Beast Banner Oct 26 - Nov 9, 2006
ISSUE #109
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Features

ArrowPayback Time
If Republicans lose Congress, don't assume things will change
Matt Taibbi

ArrowAre You Radioactive Football?
Why “dirty bomb hoax” is redundant
Hank Williams Jr.

ArrowMurrah Redux
9/11 Truth is a bald regurgitation of a silly tale we heard ten years ago
Matt Taibbi

Local BEAST

ArrowTom & Sally Take a Trip
Foley Shmoley! Reynolds has scandal all his own.
Allan Uthman

ArrowRepresentative Royale!

ArrowBeast Calling
We call Eliot Spitzer's campaign to see just what "on the first day everything changes" means.

Departments

ArrowThe Beast Page 3
Inoperable Sump Pump

ArrowKino Korner: Movies
The Prestige, The Departed, Employee of the Month, Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning

Arrow[sic] - Letters
Chuckleside, Konspiracy Kops, Happy Clam Sends Mindless Bias, Kid Power and more

The Beast Page 3
Inoperable Sump Pump

Blue Sump Pump

Name: Hank

Turns ons: Diesel generators, sheltered white folk, drought, soccer moms' panties in the laundry 5 feet away from me, Tom Reynolds signs.

Turn offs: Shoddy masonry, lake effect snow, Satish Mohan, basements dug into swampy soil, Jews

How I became The BEAST Page 3 Inoperable Sump Pump: I only became busted just recently, due the triggering of some ancient Iroquois curse that causes trees to attack the ground—personally, I hold Ralph Wilson responsible. Lemme tell ya the whole story on how I came into existence. Long ago, native caucasians fled the cities and settled in towns like Amherst, made up of fragile wetlands, and built little heavenly pieces of the American Dream—suddenly, they needed me. Hell, without me, these backwards peoples could swim in their cellars. But I, too, require something to survive—alternating electrical current. Without it, I cease to function, becoming immersed in the excess ground water that I live to battle. I have to admit, though, it was kind of fun watching those suburban lard-asses try to do my job for a change. Now their house stinks and that new carpet is toxic waste. It was probably the most exercise any of them got since they last lost the remote.

Future plans: I will eventually retire, when gas becomes so expensive that the boobs who require me can no longer afford to live here. I'll move to Florida, where it will remain swampy enough for my presence. The intense sunlight will provide clean solar power that will keep me going until rising sea levels submerge most of the state. Then it’s a watery grave, friends.

How I’d like to be remembered: I will be discovered by future archaeologists from outer space and mistaken for a religious idol.

 

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