October 24, 2005


Breaking news:    Britney's Baby!    Flying Spaghetti Monster!



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October 24-30,
2005


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Today's News


Report: "We've Broken Earth"


GENEVA (DPI) - Scientists are reporting that recent earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, Britney Spears' baby and other disasters indicate that humanity has broken Earth. "There's only so much abuse Earth can take, what with oil drilling, greenhouse gas emissions and the NHL, before the planet gives up," said researcher Hans Steiner. He expects to see a weakening of the planet's magnetic field, crop failures, and more situation comedies featuring B-level comedians. "Earth can handle one shock to the system, but two Olsen twins simultaneously?" said Steiner. "Something's gotta give."

(Reported by Simon Paul)


Bush to Reintroduce Miers as Gangsta Rap Artist

WASHINGTON (DPI) - Having failed to impress senators and voters when he introduced Supreme Court nominee Harriet Miers first as a lawyer and later as an evangelical Christian, President Bush is now reintroducing Miers as a gangsta rap artist. White House sources contend that the move is not simply about repackaging a product that had failed to catch on, but that Miers has always been a gangsta rap artist at heart and is now just showing her true colors. "Let Harriet be Harriet, or Ice Kween, as she prefers to be known," said White House spokesman Scott McClellan.

(Reported by David Kass)



Missing Persons Case Opened for Mr. Deeze After Series of No-Shows

DES PLAINES, Ill. (DPI) - Over the past four weeks, local bowling alleys and restaurants have reported no fewer than 20 no-shows for reservations and take-out orders placed by a Mr. Deeze, prompting police to open an investigation into his whereabouts. None of the merchants can describe his appearance, but all agree that Deeze has the vocal characteristics of an adolescent male. According to Larry Phillips, co-owner of Knock 'Em Down Lanes, Deeze may have remarried recently, as the last lane reservation for the missing man was made in the name of Deeze-Nuttz. Des Plaines police are asking the public to contact them with any information.

(Reported by Carl Knorr)

Headlines


God: "Do I Have Everyone's Attention Yet?"

Gas Prices Fall to Pre-Katrina Levels; Now Only An Unconscionable 30% Above Last Year

Original "Policeman" from '70s Group The Village People Sought by Original 2005 "Real" Policemen

Jailhouse Potato chips ... You Can't Eat Just One DeLay

General Accounting Office Says Republicans Budgeted Just Enough Rope




Probeatorials


The Food Here Can Kill Ya!

A guest Probeatorial
by a Burmese Python in Florida

Look, I didn't ask to be dumped in this swamp. Hell, I never asked to be somebody's pet in the first place -- it's you idiots who buy the cute little snake from some shady pet shop that doesn't bother to explain how, with proper care, I'll grow to be over 10 feet long and weigh a couple hundred pounds and gladly eat your golden retriever. So, yeah, maybe I was eyeing your toddler with a little too much interest, but does that give you the right to just take a little drive and turn me loose out here in the Everglades? I think not.

On the plus side, there's plenty to eat even apart from stray cats and dogs. The birds and small mammals are quite tasty. But what self-respecting top-down predator could pass up a shot at those gators? Damn. That's a mouthful!

In Burma, where my family comes from, it takes quite a while to grow this big, and, out in the jungle, you have to watch out for the other predators while growing up. But, once you get my size, game over -- I'll eat anything I damn well please, thank you very much, so stay the hell out of my way.

So, anyway, back to the gators. Here I am, 200 pounds of prey-crushing muscle, and some overgrown lizard saunters by, without a care in the world. Like I'm NOT going to eat the bastard? Right.

But here's the catch -- the food out here can kill ya! Jesus H. Christ! Those things are FULL of teeth and claws and refuse to fucking die already! God, I've hammered those suckers, got 'em half swallowed, and had to spit 'em up before they claw their way out my chest cavity like some sci-fi alien! What the fuck is up with that?!?

Anyway, not to cry or nothing, but what's a self-respecting top-of-the-food-chain eating machine supposed to do?

I'm thinking the smaller tourists.


(Transcribed by Ishmael Alighieri)





Daily Probe In-Depth Look


Ask Zarxnol




The premier child psychologist on his home planet
Xargolia before being called to the service of his
Warrior-God Xargol as a conqueror of lesser worlds, Zarxnol
happilly adresses the child-raising concerns of our readers.


Dear Zarxnol,

IT'S OFFICIAL! You have been pre-approved to participate in this year's risk-free test play program. As you probably know, this program entitles you to play some of next year's most advanced golf club technology before it's released to the general public. Obviously our research department requires your honest evaluation of the golf equipment you will be receiving. Your player ID# is DC19. Call us as soon as possible at 1-800-600-5113 for all the details!

  Congratulations!

Research & Development Dept "Warrior Custom Golf"


Research:

Excrement! You dare befoul my inbox with unsolicited offers to squander time invaluable to the training of my conquering hordes in order to evaluate the efficacy of your ridiculous pock-ridden-orb-slapping sticks? Oh, but were you bold enough to have committed such an egregious breach of proper decorum in person -- the sanguine tracks of your eviscerated entrails upon the wall would compromise Knorr the Interpreter's security and cleaning deposit indeed!

This absurd "golf" over which so many of you balding baboons obsess amuses me -- not as a stick-flailing, spheroid-assailing, Rascal-trailing duffer myself, it amuses me as would viewing a one-legged intoxicated retard attempting to mate with a diarrheic donkey. The sight of so many pasty, knobby-kneed, middle-aged monkey-men dressed like Huggy Bear exhausting untold resources in all their futile attempts to become half as "skilled" at this comical "sport" as their 5-foot-6, 130-pound "heroes" brings a smile of confidence to my face that would be the envy of all conquerors-in-waiting.

Alas, I must pause -- you have adopted the moniker "Warrior Golf." I pause, of course, for I am conflicted as to whether I should bedew by trousers in laughter at such ludicrous pretense or relieve my stomach of its contents in a violent projectile fashion at such fanciful arrogance. Mr. Dept, I challenge you -- summon your three most fearsome putter-wielding "warriors" and charge them all to battle a greataxe-mastering Zarxnol to the death. I promise you I walk away, perhaps divoted, but I walk away victoriously drenched in the blood of your plaid-pantsed paladin pretenders. "Warrior Golf," indeed, you festering lesion on an ape's scrotum!

There is one positive aspect to this pastoral prodigality named golf -- the landscaping. Golf courses will be the ready-made graveyards and grazing fields of the human herds, which will save my Armies From The Sea invaluable time upon Earth's certain Xargolian domination.

Now quit my digital presence, Cockroach!

Regards,
Zarxnol


Send your questions to Zarxnol at: Zarxnol@DailyProbe.com

(Translated by Carl Knorr)




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