His loving parents, Tom and Melissa seizing an opportunity for a teachable moment spent hours erecting a sand castle, which included two towers and a moat. Soon after the castle was completed the weather started to change. Little Dylan hardly noticed the rising intensity of the wind or the waves inching inward along the beach. When the waves started to consume the castle Dylan pleaded with his parents to save the sandy creation, but of course, they were powerless to do so and lil guppy soft brains lost his shit like he was the only kid on the soccer team to not be awarded a participation trophy.

With the first part of the lesson complete, the loving parents moved on to phase two. Melissa moved their blanket and chairs away from the water while Tom filled their beach bucket with numerous loads of wet sand to build a second castle. This time little Dylan was going to build the castle.

Despite needing a drink badly both Tom and Melissa instructed Dylan on how to pack the plastic sand castle molds with wet sand and then discharge the contents by carefully flipping over the plastic mold and tapping the sides. After several demonstrations Dylan excitedly wanted to give it a try. 

Right from the start, each time he turned over the mold he was presented with a crumbling pile of mush. Patiently Tom and Melissa walked him through the process several more times with the same result. With each successive failure you could see little Dylan becoming more frustrated and dead inside. When he finally started to kick over the shitty lumps of sand that were supposed to be his castle and again cry they gathered up their things and went back to their hotel room satisfied they had taught their son an excellent lesson about what he could expect from life—shitty clumps of mush.

In the hotel Tom and Melissa sat Dylan down with an iPad while they did several shots of tequila and then closed the bathroom door got it on. When they emerged all happy and calm both of them kissed Dylan on the head, but he barely noticed since he was really caught up in a game of Sushi Monsters. Cracking open a couple of beers and looking at their phones Melissa noted that it was going to get really hot later in the day and maybe they could piss Dylan off by going for a long pointless walk. 

Looking up from his phone Tom smiled at Melissa and said, “World’s greatest mother.”

He took her by the hand and walked her back into the bathroom.   

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Buffalo, NY—M.Purtil Plumbing Office Manager and South Buffalo resident, Jack Conrad woke up Saturday morning and found that his ass was missing. Conrad turned over his house several times, looked through his car and even went into the office, but the location of his ass remains a mystery.

“I had my ass Friday night at Jordan’s Ale House where I was indulging in some St Patrick’s Day festivities,” Conrad said. “It was kind of a mellow night—I talked some shit to the clueless Trumpers, made the case the Bills should not draft a quarterback and give Peterman a real shot and made a pass at Mary Zuecher Nolan. All in all, a run of the mill night. I did put a call into Jesse Nolan to see if he might have lifted my ass because, ya know, you make a pass at a guy’s wife for the better part of twenty years he might get pissed and steal your ass. But Jesse said he hadn’t seen and didn’t take my ass.”

Conrad went on to say he’s not sure what his next move might be, but he certainly would like to have his ass back. ‘I had a nice little onion back there, we’re not talking Nicki Minaj or anything, but I could sit on it for long periods of time without any discomfort, hold a door open with it and when I fell on it bounce right back up onto my feet.”

Conrad has put up Facebook and Twitter posts asking if anyone has seen his ass. He also is putting together flyers that he will distribute throughout the South Buffalo community and will offer a “no questions asked,” reward for the safe return of his ass.  

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Buffalo, NY—Researchers from the University of Buffalo’s Anthropology Department have recently published a paper in Parade Today magazine arguing the Valley’s “Old Neighborhood,” St. Patrick’s Day Parade, isn’t really a parade.

Citing sixteen metrics used to determine a parade’s viability such as, embedded traditions, costs, diversity of floats, safety and accessibility and weather conditions- researchers found the “Old Neighborhood” event failed to achieve criteria that would give it standing as a traditional parade.

Lead author, Martin O’Shaughnessy said when you get right down to it, the “Old Neighborhood” event is just a bunch of people dressed in green standing curbside drinking, watching other people dressed in green walking or riding by drinking. So, very simply, it’s people in green watching each other drink.”

