Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Kings Dominion under Fire for HELLcare.gov Halloween Attraction

Lawmakers, White House "Upset" with recent attraction. 

Despite being closed for the season, Doswell’s Kings Dominion theme park is still under fire from lawmakers and White Officials for its “HELLcare.gov” Halloween Haunt attraction, which features, among other horrors, an excruciating sign-in process, a line that never moves, promised snacks that never are made available and an impossibly circular exiting route.

Worse, the attraction caught the ire of officials for making fun of those folks going through the pain and suffering of signing up for quality, affordable health insurance on the Healthcare.gov federal website.

"Alone in the darkness of a living room ... the only sound is the constant clicking of the mouse, as the searing frustration slowly eats you from the inside out," read the blurb for the attraction on its website. "People looking for quality, affordable health insurance are left ensnared in an endless loop of long waits, error messages and broken promises. ... They are searching for the president who promised them if they liked their existing coverage they could keep their existing coverage ...  now they are waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting to enact their revenge."

“I can’t believe a theme park, which is supposed to stand for wholesome family fun, has chosen to put profits before the suffering of plain folks,” said White House spokesman Jay Carney at a hastily-arranged press conference, which was attended only by Newsfromdoswell and a guy from Auto Trader. “HELLcare.gov is a slap to those people who are currently enduring the torture of signing up for health insurance on the exchanges. It is an insult.”

Guests who visited HELLcare.gov first had to fill out long forms of tiny type, entering such personal information as social security numbers and credit card information, using stubby bowling alley-style pencils. They then entered a non-descript building that resembled a post office and got in a long line that did not move for hours. During their wait they were sometimes poorly entertained by a bad actor in an Obama mask and cowboy hat, swinging a lasso and saying over and over “If you want quality, affordable health insurance you can go straight to HELLcare dot gov!”

“Honestly, that actor could not have cared less of how good or effective he was,” said Teman Road resident Paul Holdfield. “I saw him give one guest the finger, and when his spiel was over, he just took off his mask, lit a cigarette and walked away. Man he wasn’t even trying.”

Finally, once the line started moving, guests entered a dark room full of 1995-era Packard Bell computer monitors that flashed either just a blinking cursor or an error message that read “HELLcare.gov is experiencing heavy volume. Please check back later. Bwwaahahahah!” Actors in street clothes just sat in front of the monitors, absently clicking a mouse, napping, or staring at the guests as they filed by.

At that point guests were then routed through a dark and narrow concentric circular exit which featured an actress dressed somewhat like Health & Human Services Secretary Kathleen Sebelius, standing with her nose in the air and not acknowledging anyone. Once in a while she would say “You can all go to HELLcare dot gov!” before looking at her watch and going on break.

Snacks and cold sodas were never made available, despite signs announcing they would be.
Virginia Senator Mark Warner condemned Kings Dominion for “an appalling lack of judgment in creating HELLcare.gov."

"Using folks who are trying to sign up for quality, affordable health insurance for profit is an insult," Warner says. "Healthcare.gov is not spooky ghost stories, vampires, witches or other themes commonly used for innocent Halloween fun. It is real life, and deserves better than this.”

"I am all for Halloween, but this Kings Dominion 'attraction' is absolutely unacceptable," Jay Carney stated at the press conference after the Auto Trader guy went looking for a rest room. "With families still trying to access quality and affordable health insurance in the exchanges, as well as recover emotionally and financially from all the unexpected changes in their current health insurance, this 'attraction' is outside the limits of integrity."

UPDATE: Kings Dominion has announced that HELLcare.gov will not be returning next season due to an unexpected glitch.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Me and Bobby McD

With profuse apologies to Janis Joplin, her estate and her fine attorneys.

Fat and happy in Chatham Bars Inn, waiting for my limo,
Bobby jaded by stock sales and green fees.
Jonnie called a driver down just after dessert,
It rode us all the way to Bergdorf Goodman, free.

