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Tag Archives: Greyhound

Commercial Icon Institutionalized After Bloody Rampage

15 Friday Oct 2010

Posted by Smaktakula in Celebrity, Crime, Stupidity

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Commercials, don't drink the Kool-Aid, Fond du Lac, Gary, Greyhound, Indiana, Jonestown, Kool-Aid, Kool-Aid Man, Oh Yeah!, oral sex, spokesgolem, Wisconsin

By Smaktakula

Fond du Lac, Wisconsin: Kool-Aid Man, the beloved commercial spokesgolem of yesteryear, was committed this week to the Edgecomb Hospital for the Freakish and Deranged.   Man had been living by himself since the death of his mother in 2008.

It Will Be Years Before The Citizens Of Fond du Lac Will Feel Safe Again.

Famed for his exuberant commercial appearances, Man’s career peaked in the 70s and 80s.  His star shone brightest during the so-called golden age of commercials– after Madison Avenue had perfected its art, but before television recording devices came into widespread use allowing viewers to skip commercials.  During that time it was hard to watch television without seeing Man’s scarlet, bulbous form come smashing through a load-bearing wall to the delight of a gaggle of well-scrubbed–and miraculously unharmed–children.

In retrospect, it’s astonishing that Man was able to perform the stunt successfully for as many years as he did before someone got hurt.  “When little Billy Wexner was crushed,” Man said in an interview years later, “It was the beginning of the end.”

It was also the end of the end.  Kool-Aid quietly paid off Little Billy’s parents, and through their lawyers let Man know his services would no longer be required.  Said Man, “After fourteen good years–fourteen years in which I turned down some good offers–they just let me go.  Not Kool, man.  Not Kool at all.”

Their Torrid Affair Would Last Three Years.

Friendless, broke and cracked, Man drifted through a variety of jobs, occasionally picking up work as an extra on cable shows like Silk Stalkings. Eventually, even those jobs became too difficult to maintain.  Man developed a reputation for flakiness.

“I was in a lot of pain, and it seemed like nobody wanted to give me any work.  So yeah, I drank.”  The punch-filled creature’s life had spun so far out of control by that time that he was reduced to offering $5 blowjobs to rangy weirdos in the Gary, Indiana Greyhound station.

But There Would Be No Happy Ending That Day In Jonestown.

“That’s when I bottomed out.”  Four days later he was back at his estranged parents’ house in Fond du Lac.  Man’s father died in 2002, and after his mother died in 2008 the freakish creature lived a hermit’s life.  There would be occasional reports of a large red serving container walking the streets in the late hours or in the very early morning, but Man mostly kept to himself.

Given the pains Man had taken to keep a low profile, the bloody carnage of a few days ago is puzzling.  The citizens of Fond du Lac have no answers–they are still reeling from the devastation caused by the creature’s rampage.  Twenty-three people, including two firefighters and a police officer were killed when Man stormed the town’s main street.

Survivor Sandy Bollier: "Words Can't Describe Those Three Hours In A Cherry Flavored Hell."

Gleeful roars of “OH YEAH!” could be heard among the screams of the dying and maimed early in the episode.  Once the gas main was ruptured, the resulting conflagration forced the police and SWAT teams to act as rescuers, breaking off their efforts to take down the fire-resistant Man.

In the end capturing the raging creature proved startlingly easy.  He was found in the remnants of the Old Spaghetti Factory, weeping.  Most of his Kool-Aid core had boiled away, but in most other respects he was unhurt.

Kool-Aid Man's Frequent Cosmetic Surgeries Became A Grotesque Obsession.

Man’s doctors say he has so far adjusted well to a life of confinement.  Privately, however, they worry that if Man decides to go on a rampage, no wall will stop him.

OH, YEAH!

An Amtrak Murder Mystery!

20 Monday Sep 2010

Posted by Smaktakula in Crime, Culture

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Agatha Christie, Amtrak, Barbara Arteta, broken neck, death by train, Did she jump or was she pushed?, Florida, Georgia, Greyhound, It's always the husband, murder, Murder on the Olahatchee Express, murdering spouses, mysterious death, rolling bedlam, Sanford, train travel, trains, Wayne County, white trash

By Smaktakula

In rural Wayne County, Georgia, no one expected to find a corpse lying alongside the train tracks.  The body, belonging to a middle-aged white woman, had a broken neck, as well as other injuries.

The New Amtrak Promises Heart-Pounding Excitement. The Decrepit Spinster Who Babbles Incessantly About Her 12 Cats Named 'Muffin' May Just Be A Murderess!

The victim was Barbara Arteta, an Amtrak passenger destined for Sanford, Florida.  Arteta had been reported missing earlier by her husband when she failed to appear at the Sanford station.  Authorities are unable to determine if Arteta was pushed or if she jumped, but since she was not in possession of the $1,000 in cash her family told investigators she was carrying, authorities are calling the death ‘suspicious.’

