Although three states inland, downtown Chapelsnap was utterly destroyed by a class 6 Tsunami. Meteorologists do not understand how a tidal wave forms atop a vast grassland, but a wet town speaks the truth.
Chapelsnappers were stunned. "I've lost everything," screamed Mick Limp, homeless activist and canoe salesman. "I should've paid the extra money and gotten buoyant canoes!" He was found twenty minutes later skewered on an oar. He remains in dead condition at Our Lady of Lords A Leaping Hospital.
"God is angry" says Minister Alvin Pinto. God's press secretary, Angie O'Plasty, had no comment at todays Caucasian Folks Pep Rally in Akron.
Schubert Fieffer composed the following DEADEND as a memorial:
Armando Cufflink was the owner & operator of the Zip-R-Lip-Key Auto Storage Yard. His customers, while admittedly few, were enveloped by a rabid zeal when discussing Armando, the man, as well as Armando, auto storage specialist.
Armando was smug about this- not so much about his indefatigable personal magnetism as his utter mastery of the craft of auto storage. Many in the auto storage game merely drive a car into a parking space and their mission is accomplished. Not Armando. Some people think the auto storage industry is populated by weak kneed fools with soft minds and hard lungs; some people also round pi off to 3.
Armando, all 6 foot 3 inches of him (including the combined 6 inches of vestigial arms and legs), could contort cars with a single glance. His lot held 4000 cars yet was only 3 yards in diameter. He could arrange them anyway he wanted, but made it a point to choose the most logic defying, visually contradictory latticework possible, just so when an irate and absolutely dumbfounded client wanted his vehicle, Armando could drive it out of its respective position from the unholy collage without so much as a nick or scratch. Armando once backed a VW Microbus out of the muffler of a Dodge Dart Swinger as though gravity were his obedient lover, unable to deny his constant abuse and sexual ravages. But more than anything, Armando kept quiet in the sure knowledge that hidden in his false left bicep was a beaker containing smallpox, one of the last samples in existence. He never let on that he could wipe out humanity with a single flex. Being human, however, Armando’s conscience got the better of him, unconsciously dropping warnings to humanity at large through a simple mispronunciation: He said "bicept" instead of "bicep."
Such is sufficient basis for the following hypothetical tale of Armageddon:
The time: Now.
The place: The 33rd Annual Sideshow Reunion; Lobsterboy’s Armwrestling Pavilion.
The emotion: Mortal terror with a twist of lemon.