The story raises more questions than it answers. How can a real estate agent afford to live in a building where the cheapest condo is three million dollars? One of New York's most glamorous buildings has particle board laid down in the hallways to protect the rugs? How much money do you need before getting locked out of your apartment becomes news?
Still, the important information is there.
JOANNA CUTLER HAS A FABERGÉ EGG IN HER 14TH FLOOR CONDO AT 768 FIFTH AVENUE AND OCCASIONALLY LEAVES HER DOOR UNLOCKED.
And you thought the Post never printed anything useful.
Twenty police officers in a small Romanian town have started taking ballet lessons.
To the surprise of the residents, the students are perfectly happy with their studies. "I think we need these lessons, and hope we can learn very quickly how to move with elegance on the streets," one declared.
Unfortunately, it's all been a mistake. The police chief insists he never sent them out to find hoofers.
A group dedicated to raising the awareness of prostate cancer has introduced a new cartoon character called Prosty the Spokesgland.
Unfortunately, the character hasn't caught on. Though it's slightly more popular than another medical spokescharacter, Ewdolph the Red-Veined Carbuncle.
Three thousand villagers in India attended an elaborate Hindu wedding ceremony for two monkeys. Jhumuri, the bride, was smeared with sandalwood paste and dressed in a five-metre long sari. The couple was showered with wedding gifts, including a gold necklace for Jhumuri, and the reception included a vegetarian feast, music, dancing and fireworks.
After the ceremony, the two monkeys scampered off to start a new life together.
Oh, look! I caught the bou --
Never mind.
2 comments:
Perhaps Jack Prost would have worked out better?
Or Old Gland Winter?
Hmm. It's more challenging thinking of prostate oriented characters than one might think.
Jennifer
Shows how far we've distanced ourselves from Nature. Even a chicken knows that you have to stay sitting on top of your eggs if you don't want to have to worry about predators making off with them.
That silly woman's "night of horror" is about the dumbest thing I've ever read. She "bloodied her hands beating on the door and cut her fingers to shreds trying to claw her way out. Screamed at the top of her lungs for hours to no avail. Broke down and wept believing that rescue from her dank hell was hopeless." Was she in a Taliban prison or Argentine torture chamber? No, she was in her own building, ten feet from her door, in a room she's familiar with. Good thing there wasn't a mouse or a cockroach or a fly in there with her or she'd have gone completely insane and had to be institutionalized for the rest of her life. (I'm sure even the chicken would have settled down after about two minutes, but we've already established its intellectual superiority here.)
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