The situation is not unlike an Agatha Christie murder mystery, with the exception that whereas Christie’s murders were almost always executed with panache and cunning, the real-life slaying is a ham-fisted act of grotesque brutality.  Also, rather than genteel Englishpersons and their silent, darting servants, the motley cast of characters involved in Arteta’s drama are most likely reminiscent of escapees from a Depression-Era freak show.

Any One Of Them Could Have Done It: The Train Passengers Pose With Barbara Arteta's Grieving Husband.

Authorities are questioning the other passengers, but they are not optimistic that a clear answer will reveal itself any time soon.  Until the police unearth some firm leads, Barbara Arteta’s final moments will remain a mystery.

Meanwhile, Greyhound’s corporate officers are said to be delighted that Amtrak’s murder woes have helped the travelling public forget that not only does the craziness found on a single cross-country bus make New York’s Bellevue Hospital seem like a nursing home quilting bee by comparison, but that buses are basically Honeybuckets on wheels.

Don't Make The Same Mistake Babs Did: Keep At Least One Nice Photo Around The House So That If You Are Murdered Or Disappear Mysteriously, You Won't Be Posthumously Humiliated By Your Televised Image.

Promethean Times‘ irresponsible and unfounded determination of the guilty party:  It was the husband.  It’s always the husband.

A Foul, Yet Affordable Rolling Bedlam

11 Wednesday Aug 2010

Posted by Smaktakula in Crime, Culture, Holiday, People, Places, Social Networking, World Affairs

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

air travel, airplane, Americans, Amtrak, bloated dying beast, bus crashes, bus travel, buses, California, chatty gay men, China, commuters, death by bus, decapitation, deranged seatmate, East Coast, embankments, English teachers, Fresno, Greyhound, Greyhound v. Embankment, Jordan Knight, K-Fed, Kevin Federline, Namibia, New Kids Forever! Still Hangin' Tough Baby!, NKOTB, only losers take the bus, Orient Express, PopoZau!, prison-on-wheels, rail travel, rolling bedlam, trains, two great tastes that taste great together, unfortunate ways to die, Utah, Victor Conte

By Smaktakula

The airplane has emerged as the prefered means of conveyance for most Americans.  Commuters routinely jet between neighboring cities which once they would have reached by rail or road.  Trains are still used by East Coast commuters, retired English teachers and quirky, garrulous middle-aged gay men; they have long since ceased to be a viable travel option for the rest of America.  The airlines are fast, but expensive.  Amtrak, a bloated, dying beast supported by the American taxpayer, is interminably slow as well as being expensive.  For those wretched souls for whom neither conveyance is an option, only the bus remains.

"Your Chocolate Got In My Peanut Butter!" Buses And Embankments Are Two Great Tastes That Taste Great Together.

Americans seem to understand instinctively that bus travel is travel of the last resort.  A July 23rd tragedy in Fresno, California validated those fears when a Greyhound bus collided with an overturned SUV, then clipped another vehicle before all three plummeted over a 15-foot embankment, killing six people.  More recently, three people were killed in a Utah bus crash.  Add to those figures the six Namibians and thirteen Chinese killed in bus accidents in the last few days.  Amid the carnage, a grisly message begins to coalesce: travel by bus, die horribly.

It has been said that there is no good way to die.  However, some deaths are so uncomfortable and degrading as to measure to a standard all their own.  By any reckoning, death by bus is among the worst.

Urban commuters familiar with the city bus often fail to appreciate the dismal squalor of its far-traveling cousin.  They correctly point out that like long-distance buses, city buses are also filthy, slow and buzz with incipient craziness.  But when compared to the Yemeni prison-on-wheels that is the Greyhound bus, the Muni transforms into a first-class berth on the Orient Express.  City dwellers may find it unsettling that the ratty, sour-smelling man in the stained overcoat is peeing into the center aisle, but should take some comfort that they face little danger of being decapitated by a deranged seatmate.

Buses Are Often Crowded, And Finding A Seat To Yourself Can Be Difficult. Looking And Smelling Like This Gentleman Will Give You A Leg Up On Your Competition.

It is difficult to imagine a more disagreeable group of people with whom to be squashed into a collective jelly than these mouth-breathers:  The slicked-back shifty dude with a cobweb tattooed in the corner of his eye socket; the skeevy sailor on leave and on the make, and the fifteen-year old runaway who, in other circumstances might give it up for him; incomprehensible migrants and their improperly-stowed livestock; the recently paroled ex-convict with his bottomless retinue of off-key Al Green numbers; and the smelly, twitchy guy for whom Jesus is always very near.  A further horror is the revelation that one of these bipedal humanoids is the bus driver.

There is a final indignity that in many ways surpasses the thousand tiny cuts suffered by these doomed commuters.  It is disheartening enough to accept that people are born and must live out their aching lives in the reeking cow-town that gave the world Victor “Balco” Conte, NKOTB’s Jordan Knight and hip-hop impressario, K-Fed; that people must also end their days there may be too much for the soul to bear.  No one should have to die in Fresno.

Fresno: Hot, Dirty And Full Of Suck.

They Get Facebook In Fresno. Tell ‘Em About It

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