I pulled Jonnie’s Visa from my swanky new bag,
With a $15K limit, while Bobby sang the blues.
Windshield wipers slapping time, I was holding Bobby’s Rolex in mine,
Jonnie paid for every mile that driver drove.

Anatabloc is just a word for weight left to lose,
Haute Couture don’t mean nothing if it don’t zip up, now now.
And feeling good was easy, Jonnie, when he stroked the checks,
You know just feeling rich was good enough for me,
Good enough for me and my Bobby McD.

From the Grayson coal mines to the Sandbridge sun,
I saw nothing wrong, though the gifts, they were many.
Though I forgot to share with Bobby the secrets of my wealth,
Jonnie kept me from shopping JC Penney.

One day up near Cape Cod, Lord, I told Bobby of the presents,
He’s scrambling for explanation and I know he mentions mine,
But I’d trade all my tomorrows for one single yesterday,
To be holding Jonnie’s Visa one more time.

Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose,
Nothing, that’s all that Bobby gave me, yea,
But feeling rich was easy, Lord, when Jonnie flashed the plastic,
Hey, feeling rich was good enough for me, hmm hmm,
Good enough for me and my Bobby McD.

Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy Lord

Hey hey hey Bobby McD.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

The Original Screen Treatment from "Zero Dark Thirty" Revealed

2nd Script Treatment -- Bin Laden Project

Dir. Michael Bay  Kathryn Bigelow

Starring Jean-Claude van Damme, Jason Clarke,  Arnold Schwarzenegger, Sylvester Stallone, Joel Edgerton, Jessica Chastain, Bruce Willis

“Threat Level Midnight” 

 “Zero Dark Thirty” (2nd choice)

 “Sgt. Tank Furious & His Brassballs Battalion: Mission Bin Laden” (1st choice, pending approval by standards & practices)

Scrolling message before title w/teletype sound effect: “The Department of Defense and the Obama Administration have released the most comprehensive and accurate timeline yet of the details regarding the U.S. raid on the Bin Laden compound in Abbottabad, Pakistan.”

2nd scroll: The raid was officially conducted by a team of “the best of the best”, known as the Brassballs Battalion under the command of Sgt. Tank Furious.

The Brassballs had to be talked into this assignment, as they had already announced their retirement, buy they reluctantly agreed to do this one more job.

The Brassballs parachute parachuteless from an unknown airplane from an unknown height under the dead of night April 30, 2011, landing within mere feet of the compound around 1:15 AM EST. After quickly dispatching the two sentries by sneaking up behind them and quickly snapping their heads to the left, Sgt. Furious and his four “Privates”: Dirk (a weapons expert), Beef (intel genius), Brick (hand-to-hand combat) and Nick (a computer wizard, and his first day as a Brassball) make various hand gestures to one another, including the “two fingers to the eyes” motion, the “slashes across the throat” motion and the “you left you right now go” motion before they split up to find Osama Bin Laden (code name: Geronimo) and capture or kill as many of his henchmen as possible using the extensive deadly training they received at an undetermined time and/or place using their unending supply of weaponry they somehow managed to bring with them.

As the raid unfolds President Obama stands back in Washington with his arms folded wearing a headset in an incredibly high-tech war room, watching with laser-like focus numerous giant flat-screen monitors projecting various high-def views, rotating and turning unrecognizable shapes and symbols and incomprehensible fast-scrolling data, accompanied by high-pitched typing sounds. Numerous technicians also wearing headsets work fast doing inexplicable duties in front of bright-glowing VDTs just behind him. Members of the joint chiefs in perfect creased uniforms pace nervously behind him.

Back at the compound, Tank Furious stops and lights a cigar stump gripped in his teeth prior to scanning his side of the compound, illuminated by green night-vision goggles. His goal?  Geronimo himself.

Furious scurries quietly around a corner and quickly encounters two of Geronimo’s henchmen speaking in gibberish. Spotting Furious they raise their automatic weapons and begin blasting hundreds of rounds. Furious fakes left then right, running in slow-motion toward a wall as the henchmen shoot all around him, every one missing. A third henchman steps from a doorway, raises a rocket launcher on his shoulder and fires with seemingly no regard to the damage it would do to his own compound.

