Read Online Deliriously Happy by Larry Doyle - Free Book Online

that, with this afternoon’s sports final, the Vigilante-Statesman will cease publication for the next three weeks, during which time I want the remaining staff of this paper to think about what we’ve done.
CLARIFICATION
    In an editorial in yesterday’s paper, Mayor Bob McNaught was referred to as Mayor Boob, Mayor McNutt, Boob McNothing, Boo McMuffin, and in a number of other ways that cannot be printed in a family newspaper. According to Vigilante-Statesman style, these are all nicknames and should have been identified as such with the use of quotation marks. The Vigilante-Statesman regrets the error.

Local Wag

    Reprinted with permission from the Manhattan Blue Streak, the alternative weekly newspaper of Manhattan, Illinois, located just thirteen miles west of Monee. The Wag is written by Laurence Doyle, also the paper’s editor, publisher, and circulation manager .
    Men are but children of a larger growth.
    â€”Dryden
    Pinch Me: That’s what our own bachelor mayor squealed repeatedly during his oh-so-surprising né day soirée out at the Red Heifer Beefbarn last Friday eve. A consuming politician, Mayor Ed moved and shaked from table to table, requesting his Big 55 B-day spankings from Manhattan’s more-than-happy-to-oblige business and civic leaders, including longtime Ednemesis P. Greg Roberts , who lost count and had to start over—three times.
    Mayor Ed was beat red by the time he paddled over to the cheap seats, where the Times-Caveat ’s Ron Peterson , citing his journalistic credentials as a real reporter from Manhattan’s real weekly, refused to “become part of the story.” Wag didn’t mind one bit, though, and when our top public servant further requested “a pinch to grow an inch,” we promptly complied—and Wag’ll be damned if His Honor didn’t grow an inch, at least …
    In town just for the B-bash: the mayor’s former college bunkmate and longtime companion, John Travolta . The up-again-down-again-up-again-down-again-up-again actor made a point of letting everyone know how much he loved banging his female wife, who couldn’t make it. His Honor the B-day Boy appeared a tiny tad put out by this hetero-than-thou display, but hey, it’s his party, he can poop if he wants to…
    Later, in a private gathering closed to the media, His Poutiness bachelorpartied until nearly 1:00 a.m., male celebonding with Travolta, former Indiana sen. Larry Craig , and the Scissor Sisters .
    Still Dying: Perky Siobhan Mitchell rallied out of her coma once again last week to make yet another bizarre last wish: to kiss the hand of billionaire songbird Justin Bieber . Don’t get Wag wrong—we’d love to lick the lad’s delicate digits ourselves—but what made frisky little Siobhan’s wish curious was that she last emerged from consciousness back in December 2006 , before Bieber’s very first YouTube assault. It’s a miracle , or something.
    Well , no sooner than you could say “Front-page banner in the Manhattan Times-Caveat ,” Master Bieber’s private jetcopter was touching down in Scott Johnson ’s soybeans about 150 yards from Manhattan’s own Ronald McDonald House. Master Bieber and his enfantourage sprinted to the feisty tyke’s side only to find they were too late—former childcrooner Justin Timberlake had beaten them to the photo op, and the weekly T-C had long gone to bed itself, not to mention plucky Siobhan, who had slipped back into her accustomed twilight…
    Doctor My Thighs: Old Doc Thatcher ’s practice sure has picked up since he got certified by the Board of Plastic and Reconstructive Surgeons. Recent visitors, according to the doc’s poorly guarded records: Amy Roberts , who, after giving birth to four of P. Greg ’s melonheaded offspring, decided it was time to put a little creative tension back into the marriage; middle-aged Paris Hilton , who,