Really.

LJ: I figure I can average five goals a night for the Sabres.

JN:  And where do you see yourself on the Bills?

LJ: Punter.

JN:  Punter?

LJ: I’ve got a 5 second hang time and enough leg to flip the field.

JN:  Fantastic. Do you have any goals outside the sports arena?

LJ: Oh yeah. I’m gonna get the theater district hopping again. Me and Uma Thurman are starring in an updated version of “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner.” We’ll be playing the parents, and our daughter is dating an Elvis Costello impersonator.

JN:  Sounds terrifying.

LJ: It’s not for kids.

JN:  What else?

LJ: I’m holding a writing seminar in April called “More Tolkien, Less Tolstoy”.

JN:  Interesting choice.

LJ: Have you read the local writing coming out of here? Awful. Like, Shaq-free-throw awful. Mopey middle aged guys revisiting their misspent youth with all the subtlety of a Bob Knight chair-toss.

JN: Moving on… Some people feel that you’re a wildly overpaid man who gets tens of millions of dollars to throw a ball in a hoop.

LJ: I agree. But it’s merely a symptom of capitalism run amok. And there seems to be far less ire directed at the NBA owners who pocket ten times as much. Almost makes you wonder if there’s some difference between them and the players that is actually at the root of many people’s anger.

JN: Are you race-baiting?

LJ: No.

JN: I think you’re race-baiting.

LJ: And I think you’re a talking monkey that gets paid too much by CBS and Les Moonves, who by-the-way makes 70 million a year.

JN: He does??

LJ: Yeah.

JN: But I do all the work.

LJ: That’s not gonna be your strongest argument.

JN: Damn…. Any thoughts on Rosanne?

LJ: Dumb fat-ass.

JN:  Please don’t engage in body-shaming on my show.

LJ: But she’s a horrible person.

JN:  True.

LJ: At some point doesn’t the horrible nature of an individual override their right to not be physically mocked?

JN:  You mean like Kim Jong Un?

LJ: Or Skip Bayless.

JN:  Fair enough. Do you think the people of Cleveland will be as upset with your second departure?

LJ: Nah, they got Bon Jovi in that Hall of Fame now. They good.

JN:  Any last comments?

LJ: Do the rivers here catch fire…?

The post Taking His Talents To Woodlawn Beach And Beyond… appeared first on buffalomud.com.

Good news snowflakes: Marvel Studios has contracted with Martin Scorsese to bring their beloved superhero Buffman to the big screen!

Buffman was a staple of early comics and 1950s TV serials, but he fell out of favor with popular culture during a mid-eighties revival that reimagined him as a single dad struggling to raise three lovable but exasperating daughters with his senile uncle. The new movie will reportedly be an origin story, revisiting the character’s dark beginnings: Born Shawn Ralph O’Shawnessey in Riverside to wealthy but careless parents during the debauchery of the Roaring Twenties, Buffman froze his nuts off in the Blizzard of ’43. No longer consumed by trying to score with the girls, Buffman answered  a higher calling: keeping the streets of Buffalo safe from crime and evil. Notable stories in the canon include “Buffman vs. Goebbels”, “Buffman and the Snowman’s Curse” and the controversial “Buffman Embraces the Metric System”.

Marvel states that the movie WILL exist in the current MCU (Marvel Comics Universe); Tony Stark and Captain America are rumored to have cameos. In a departure from past Marvel films, Buffman is introduced to the Avengers not by Samuel Jackson’s eye-patch-wearing Nick Fury, but by his old college roommate Bruce Banner. Buffman had been oblivious to his meek friend’s alter ego throughout college, until they went to a Superbowl Party in 1991. The combination of copious tequila and Scott Norwood sent Banner into a green rage that destroyed most of the Kappa Douche Kappa house (R.I.P. Jimmy “The Wingman” Brutowski). Initial reports from the writer’s room claim the movie will take place in 2020, when a fictional 239 lb. president obsessed with penis size and blinded by cheeto dust has lost control of the nuclear arsenal.

