Gator Press

Police in San Leon are investigating a stabbing at a home in the ritzy Cavalier Manor subdivision last night. Police have not released the name of the victim, who is in fair condition at Mainland Medical Center.

Working with witnesses, police have created a composite sketch of the suspect:

If you recognize this person, please contact the San Leon Police Department.

A careful examination of this photo, taken in San Leon, shows what appears to be three flying saucers.

The US Government is never going to disclose what really was found at Roswell, New Mexico in 1951, when a “flying disk” containing 4 small humanoids crashed there. The Army Air Force initially reported the crash of a UFO and the recovery, then later retracted the story. As a former military newsman, I can assure you that something like this would never have been given out to civilian news outlets until it had been confirmed. The public affairs officer at Roswell Army Air Field verified the facts before releasing them to the wire services, where the story made front page news across the US.
What they Army found at the crash site was reportedly some little guys about 4 feet tall, with very pale skin and huge eyes. Others have seen the same kind of little guys since then. They’re called “Gray Aliens” by UFO conspiracy theorists.
But they are not from outer space. They are actually from Earth.
The skin with no pigment and the large eyes indicate a subterranean creature, living in near complete darkness. These fellows die quickly in direct sunlight, which is exactly what happened to two of the humanoids who were reportedly still alive for awhile after the crash.
The craft they were in was small, and very lightweight. Not the sort of thing you would travel through space in. When you consider that the nearest habitable planet for humanoids is 300 light years from here, the idea that they would fly a tiny ship such a vast distance seems unlikely. Humanoids require food, water, sleeping quarters and other things, especially on a 300 year voyage.
The saucer at Roswell came from Earth, as do all flying saucers.
Here are a few of the logical reasons to believe this is so:
1. Sir Edmund Halley, the mathematician and astronomer who first discovered Halley’s Comet, proved that the Earth is hollow. He did so by measuring the mass of the Moon based on the tides, and comparing it to the mass of the Earth. His calculations prove that the Earth must be at least partially hollow. His work was commended by Isaac Newton and others, and remains provable.
2. Mass UFO sightings only started 2 weeks after the first Atomic bombs were exploded. Sightings have always been more common in areas where nuclear tests occur. That’s because these explosions shook the Earth, and the people who live below noticed it, and decided to investigate.
3. Reliable UFO sightings have always occurred at low altitudes, low enough for humans to breathe without bringing oxygen. UFOs operate in the same range as helicopters. Obviously they are made for low altitude surveillance. The disk shape is not desirable for travel through space, but is perfect for providing maximum lift with minimum power, as any Frisbee enthusiast will tell you. This is a design which was created specifically for use in an atmosphere.
4. Sightings of “alien” humanoids are always described as hairless. The lack of hair indicates they live in a place where there are no temperature extremes. That’s exactly the environment that is likely to exist below.
5. Credible sightings occur at night. That’s because the little guys down below are blinded in sunlight, but they see clearly in darkness. Their eyes have evolved to function in a realm where there is very little ambient light. In fact, bright light is a weapon to our underground friends, and they have been known to use it. There have been numerous UFO reports in which bright light was reportedly used to disorient witnesses. In fact, the only “weapon” these guys have ever been known to use against humans is light.
6. Every human civilization has stories of the little people who live below.
There are more reasons to believe in an underground race of humans than there are to believe they have come here from another planet.
So we have no need to fear visitors from outer space, at least not at this time. But it might be a good idea to realize the true nature of UFOs and the little aliens who drive them. They might have some technology which could keep us from totally wrecking our planet, and make our lives better. Or maybe they will just kill us.
Either way, they are our neighbors and we do have common ancestors.  (GATOR)

Dave is sitting in a bar and notices two lovely women across the way.
He calls the bartender over and says, “I’d like to buy those two beautiful ladies a drink.”
The bartender replies, “It won’t do you any good.”
Dave, with a confused look on his face says, “I don’t care what you think, I want to buy those ladies a drink.”
The bartender delivers drinks to the ladies and the women acknowledge their drinks with a nod of their heads.
Twenty minutes later, Dave approaches the ladies and says, “I’d like to buy you two another drink.”
One of the ladies said, “It won’t do you any good.”
Dave says, “I don’t understand. What do you mean it won’t do me any good?”
The first lady says, “We’re lesbians.”
Dave asks, “Lesbians? What are lesbians?”
The second woman replies, “Lesbians… We like to lick pussies.”
Dave says, “Bartender, three beers for us lesbians.”