Still running in slo mo with the contrail of the RPG gaining on him, Furious grabs an overhead pipe and swings completely over as the RPG sails under him, exploding in a roaring detonation against the compound wall. Taking advantage of the blinding flash, Furious releases the pipe then runs three steps up the crumbling wall, back-flips while drawing his sidearms, lands, tucks, rolls and squeezes off dozens of shots into the henchmen, their still-standing bodies twisting and twitching violently as the bullets fill them.

Back in Washington the President motions to a 5-star general. “Why did Sgt. Furious shoot those men 20 times each?”

“I think he ran out of bullets, sir.” “It was necessary to secure the perimeter.”

Obama shook his head. “He’s a killing machine.” “Carry on.”

Back inside another part of the compound, Dirk leads Nick into a lavishly-outfitted garishly green and blue-lit computer room with no evidence of electricity going in or out. They are in Bin Laden’s ultra-sophisticated high-tech evil genius headquarters. Nick sits down in front of a glowing video display terminal and types rapidly until he gets a blinking “access denied” message. “Come to Papa” he says as he plugs a thumbdrive into a USB port, types rapidly until he gets a “bypass password?” message. Typing rapidly again he hits “return” one time and millions of lines of data scroll past.

He looks up at Dirk. “We’re in” he says just before shooting erupts in the next room.

“You keep working I’ll keep the mosquitoes out” Dirk says as he sprints to the wall, listens, then fires his rifle through the wall. He and Nick hear a muffled scream and a thud on the other side, indicating he had successfully killed one of Geronimo’s bodyguards sight unseen through a wall.

Meanwhile, in another room Brick encounters a nun-chuck-swinging bodyguard in a black hood and commences a ballet-like martial arts slo-mo hand-to-hand fight with the guy while Tank Furious ducks and weaves through numerous ululating and screaming white-robed bodyguards, ducking bullets and knives while punching, stabbing and head-butting every one of them until he reaches Bin Laden’s bedroom literally untouched. He puts his finger up to his headset. “Brassball-one to Brassball-4, copy!”

“Copy Brassball-one!”

“Complete the upload, I’m going inside Geronimo’s teepee!”

“You can’t, Brassball-one, I need more time!”

“Time is the one thing we don't have! Brassball-one out!”

Cursing, Nick types furiously on the keyboard with not a single error when one of Geronimo’s henchmen sneak in behind him. Nick has his hand on the thumbdrive when a single shot rings out. The bullet strikes Nick in the back, a slo mo geyser of blood spurting straight up as Nick staggers, lets out a long and slow “Noooooooo…” and lands on the floor with a dusty “Oomph!”

Outraged, his partner Dirk turns and unleashes a barrage of machine gun fire into the henchman, his body remaining standing while it twitches violently as hundreds of bullets explode all over it. The henchman was still standing when Dirk walked up to him, blew on him softly and he tumbled over. He kicked the body twice. “That’s for Nick – and another for his widow.”

Back in Washington the President takes a concerned step forward as he stares at the giant monitors. “What in the hell do those Brassballs think they’re doing?”

“They’re the best of the best sir.” Says an anonymous uniform. “They know what they’re doing.”

The President looks back at the monitors. “Those guys are loose cannons! I’m afraid we’re losing the initiative.”

In another area on the second floor, a babbling robed henchman who may serve Bin Laden as plucky comic relief, ties a rope around a giant safe and the other end around his own waist, planning to lower himself down into the driver’s seat of a jeep parked on the ground below to escape. As he lowers himself Beef enters the room, sees what is going on, takes aim with his pistol after stopping to light a cigarette and shoots the brake on the safe’s wheels. It suddenly rolls forward from the weight of the dangling henchman, dropping him first in the jeep with a thud, then the safe rolls and crashes through the window behind him. The henchman looks up and screams as the safe plummets and smashes him and the jeep flat before exploding in a massive fireball.

