There are rumors that there was recently an unsuccessful coup attempt against the Government of Shalampax.
A usually reliable unnamed source said that one of Prime Minister Manexposinghimself’s mistresses—the source refuses to name her—woke the Prime Minister and threatened to tickle him to death unless he turned the reigns of the government over to her. The coup was thwarted when he agreed to pleasure her instead.
Cold water was quickly poured on the coup-attempt story. There are unconfirmed reports that cold water was also poured on Manexposinghimself, but that’s neither here nor there.
Government insiders interviewed by this reporter pointed out that the Prime Minister’s job is forced upon the office-holder because nobody in Shalampax wants the job. It seems too much like work for everyone here. Thus, a coup is highly improbable unless the plotters were hoping to sell the television and movie rights to the coup story.
Hey, peeps. The word in the halls is that Severedfinger is desperately seeking a new apartment. Apparently, the dust in his current place is now piled so high that he is having trouble squeezing through the constricted space between the top of the dust layers and the ceiling.
He’s also having a particular problem when he returns from the pub after finishing his mostly liquid meal. Climbing up the dust hill behind his door is rather difficult when he’s in the state he is usually in after his thrice-daily sessions at the pub.
Worst of all, he has no idea where his beloved TV is buried.
Someone suggested that Severedfinger should shovel the dust out of his place, but he replied that he doesn’t believe in dusting. He thinks it destroys the karma of a room.
Hey peeps, here’s a freakily weird story for you.
During one of our near-constant storms, a massive wave washed up on our shores, as they frequently do. A couple of hours later, the inclement weather subsided sufficiently for Pigsface to dash outside briefly to catch a bit of air.
(Just to be clear, in Shalampax, the term “inclement” refers to any weather that is just short of catastrophic, catastrophic, or beyond catastrophic. Weather that is any less calamitous than that is referred to as “pleasant.”)
During his brief stroll outside, Pigsface, a couch potato who is unemployed because Shalampax is oversupplied with couch potatoes, spotted a bottle. How it survived the storm is a mystery. Double-hulled steel ships are usually no match for the jagged rocks surrounding our island and our near-perpetual super-gale-force winds. But somehow, this bottle was intact.
The bottle was corked and well-sealed with something resembling wax, but much sturdier.
Hi peeps. A couple of weeks ago I told you that, because she had lost so much weight that she could no longer serve as a role model for the rest of us to look up to and feel good about our own obesity and lack of fitness, Tuboflard would lose her job as Chief Medical Officer. Well, my prediction came true. She’s unemployed.
This is a major problem for her because it turns out that, not only were morbid obesity and a sedentary lifestyle her only qualifications for the Chief Medical Officer job, but they were also her only qualifications, period. Tuboflard can’t find another job, but she has herself and her triplets to feed, clothe and house. Her future looked bleak.
Fortunately, a solution appeared in the nick of time.
Hey, peeps. Are you sitting down? If not, you might want to do so before you read this because I’ve got news that will knock you off your feet. You wouldn’t want to hurt your ass when you fell, now would you?
Tuboflard, Chief Medical Officer at the Shalampax Medical Clinic — or I should say former Chief Medical Officer, but more on that later — has lost weight; a lot of weight. Whereas in the past her weight technically qualified her as a not so small building, she’s now packing only 180 pounds on that 5′ 8″ body of hers.
There’s still no chance that Tuboflard will be mistaken for anorexic, but, without having to stand too far back, most people’s peripheral vision is now more than adequate to take in the full width of her. In the past, most rooms in Shalampax weren’t big enough to allow people to stand far enough back for that.
I asked Tuboflard if she would be changing her name now that it no longer fits her, but she said, “No, my parents gave me the name before they knew I was going to qualify for nation status if I wanted it. The name didn’t fit then; it doesn’t fit now; I might as well keep it.”
Hey peeps, I’ve got some earth-shattering gossip for you. Manexposinghimself, Shalampax’s Prime Minister, isn’t saying much about it publicly, but his friends tell me that he has come up with a foolproof plan for bringing about lasting world peace. And I’m not talking about only eliminating wars. Manexposinghimself’s plan would also end localized fighting among groups, one-on-one violence, and just bitchy, vociferous arguments as well.
If carried through to fruition, this infallible peace plan would absolutely guarantee that Manexposinghimself will be awarded next year’s Nobel Peace Prize. There wouldn’t even be a contest.
What is this plan that he has, so far, refused to discuss publicly? Details are starting to leak out.
Categories: Gossip Gossip, idle, idleness, indolence, laziness, lazy, Nobel Peace Prize, peace, Peace Prize, sloth, world peace