Seeking the kind of success found by “Deadpool”, the film will be rated a “hard-R” with adult language, gratuitous violence and extensive full frontal male nudity. Fran Drescher is in talks to play the female love interest, a brain surgeon with a sexy dark side; Andy Sirkis has been floated for a radioactive Tom Brady as the antagonist. As part of the current, hip ‘feel’ the filmmakers are shooting for, the soundtrack will be written by Sting, and recorded solely on the lute.

Filming is scheduled to begin early 2019 in British Columbia.

The post The Return Of Buffman appeared first on buffalomud.com.

Orchard Park, NY—Despite solid families, big jobs, vacation homes in Florida and  being the 1.5 millionth ranked Amazon author the  follically-challenged Kane brothers still hurt.

For years there were  the names: Skullet, Ass Head, Mr. Clean and Kojak, and others.. Friends would try to mollify the pain with  Sean Connery and Telly Savalas are hot sanctimony. Maybe in the lunch clubs in London or Greek bingo halls, but if Connery and Kojak were in their mid-twenties with a domes like that and tried to talk to the girls drinking OV Splits at Mulligan’s Brick Bar in 1985, they would look at them with big eyes, then go back over to their friends,  point and laugh derisively at them just like they did to the Kane boys.

Contrary to popular belief this kind of overt rejection did not build character or stiffen anyone’s resolve. It was soul crushing and led to lonely nights, considerable self-loathing and the purchase of many, many baseball caps. And, no— mistakenly getting the senior discount at Tim Horton’s in their early thirties didn’t make up for it. And, it’s never funny when they’re out for a walk and random Meals on Wheels drivers pull over and try to give them a peanut butter sandwiches with an Ensure chaser— it’s hurtful.

Also, people are mistaken thinking they have an affinity for other bald guys. They constantly have the famous Die Hard line: Yippee Ki Yay Motherfucker, repeated back to them by noted chrome domer Bruce Willis or in a dumb British accent people will repeat Captain Picard’s famous: Make it so— line from Star Trek: The Next Generation. The only thing they want to make so is for people to stop with all the dumb comments.

Most disturbing is people don’t really see them at all. To onlookers they are just a mass of blotchy pink skin, like erasers on the tops of pencils. Nobody sees they are kind and sensitive. Nobody knows how they like holding hands and going for walks on dewy mornings. Nobody knows how they love puppies or how Ziggy (another bald guy) makes them smile. Nobody sees the little boys with flowing locks that still are very much alive in them. 

Despite the ever present pain with the passage of time and real world successes, the brothers have become more philosophical about their shimmering ice capped heads, saying it’s just one more obstacle to confront and conquer.

.

The post We Hurt Too: # Bald Lives Matter appeared first on buffalomud.com.

and the trillion times he’s endured it is draining his will to live.

A confirmed music snob, Deely never cared much for Hotel California or the Eagles and really only ever listens to classic rock anymore in public places. So, between jobs he took a day to do some errands, get his teeth cleaned and get his and his son’s cars inspected. The first spin that day came pouring from the speakers while waiting in line to get a coffee at the Ridge Road, Tim Hortons.

Mildly irritated, he turned to the guy behind him and dropped his standard Hotel California  joke, “Man, I was sick of this song in ‘77.”

Sort of looking down at his phone the man said, “Like pictures on a wall you don’t see anymore this is black noise that I don’t even hear.”

Deely liked the guy’s notion of “black noise” and was almost hoping to test it out as he made stops at Home Depot and Kohl’s. It wouldn’t be till later that morning sitting in the waiting room at the dentist office that he would again hear the song on Magik 102.5. His attempt to block it failed miserably and he thought to himself, ‘Black noise, that’s probably some Zen bullshit.’

After that he heard it again at the shop where his car was being inspected coming from the local classic station 97 Rock. Not able to suffer through it for a third time, he stepped outside and for the first time in twenty-two years he thought about going to the CVS across the street and buying a pack of smokes—Marlboro reds, even. He was able to fend that strange urge off and when he got back in his car he was rewarded by The Loft on his SiriusXM radio with a set of songs about “space” by Sun Ra, Harry Nilsson, Mel Torme, The Waterboys and The Lonely Ones,  Another Girl, Another Planet, which Deely loved.
His son’s 2003 Mazda 626 was not equipped with a satellite radio, but thankfully was tuned Alternative Buffalo 107.7 and was filling the air with some very cool Strokes, followed by Of Monsters and Men and then Francis and the Machine. But, like a Stockholm victim Deely hit the scan button after the Francis song and on its third stop, Jack FM, Hotel fucking California.