Beef leans out the window and spits before quipping “I hope you have your triple-A card.”

Back at Geronimo’s teepee entrance, Sgt. Furious quietly sets a plastic explosives charge on the wooden door, complete with a huge digital countdown that beeps with each second. As it detonates, blowing the door off the hinges, Tank charges the room, only for Bin laden himself to drop from overhead like a swamp snake, landing on top of him. With Tank pinned to the floor, Bin laden beats him mercilessly in the face while screaming epithets about yankee dogs and imperialist war mongers. Finally Tank is able to roll Bin Laden off and, after losing their respective weapons, square off in a perfectly-executed martial arts face-off.

Brick and Beef, meanwhile, had retrieved every hard drive, laptop, Blackberry and CD from the computer room (along with several cases of 12-year-old Scotch) and were stacking them in the back of a truck, conveniently parked there by someone.
Back in “Geronimo’s teepee”, just as it seemed Bin Laden was about to put the finishing touches on Sgt. Furious with Chinese Kung fu after a furious battle, the Sgt. grabbed a hot water heating pipe against the wall, broke it from the joint and pointed it in Bin laden’s face, scalding him. “You need to let off some steam,” Furious growls as Bin Laden screams in agony, suddenly completely recovered from his beating before Furious pulls a pistol out from somewhere and shoots Bin laden one time in the chest. The criminal mastermind drops unconscious to the floor.

“I’m one yankee dog that ain’t yet housebroken.” Furious says, chomping his cigar stub.

Cheers break out in the high-tech war room back in DC but the President quickly silences them. “This is no time for celebration,” he says. “I want verification of death, including DNA results. And I want them in 4 minutes.”

After moving Bin laden’s presumed dead body onto a cot in an unlocked and unguarded storage closet the Brassballs meet up in the al Qaeda leader’s rumpus room. They strip out of their gear, light cigars and poured whiskey in celebration of a job well-done. Many of them pass around pictures of their sweethearts back home.

But Sgt. Furious quiets them after the drinks are poured. “We pause to remember our fallen comrade, Nick.” He points to a cot in the corner by the door, where Nick’s body had been brought in by somebody. “Even though it was only his first day as a Brassball, he was a good egg, and a wiz with computers…”

Meanwhile, back in the dark but not too dark closet, Bin laden – without even opening his eyes – slowly reaches up and opens the front of his robe, revealing a Kevlar jacket underneath with a .38 caliber bullet embedded in it.

Back in the rumpus room the Brassballs are finishing their whiskey and good-naturedly rough-housing bare-chested when suddenly the door kicks in with a splintering crash. There stands Bin laden with a crazed look on his scalded face. Sgt. Furious wondered how Bin Laden was able to merely kick a door down when he needed a pound of C4 to do the same.

Back in DC the President puts his finger to his headset. “What’s happening, Furious! Talk to me!”

In shock at the sudden appearance at the man they thought was dead, the men sit helpless, their guns and weaponry in a stack on the floor as Bin laden crosses his arms in front and pulls matching 9mm submachine guns from under his robes. “You Americans have ‘little’ friends, but you can say hello to my very large friends!” he shouts, “Allah and Akbar!”

But suddenly a voice yells from the cot by the door. “Hey Bin Laden!”

Stunned, Bin laden stops everything and looks down at the man they all thought was dead – Nick the computer wizard. “Didn’t your mommy tell you to always keep an eye out for Americans?” he says weakly just as he raises his sidearm and fires a single shot straight through Bin laden’s right eye, blowing off the back of his head. Bin laden can only stare in disbelief with his one good eye before he starts shaking violently all over, squeezing off several rounds from his machine guns into the ceiling before he gurgles and drops to his knees, then falls flat on his face, dead.

As Nick’s lifeless hand drops to his side, it slowly opens to reveal the presumed lost thumbdrive that contains every speck of the information on Bin Laden’s criminal enterprise.

Back in DC, President Obama is infuriated as he continues to scream into his headset. “Furious! Answer me! What’s happening there!”

