Hello, CandyHeads and welcome to another edition of Inside Flubug Tonite. I’m your host Roman Candy, back from a week at my vacation yurt in Shilltown, and do I have news for you!
The Great Race
For starters, let’s talk about the Tour duh Flubug or what I like to call The Great Waste. Seven days to tour the county? C’mon. This wasn’t a race. It was an embarrassment. Crotch doesn’t deserve the key to the city (or whatever he got). He should be happy to have his filling station license renewed! Hell, I coulda made the trip in two days on a donkey with time for a shot at Louis!
This race is never about the winner anyway. It’s about the side bets, and the information I have is that Yee took out a hefty insurance policy on his sons before they crossed the Miasma. I also have it on good information that the map they were given lead right across the most dangerous part of the river.
But, hey, a least Hoot had fun! Sources tell me Hoot’s jet-powered craft was last spotted streaking over New Zealand. Would somebody tell him the race is over??
Didn’t I spy a mud-spattered Wren checking into the Nafta Inn with KRAK Radio honcho and Ditch bouncer, Weekend Jones last night? Could it be that Hope’s “little angel” isn’t as angelic as she thought? My guess is the that Miasma golddigger has already landed a headline gig at The Ditch. Hey, Retch, doesn’t anyone check ID at the front desk over there? Or is that only for Uzbeks?
That Wily Wren
But, wait! The plot thickens. Sources have it that Wren and “Weekend” have been at it for weeks. If so, and my sources are never wrong, it begs the question: Did Wren actually know of a secret Miasma crossing, or did she just guide Hope into a ditch to escape the madwoman’s clutches? I’ll place my bet with Nick on the latter.
And speaking of Hope, she’s really losing it now. First there was that $30K invoice from The Ditch. Then, by all accounts, she got Stan Waller to heist a roadster from Buddy Willis (as if was would be reliable). Then her little “angel” steers her straight into a ditch to be rid of her. Don’t believe it? When I got home this morning I found a clearly tampered pack of Smarties on my front step with the words, “Eat This Candy” scrawled across the wrapper. Gee, who would do such a thing?
And Speaking of Gee
Yee’s blushing bride sure wasn’t blushing on Friday when she lambasted Ramsey for not doing enough to recover her boys from the Miasma. But her claims that the ramen on board could have served as a loss on her 2012 taxes fell on deaf ears as officials pried deeper into the accident policy she took out the day before the race. This could get ugly, folks. Think she oughta lay off the fortune cookies for awhile!
Turns out Ned Coulter of Simply Ned was more miffed than we thought that Fuzz Against Junk landed the after party gig at Blackwater’s for Crotch Saturday night. The dimwitted singer tried to hang himself with a roll of toilet paper in the men’s room before an alert parton, wearing night vision goggles, helped him down from the rafters. Rumor has it the band will be changing their name to “Simple Ned” after the incident.
Has Mandy taken it too far this time? Mandy Manley, booking agent for The Ditch, is well known for inciting riots by billing bands who inflame her audiences. She booked Nailyard’s RottGutt last month during the height of the Amber da Bammer fracas which resulted in a nailgun spree that left Shorty with three nails in his head. She gave Pewter Tosh top billing knowing full well his right wing politics would clash with bands like ADRD and Doc Longsleeves. But putting Wren, J-Lok and Like Chrystal on the same ticket? I see a man-hatin’ bitch fest in the works next weekend. And I’d forget checking your weapons at the door. Check your penis!
Joe the Lifeguard has sure been keeping a low profile this week. Word is he didn’t even show for his job at the Tanwater swimming area. Guess all that campaigning with Ramsey took a toll on the 89-year old slacker. But he did make a brief appearance in Balto to urge Down County Commissioners to support his measure to make Flubug a Right Not To Work zone. Guess he should know.
Well, folks, taffy’s on the boil until next week. Till then, no more candy for you!