Looking through his work itinerary on his phone while he waited on his son’s car Deely realized he was going to be in Richmond Va. for the rest of the week, doing a follow up on the mailroom and shipping operations at Capitol One’s corporate offices. He remembered an earlier visit where he was  abused by a kid in the mail room who had the volume at ten on a boom box that he scanned with a remote until he landed on the most cliched, overplayed classic rock song heard all day, every day for the last fifty fucking years. From More Than A Feeling to Carry On My Wayward Son, to yes, Hotel California. Just then, as Deely was consumed with a complete sense of dread, he realized the shop had changed the radio station to Oldies 104 and knew exactly where the deejay’s talk up was going to land: Hotel California.

Deely got up walked across the street and bought those Marlboros, then he walked two blocks down to the liquor store and got a fifth of Crown Royal. He continued with the Crown when he got home and secretly stepped  out for an occasional smoke, but mostly he just sat in his chair staring straight ahead with a glazed look almost as if he was catatonic.

The next morning after brazenly lighting a smoke and pouring himself a drink he curled up in a ball on the bed he shared with his wife and informed her he was never leaving this room again.

Looking at the burning cigarette Deely’s wife gently asked, “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you going to Richmond?”

“Why?” he sat up with a crazed look, “I’ll tell you why. HOTEL FUCKING CALIFORNIA, that’s why. It’ll be on in the airport, the uber, at the deli where I go for lunch and that fucking kid in the mailroom, he’s going to beat the shit out of me with it over and over and over again.” Deely then started to cry softly and mumbled , “Don’t make me go, please. I’ll die if I hear that fucking song again. Don’t make me go.”

Deely’s wife easing him back down in the bed assured him he didn’t have to go anywhere. She sat with him for a few minutes and when he seemed comfortable, went outside the room and started to make some calls.

With the help of Lexapro and group therapy Deely should be up and around in no  time.      

The post Trillionth Play Of Hotel California Drains Man’s Will To Live appeared first on buffalomud.com.

Buffalo, New York—After two successive losses by the Buffalo Bills, including a 47-10 home ass whooping by the New Orleans Saints the sometimes questionable order of the universe remains stable.

The Bills 5-2 start to the 2017 NFL season produced growing speculation the universe might be subject to disruption by way of “Strange Matter.” The “Strange Matter,” theory posits contact of non-organized protons and neutrons with other matter could threaten the existing fabric of the universe. In other words, seventeen seasons of  non-organized protons and neutrons by the Bills that  seemed to be receding as a result of new contact with competent coaching and leadership might have produced a destabilizing effect on the universe. However, evidence from the last two weeks: losing the line of scrimmage on both sides of the ball. poor tackling, abundant penalties and the the inability of Tyrod Taylor to hit a pass longer than five yards, would seem to indicate the order of the universe completely safe from disruption.

Local author P.A. Kane foolishly sent texts to all his friends the morning of the Saints game saying a dome team playing a road game on a 40 degree day after winning six in a row was due for a let down. Although, disappointed Kane is happy not to have to waste any more Sundays pursuing the folly of the Bills and can resume promoting his novel Written In The Stars: The Book Of Molly, which ranks 1,863,583 on the Amazon Best Seller List.

At 5-2, erstwhile super fan, Captain Dave Kaprosch hinted he might un-retire the old shield and cape if the Bills made the playoffs. But now Kaprosch is looking to dump his tickets for the three remaining home games and use his Sundays to practice his Jim Mora impression aided by heavy doses of Captain Morgan and Ginger.

Buffalo expatriate Kevin McNamara,  sitting with a Molson Canadian and a tequila took a philosophical view, “Listen,” said the Charlotte, NC resident in a gravelly voice, “the Stones still rock, beer still gets you drunk and the Bills still suck. All is right. All is well.” 

As the Bills and Sabres for that matter, resume their rightful place in the cosmos, Western New York braces for another long dark winter.  