Buddy and Earl were standing at the urinals in a public lavatory, when Buddy glanced over and noticed that Earl’s penis was twisted like a corkscrew.
“Wow,” Buddy said. “I’ve never seen one like that before.”
“Like what?” Earl said.
“All twisted like a pig’s tail,” Buddy said.
“Well, what’s yours like?” Earl said.
“Straight, like normal,” Buddy said.
“I thought mine was normal until I saw yours,” Earl said.
Buddy finished what he was doing and started to give his old boy a shakedown prior to putting it back in his pants.
“What did you do that for?” Earl said.
“Shaking off the excess drops,” Buddy said. “Like normal.”
“Fuck!” Earl said. “And all these years I’ve been wringing it out like a dishrag!”

A man was lying in bed with his new girlfriend in a hotel.
After having great sex, the girlfriend spent the next hour just rubbing his testicles – something she loved to do.
As the man was enjoying it, he turned and asked her, “Why do you love doing that so much?”
“Because” she replied, “I really miss mine.”

Mike and Frank are sitting in a bar sipping Johnny Walker Black Label when Frank noticed a gorgeous blonde sitting by herself in a corner.
As he was getting up to talk to her the bartender said, “Hey don’t worry about her, she is a lesbian!”
Frank, “Lesbian or no lesbian, I get all of them,” and he stylishly holding his whiskey in his left hand walked to her table.
Then stepping forward in a very sexy voice he said, “Where exactly in Lesbia, you from?”

Jerry walks into a bar ordered two shots of vodka. He drank the first and poured the second over his right hand.
Then he ordered another two shots of vodka, drank one and tipped the other over his right hand.
After watching Jerry do the same thing for third time, the bartender asked, “Why do you keep wasting good drink?”
Jerry slurred, “If you must know, I am trying to get my date drunk.”

A family is at the dinner table. The son asks the father, “Dad, how many kinds of boobs are there?” The father, surprised, answers, “Well, son, a woman goes through three phases. In her 20s, her breasts are like melons, round and firm. In her 30s and 40s, they are like pears, still nice, hanging a bit. After 50, they are like onions.” “Onions?” the son asks. “Yes. You see them and they make you want to break down and cry!”
This infuriates his wife and daughter. The daughter asks, “Mom, how many different kinds of penises are there?” The mother smiles and says, “Well, a man also goes through three phases. In his 20s, his penis is like an oak tree, mighty and hard. In his 30s and 40s, it’s like a birch tree, flexible but reliable. After his 50s, it’s like a Christmas tree.” “A Christmas tree?” the daughter asks. “Yes: Dead from the root up, and the balls are just there for decoration!”

How can you tell if you’re making love to a teacher, a nurse or an airline stewardess?
A teacher says we got to do this over and over again until we get it right.
A nurse says hold still this won’t hurt a bit.
And a airline stewardess says put this over your mouth and nose and breathe normally.

Doctor, “What seems to be the problem?”
Patient, “Doc, I’ve got the farts. I mean I fart all the time,”
The Doctor nods, “Hmm.”
Patient, “My farts do not stink and you can’t hear them. It’s just that I fart all the time. Look, we’ve been talking here for about 10 minutes and I’ve farted five times. You didn’t hear them and you don’t smell them, do you?”
“Hmm,” says the Doctor,
He picks up his pad and writes out a prescription.
The patient is thrilled “Great doc. This prescription, will it really clear up my farts?”
“No,” sighs the Doctor, “The prescription is to clear your sinuses. Your nose must be all stopped up. And next week I want you back here for a hearing test.”

A man is taking a woman home after their first date. When they get to her door, he asks if he can come inside.
Woman: Absolutely not. I never ask a guy to come in on the first date.
Man: All right then how about on the last date?