Suddenly a drop-dead beautiful female technician wearing a headset stands and holds up a SAT phone. “Sir? You’re going to want to take this!”

President Obama walks over and gives the technician the evil eye. “This better be good.”

He holds the SAT phone to his ear. “This is the President.”

It is Sgt. Furious. “This is Brassballs-one, Mr. President. Mission accomplished. We’re outta here.”

“Damn you Furious! Where are you? You’ve breached protocol for the last time …!”

In front of a sunset on a Caribbean beach, as a Jamaican waiter brings cocktails, Sgt. Furious lays down the phone in the beach chair beside him, the President’s indignant voice trailing off and unintelligible as he rolls over and full-body kisses the bikini babe beside him.

Scroll closing credits

KB – almost there on this one. Change Dirk to fast-talking tough Hispanic woman and send back to rewrite. I smell Oscar!   HW

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Obama Promises to Quickly Send Bill Clinton into Hurricane-Ravaged parts of Northeast

“Truckloads of Solar panels and windmills soon to follow” 

Anybody seen him?
WASHINGTON -- Before hitting the campaign trail for his final swing before the election, President Obama on Sunday stopped by the headquarters of the Federal Emergency Management Agency in Washington for a briefing on Hurricane Sandy recovery efforts.

"We still have a long way to go to make sure that the people of New Jersey, Connecticut, New York and some of the surrounding areas get their basic needs taken care of and we get back to normalcy," Obama said, adding that he is sending former President Bill Clinton into those affected areas “as soon and as quickly as possible."

The president emphasized five components of recovery: Getting Bill Clinton there as quickly as possible, getting power back on, pumping water out of flooded areas, making sure people's basic needs are taken care of, debris removal and getting solar panels and windmills in there “to makes sure folks’ power needs are met”.

" I'm confident that we will continue to make progress as long as state and local and federal officials stay focused, and that President Clinton is plainly visible," Obama said. “And I know gas lines are long, but power will quickly be restored as soon as those solar panels and windmills arrive.”

And then he left, off to a campaign stop in Cleveland. Meanwhile, President Clinton could not be located, and it is assumed he escaped through an air duct.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Doswell Sprucing Up for Romney Rally

Volunteer seen clearing Meadow Event Park in preparation for Romney Rally

Dixie Treat Motor Court is gearing up for influx of big money Romney Supporters typically bring to area 

Doswell is sprucing up for today’s visit by presidential candidate Mitt Romney, who is going against this blogger’s advice and appearing at Meadow Event Park instead of the Ruritan single-purpose room.

Contrary to concerns that there “is no real food in Doswell,” Newsfromdoswell did some old fashioned leg work to dispute the concerns of the influx of tourists. In fact, there is food in Doswell – good food, and lots of it. For example, Troy Whitcomb, food and beverage manager at the Doswell truck stop says his sushi bar will be open early specifically for the Ashland crowd. “If those Romney people want raw fish, then I’ll give them raw fish,” said Whitcomb. “I have only the finest quality eels, scrod and mud skippers Doswell offers. And while I don’t have a real Oriental guy to prepare it, I’ll wrap rubber bands around one of my cooks’ eyes to make him look authentic. So come on over to the Bar None restaurant!”

Ramud Dumar, the palindrome-named guy who seems to be at the Doswell Stop-n-Go every minute of the day and night also has food available for hungry Romney supporters. And while a concern over a lack of ciabatta bread may be true, Ramud has many sandwiches made with fresh, wholesome white bread available. “The Doswell Stop-n-Go is ready for the Romney’s in Doswell!” he proclaimed from behind a counter stacked with other handy items to help worried Republicans through the day, such as lottery tickets, 6-Hour Energy shots, John Deere caps and adult magazines.