The post Hapless Bills Affirm Order Of Universe Safe appeared first on buffalomud.com.

“Fuck it,” said a supremely annoyed Clinton. “Charge me with Fusion GPS, Benghazi or with whatever fake fucking thing you want, I’m going to light some candles, do some downward dog, read some JD and chill with Nino, and all of you can kiss my pants suit wearing ass.”

Then, with both arms extended Secretary Clinton flipped off the crowd of assembled media for a full three minutes.

President Trump and Conservative Media initially hailed the move, but since have been uncharacteristically quiet.

Trump tweeted: “Hillary in jail. As promised, Trump, Making America Great Again…”

But since then the Twitter machine has been virtually silent except for a few pop culture observations:

“The Olsen twins would not have helped Fuller House. Total disaster.”

“KFC has the best coal slaw. Delicious!”

“I can tell you this, I won’t disappoint America the way the Great Pumpkin disappointed Linus. Believe me.”

After gleefully reporting the news of Secretary Clinton turning herself in Fox & Friends hosts,  Steve Doocy and Brian Kilmeade sat spellbound through several days of Ainsley Earhardt explaining how she maintains that fresh paper doll look and how she was, then wasn’t, then was again Spartanburg High’s 1995 Homecoming Queen.    

Sharing the Clinton news and becoming aroused as if they were bingeing 1930’s Leni Riefenstahl films, the trolls at Breitbart News quickly returned to their traditional programing: stoking fear about razor blades in your kid’s Halloween candy, the potential of evil clowns lurking on the edges of small towns and how the Obama Administration put chemicals in rivers and streams in an effort to turn all the fish gay.      

Rush Limbaugh was reduced to pounding his desk and crumpling papers while filling out the week with segments on the patchiness of Bo Sneredly’s facial hair and his questionable eye wear choices. He also conducted a Twitter poll and took calls on whether Snerdley looked sexier in one of those stupid urban cowboy hats or a Kangol.  

Only brylcreem model Sean Hannity remained engaged, interviewing the third cousin of a former  maintenance worker at the Brooklyn jail, whose sources confirmed that Clinton was receiving free smokes from the commissary and was getting an extra portion of pudding on a nightly basis.

While Conservative media continues to find its footing Secretary Clinton is said to be relaxed and well rested and is writing poetry inspired by Nino Roto.  

The post Hillary Clinton Turns Herself In At Brooklyn Jail appeared first on buffalomud.com.

Buffalo, NY—A civil lawsuit has been filed in Buffalo City Court against the owners of Calvin’s Bakery in North Park, by Mikey O’Connell of University Heights.

At the center of the dispute is a life-size Tom Brady cake that Mr. O’Connell ordered in early September. He claims the bakery purposely misrepresented their goods and sold him a defective product. Calvin’s Bakery, however, holds that they fulfilled their contract as stated.

“What the hell is wrong with this city?” Mr. O’Connell demanded when reached for comment. “The first two bakeries I call say they ‘don’t serve my kind’. Then these jokers take my order – and I was way specific too – and what arrives on my doorstep? A Tom Brady cake with no pants and a tiny dingle!”

The bakery has issued this statement through their lawyers: “Mr. O’Connell requested an accurate, life-size, lemon poppy-seed cake modeled after Tom Brady. He did not state whether he wanted Mr. Brady in home jersey, away jersey, or other.”

In the lawsuit Mr. O’Connell states that the defective cake ruined his September 7th NFL Kickoff party. “We had grandparents there. Little kids. My jagoff brother-in-law kept asking if it was an ice cream cake cause it looked so cold. No one could focus on the game. And what happens? We get whacked by the Chiefs 42-27.”

This is not the first time Calvin’s Bakery has courted controversy. In 2014 they refused service to the regional dressage team, and last year they were accused of sprinkling bacon bits on an anniversary cake for two vegans from Hamlin Park.

Mr. O’Connell is demanding $1,000 in damages and an apology, and has privately told friends that he’s considering putting the whole city in his rearview.

A decision is expected early next year.

The post Offensive Cake Spurs Civil Lawsuit appeared first on buffalomud.com.