A little boy’s first day in school and a teacher was going to play a “guessing” game. She passed out different items to each of the students and proceeded to ask each student what item they received. When it was the new boy, Johnny’s turn, the teacher gave him a candy kiss.
She asked ” Do you know what it is?” Johnny replied “No.” The teacher said, “Go ahead and open it up and taste it.” Little Johnny did so. The teacher then asked, “Now do you know what it is?” Little Johnny said “Noooo.” The teacher said, “I’ll give you a hint….it is something your daddy wants from your mommy every morning before he goes to work.”
A little girl in the back of the class jumps up and screams.
“JOHNNY, SPIT IT OUT……….IT’S A PIECE OF ASS!”

Pastor: Do you know where little boys and girls go when they do bad things?
Johnny: Sure, out in back of the church yard.

Q: Why is the roach clip called a roach clip?
A: Because pot holder was taken

Q. What does a blonde and beer bottles have in common?
A. They’re both empty from the neck up.

Nobody should be allowed to use the term “Happy Hour” unless they serve booze.
It pisses me off to see a daycare center with a “happy hour” sign – unless they’re willing to serve up some liquor to the parents, in which case I’d be more inclined to allow it.
Taco Bell, that authentic taste of Old Mexico, has now introduced “happy hour” – I’m not sure what it is, but you can bet your ass there’s no alcohol involved.
Starbucks now has a happy hour. But they still don’t serve any kind of booze.  There are an untold number of restaurants which advertise their version of happy hour, with not one drop of John Barleycorn on the premises.
So how in the Sam Hell can they call it happy hour, when there isn’t anything happy about it? Happy Hour with no liquor is like sex without the girl; a bank account with no money; Stevie Ray without his guitar.  It’s going to be a pretty lame happy hour without the juice, is it not?

Starbucks has introduced a lame yuppie version of Happy Hour for suburban Mollies & Milktoasts…

The phrase “Happy Hour” was first created by sailors in the British Navy. For one hour a day before “taps” sent them to their bunks, the sailors would get their ration of grog and have a little drinking party on the main deck.
It was always about the grog., and skippers who didn’t give out the sauce didn’t have any happy hours, just a gang of sullen angry guys with bad attitudes. Can you blame them?

“Happy Hour at Home” with no booze, and also no meat. WTF is wrong with this picture? Has Happy Hour turned into a schmuck in a bow tie with some veggies, at home?

There are even churches with happy hours now.  One advertises this: “Our Happy Hour gatherings include informal networking time and an opportunity to relax after the work day.”
First and fucking foremost, it’s hard to relax inside of a church. Next you’ve got all of these bastards trying to “network” with you. That’s gotta be as bad as a swarm of angry mosquitoes. And finally, there’s no booze.
Why would you willfully and intentionally subject yourself to such torment?
I guarantee you, I could do a lot better at “informal networking” – if I cared to do so – at any neighborhood watering hole.  The glow of cocktails lubricates the process, making it easy to make connections.
As for relaxing after the work day, that just ain’t going to happen at church. How am I supposed to relax, when lightning from heaven may strike me dead at any moment?
Oh sure, lightning can theoretically strike me down at the corner pub, but have you ever seen it happen? I haven’t.

Happy Hour at 8 in the morning, with Jesus, no booze, and a guy who looks like a pro wrestler passing on marching orders from the almighty… sounds like a real blast… You go on ahead, I’ll catch up with you…

All of these phony happy hours irritate me. It makes me want to walk in the place and order a shot of Bombay Sapphire. “Calling Dr. Bombay, come in Dr. Bombay…”
Another baronym (bar word) that’s being misappropriated is “shot” – as in, “gimme another shot of that rotgut horsekiller whiskey.”
These days, you can get a “shot” of energy drink, juice, coffee, and yogurt.  None of them have a trace of alcohol in them.
Is nothing sacred anymore? Will “happy hour” degenerate into some stupid fucking Walt Disney family-friendly hour of spending money without relaxing?  How can a tradition so pure and good be abducted by the soul-less corporate automatons who scrabble over your last twenty bucks?
If I ever decide to have a “happy hour” at my printing shop, there will be plenty of booze and mixers. That’s what happy hour means.