Members of the community were asked to react to the study’s findings:

Tommy Barnes, shook his head and said, “Eggheads ruin everything. I don’t care what those assholes think—Me, Dunfee and Louie are going to get some Bud Lights in green cans and get shit-faced.”

Mary Pat McNamara was a bit more circumspect. “Without scientific studies and peer reviewed research the foundations of life and society would be greatly impacted in a negative way. And though I respect the hard work and scholarship of this study I believe it should take its place alongside numerous other studies and be filed in the ‘I don’t give a shit’ cabinet and never be talked about again. Thank you.”

Matthew Jingra Jr. thought about it for a moment and said, “Yeah, that’s exactly what it is and it’s fucking great.”
Jay Crawley agreed saying, “Call it whatever you want… day drinking is the bomb.”
(The old friends then smashed their cans of  Creem Ales together and and started to yell dumb shit like: “Whoo Hoo, Seneca Street Forever, Parrrrrty! Irish! Erin Go Fucking Brah!”)

Cathy McGarrity said, “It’s a day to think about tradition and heritage. To remember those who gave so much to us and above all to be grateful for our blessings.” Becoming teary eyed, she then began to solemnly sing Danny Boy:            

                                                               Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are on the phone calling
                                                               From sea to shining sea , and down the mountain side
                                                               The summer’s gone, and it’s too late for Axl Roses to cut the grass
                                                                It’s you, it’s you for whom the dude must abide…

“You know how it goes,” she said and then shot gunned a beer.

Organizers from the Valley Community center were also unmoved by the study’s findings. They released a statement saying they remained committed to providing services to all members of the Valley community and to sponsoring the premier Buffalo, St. Patrick’s Day Parade and the shithead authors of this study at UB were welcome join in parade festivities—and kiss their Irish asses as well.   

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Little bits of vomit assembled in Fox throat as she recalled the taste of MD 20/20, the hangover that came with it, and the memory of that night. It was random a high school party and Fox was heartbroken because the boy she had been writing about in her diary since seventh-grade, Larry McAndrews had paired up with Dee Dee Devole. Trying to be cool she jugged MD 20/20 with Targente, leading to the night of hickies, vomit and weeks of avoiding him and his phone calls. When Targente wouldn’t get a clue, Fox was forced to humiliate him in front of his friends one day after B lunch.

Pondering why Targente would send along birthday wishes after she had been so cruel to him, Fox received another text from her friend Donna…”remember George Pitter?” Fox sighed as she remembered the night of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Wine and sucking face with Pitter, whom her friends affectionately deemed, Pitter the Critter. There wasn’t the fireworks of hickies and vomit, but Fox’s friends teased her mercilessly for years about necking with this not so handsome, dumb kid.

From there her old friend Donna texted a slew of Fox’s greatest high school hits: Bob Kersten, Bo Brown, Bo Brown’s brother, Benny, Tim Watts, Albert Griffiths, Kevin Kujawa, Ronny Leisten and more. The whirring array of wine, sloppy tongue kisses and cliched high school parties flashed through Fox’s mind like a bad dream. Some of the names mentioned weren’t so bad, but on the whole she was horrified by the list and her choices.

But Fox was determined not to be defeated by these choices from so long ago. She had gained perspective, was self-actualized and was living her best life just like Oprah said she should. The little pep-talk she gave herself lifted her spirits, so she got in her car and went to the liquor store and bought two ten dollar bottles of 19 Crimes, Cabernet Sauvignon. Looking at the man with the misshapen head cashing her out she laughed a little thinking about the boys she necked with in high school. But, just as she was about to exit the store, it occurred to Fox, who she really was, who she had been all along. She stopped, turned back toward the counter and asked the man for a pen. On her receipt she wrote phone number and said “I’m going home to binge some Netflix and drink some of this wine. I can be pretty fun after some wine. Text me.”

She then ran the back of her hand lightly along the length of the man’s lopsided head, smiled and left the store.

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