Sunday News

 

The Palmville Globe Volume 1 Number 10

Man Inaugurates Summer Trucking Season

Joe McDonnell, 78 and a resident of Palmville Twp, Minnesota, recently started his truck for the first time since fall. "When I hear that semis are breaking through the winter ice roads across the lakes in the Northwest Territories, I know it's time to get my truck ready for the summer hauling season here," McDonnell, 78, tell the Globe. "The truck sits in our garage stall during the winter. It only has rear wheel drive so I avoid using it in the ice and snow, but I keep the area in front of the stall door clear in case of an emergency. I used to put three sixty pound bags of sand in the truck bed for traction in case of an emergency. But the bags eventually deteriorated and then I had sand all over. Plus there's never been an emergency, so I've grown lax about the sand bags. 

Man Reorients Himself

Joe McDonnell, 78 and a fit retiree, recently moved his chair at the dining room table so he's now facing east. McDonnell, 78, tells reporters, "Before the big remodel I faced south, then for a few years, north. After the remodel 25 years ago I faced south at the table until earlier this week when Maintenance suggested we turn the rug 180 degrees because I creating a wear spot in the rug. Just as we started moving the rug, Maintenance said, 'Hold that. I can see by the wear on the rug we must have flipped it a few years ago. How about you face east or west?' I chose east. I can now see out the north, east and south windows. The only bear I ever saw in our yard passed by the west window." McDonnell tells the Globe that he's  ordered a little rear view mirror like bikers use to put on his glasses. "I'd hate to miss the bear if he comes by again," he says. 

Squib Cellar

Fearing the cold shoulder, Americans are reconsidering their vacations in Europe, though the UK, a fellow pariah nation, might be ok. 

My opponent’s in power. I watch in despair 

I could join with my allies and call for his head

Or put my head in the sand- pretend he’s not there

The truth will come out when we're all dead 

Each night I plunge into the dark and strange world of dreams, then snap back in the morning. So far the bungee is holding. 

A wrong word in a poem

Was the poet drunk?

Subbed a plastic rail for steel. 

Clickety-clack clickety-clunk!

My parents took me on the carousel as an infant. I perceived the whole amusement park, the sky, the sea as spinning around us as we stood still.

No matter how many YouTube videos I watch about the solar system, I'm still imprinted on the universe revolving around me.

Leaving a voicemail has become the equivalent of tossing a bottle with a note inside into the sea.