Wow! Here I was surfing the Web for humorous news when all I had to do was check my own local Rochester paper. Firstly, they ran the hysterical headline "Gas Smell Leads to School Evacuation." "Aw, dude! Did you do that? That's nasty man! I gotta get outta this school! Yuck. Come on, everybody, follow me. Timmy crapped himself."
But, the all time best story is about a Lanesboro police chief who last week started a fire that destroyed three historic downtown buildings. And why did the police chief start the fire? Was it an accident? Was it faulty wiring? No, he was simply trying to impress his girlfriend by starting a fire and then heroically charging to the rescue by evacuating the buildings. But wait, there's more. Apparently, he wanted a transfer to the Austin police department, and he thought a heroic act, such as saving his girlfriend (and her child) from an inferno would help improve his chances. Imagine the Austin police department now. "It says here that you torched three buildings. Hmmmmmm. Next!" Better yet, imagine the rocky road he's going to have to face with his girlfriend. "You did WHAT?!! You did over $500,000 of damage and put the lives of my child and myself in jeopardy just to impress little 'ole me? That's just the sweetest thing ever! I'll be waiting for you when you get out of jail in a hundred years or so. Don't you go setting any more fires, Tiger!! Growwwlll!" Okay, she probably won't say anything even remotely like that.
That's the funny thing with small towns. For ten years or more, the only excitement occurs when an ambulance goes down main street. Then, suddenly, somebody discovers that their quiet neighbor is a cross-dressing murderer who sings Barney the Dinosaur songs while making furniture from the skins of his victims. Who knew? Then, the local newspaper, which has consisted entirely of fruit cake recipes for the last six years, has to step up to the plate, dust off the keyboards, and actually write news for a change. Local eateries experience a booming business as townfolks flock to a common meeting place to discuss Crazy Old Joe and his cross-dressing murderous tendencies that they all knew were there but no one wanted to mention because it was rude. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. If you don't believe me, try living in a small town for a few years. Just don't buy the house next to Old Man Franklin's, I hear he's a little weird.
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