While the exact trajectory of the Romney tour is unknown, since the organization would not provide Newsfromdoswell with an itinerary, the Dixie Treat Motor Court is sprucing up in case of a surprise appearance of the lavish spending the Romney people typically bring. Unit Manager and archivist Herthel Wedig says many Dixie Treat residents have dragged personal items out on their lawns for potential sale or trade. “If Mr. Romney wants used tires, well, the Dixie Treat is their one-stop stop, or shop, or what have you.” She says with a smile as she watched Verdon Road for a tell-tale parade of expensive late-model cars in her direction. “We have old sofas, pole lamps, stuff that’s broken – why even Mr. Reilly said he will put away his racist old lawn jockeys for today.”

It is hoped also that Rosco, the Doswell Crazy Man will not show up and taint the rally with his lunatic screaming and lewd dancing, which we suspect is less a dance and more a motor neuron seizure brought on by living in that crap hole he calls a house. Any one who sees Rosco is reminded to shoo him back into the woods until Romney has left.

Still ,with all the work Doswell residents have put into rally preparations, Romney supporters are reticent to admit they look forward to the rally in Doswell. “I found Doswell on Map Quest,” said Romney campaign manager Suzanne Clarkson, “and all I saw were cement and asphalt plants and lumber yards. If I wanted to be in proximity to an asphalt plant Mr. Romney would just buy one. My Lord, when will this day be over?”

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Crack-Whore Snow White or Streetwalker Cheerleader She-Devil:

Doswell Woman Gives up trying to find Non-Slutty Halloween Costumes 

Verdon Road housewife and mother of two youngsters Linda Westham has given up trying to find a tasteful female Halloween costume that does not make her and her daughter look like “Out-of-work $4 Disneyland metal-head groupie prostitutes”.

“I went into Spirit this past weekend and was absolutely appalled at the trashy selection of women’s costumes this year,” complains Westham, who says women’s costumes’ “slut-factor” has been a growing trend over the past several years. “I could spend $56 and be crack-whore Snow White in a see-thru mini with a fur-collar bodice, or I could be a streetwalker she-devil - the costume for that one is basically a red bikini, cheap, poorly-made ankle-shattering chunky stilettos and two little red horns for $40. Give me a freakin’ break – soon we’re going to have to shop for Halloween costumes wearing a trench coat in a little back room.”

Westham claims Teen girls and even pre-teen girl’s costumes are no better. “My 6-year-old wanted to be either a goth cheerleader, with ripped butt-cheek-baring black tights, industrial-strength eyeliner and the bare midriff or the STD girl scout that came with size 2 high heels, handkerchief-size mini and an HIV-negative certificate from the health department. I won’t even go into what the merit badges were for. They even had a skimpy prison outfit for young girls called ‘Jailbait Jailbird’. I told her she could be jailbait jailbird over my dead emo fishnet-ensconced anorexic Tammie-Faye Bakker-OD-on-Quaaludes body.”

“I went over to Party City and their selection was no better,” Westham complained. “Seriously, how many variations on the trashy porno has-been alcoholic French maid costumes can there be? Of course, my 12-year-old son would die of embarrassment if I dressed up in the ‘Slovakian Heroin addict candy-striper truck stop pole dancer’ costume, so that’s a plus.”

Disgusted with the local selection, Westham went online for help. “Forget that,” she claimed, “Try Googling ‘women Halloween costumes’. You get a hundred pages of the same slutty, thigh-baring boob-enhancing nursery-rhyme-themed garbage.”

Westham’s husband Walter was equally disgusted as he perused the female costume selections online. “Absolutely inappropriate.” He said as he downloaded picture after picture on his flash-drive. “The industry should be ashamed.”

Monday, October 22, 2012

Perfect Poem

by Dale Brumfield

I wrote the most perfect poem
In the world last night.

It was eloquent and beautiful,
It was perfect.

I went to bed, my perfect poem
Waiting for me till morning.

That night my cat slept on
My keyboard.

The next morning I awoke, and
Went downstairs to say good morning
To my beautiful and perfect

My cat greeted me with a
Stretch, and a hop to the floor.
I pushed the print button,
Then went to shower and
Make coffee.

30 minutes later I went back to see my
Perfect poem.
My printer had given me 552 pages
Of question marks.

My poem was gone,
But my cat
Has many questions.