Some of you ignorant Yankee yuppies out there might go down to the smoothie shop at happy hour and do a couple of shots of some fruity boozeless cocktail.
Then you can get up on your hind legs and pretend like you’re supposed to be a real man.
I‘ll be keeping it real, Happy Hour that is, down at the local bar…

(GATOR)

It is now against the law to get in the passing lane and drive at the speed limit in Texas – that’s the left-hand lane for those of you who are too dumb to know that. The police are out writing tickets at this very moment.
I hope they catch you, you son of a bitch. I hope the cops see you in your stupid dually roadhog – which you can’t even drive worth a shit – tooling down Gulf Freeway going 56 mph in the passing lane, and pull you over.
While you’re blocking everyone else who is actually trying to get somewhere, you’re all spaced out, talking on your Galaxy phone and sending tweets out to your twats or posting your lame loser status on Facebook.
Can’t you move that goddamned behemoth over into the slow lane (that would be the right lane) and creep along where you’re not stopping me and everyone else? Must we all rust up while we dawdle along behind you?
You might not realize it, but the rest of us driving down the road are not on a fucking sightseeing trip. We’re not out there driving just to catch a glimpse of the beautiful sunset silhouetting the refinery towers. We’re driving because we are going somewhere where we can drink, smoke, fuck, talk, eat, make money, and buy shit, you slowpoke fuckhead.
I hope they pull you over and strip search you on the side of the road.
I hope you forget your court date, a warrant is issued, and they serve that warrant at your job, where everyone can see how you look in a pair of handcuffs. Then, I hope they put you in a filthy cell with a big mean hairy tattooed parole violator with a fucked up nickname like “Mister Happy” or “Bang Bang.”
It‘s no longer legal for you to get over to the left and say to yourself “I‘m doing the speed limit, so back off motherfuckers.” The great State of Texas has decreed that those of us who haul ass should have the exclusive use of the fast lane. So please move out of the way, lardass. I ain’t got no time to waste.
Trust The Fonz:
Hi senior citizen, it’s your friendly banker here, and have I got a deal for you.
Remember how I financed your house for you? Remember how you paid me a total of $450,000 for a house that appraised at less than one-fourth of that amount?
Remember how I told you that a home was the best investment you could ever make?
Well, now I am ready to buy that house from you for a whopping $35,000! Yep, isn’t that great news? It’s a new thing we call a “reverse mortgage” and you might have noticed a bunch of has-beens on TV talking about it, trying to sell you on the idea.
Fred Thompson, Robert Wagner, and even the Fonz are all selling reverse mortgages. So you know it has to be a good thing.  Of course, none of them has signed up for one…
The fact is, these are tough times for bankers. We’ve managed to devour almost all of the pensions and retirement plans in America, and we have screwed the working man until he really ain’t got a pot left to piss in.
So now we must turn our sights to seniors, who are the last segment of society that holds any significant wealth. Most of that wealth is tied up in family homes, so that is what we’re now going after.
Luckily for us, the US government is allowing us to get away with a greedy scheme which might eventually become the largest collective fuck-job ripoff in history.
Basically, the way it works is, we send you a check every month for a couple of hundred bucks while we wait for you to die. You still have to pay the taxes, insurance, and upkeep on the property, so your net is going to be pretty close to zero. Then, as soon as you’re dead, we swoop in and take possession. You won’t have to worry about your heirs fighting over the house, because we will get it.
Then, we will slap a coat of paint on it, sell it for a half-million to the next moron to come along, and then steal it back from him as soon as he gets old and realizes he can’t live on Social Security either.
So, in the final analysis, you were merely renting that house from me. It was mine before you bought it, it was mine while you were paying on it, and it will be mine when you’re dead and gone. So shut up and sign.
Line up, senior citizens, and sell the family legacy for chump change to a guy who hopes you won’t live much longer.

(GATOR)

Brenda Starr has reached the pinochle of success after signing a record deal with Columbia Records.

Local karaoke singer Brenda Starr announced this month that she has signed a contract with Columbia Records.
Starr is known for her stirring and seemingly interminable rendition of “The Rose” and her saucy stylization of the song “Fancy” first made famous by Reba McIntyre.
She has been known as much for her onstage antics and showmanship as for her singing. Starr often flashes her tits and makes sexual peccadilloes to the audience.
Her outfits are typically skin-tight and brightly colored, and her fans (both of them are males) never know what to expect.
Columbia, which is now fully owned by the Sony Corporation, remains the world’s largest recording company.
Terms of the contract signed by Starr were not immediately available, but it is believed that Columbia will send Starr 6 CDs for $1, after which she must purchase six of them at the regular price during a 12 month period.