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Archived Past Pages:
03/07/07
02/26/07
02/12/07 |
W
e e k l y F
e a t u r e P a g e
| The contents of the “Weekly Feature” page are provided
to you for your entertainment, amusement, and perhaps information.
Here you may find articles of interest, pictures, historical information
on the Club, or whatever shuffles to the top of the pile on our
desk. The only defined characteristic of this space is that we
will make every effort to change/replace it around the middle of
each week. Thank you for visiting, and please stop by again. |
On Global
Warming
Long time members may or may not be aware that the “Weekly Feature” staff
is composed almost entirely of displaced workers from the now defunct MMOGTA
Publishing Complex, formerly located in Fergus, MI. In it’s final days,
the process of dismantling that historic facility seemed to deteriorate into
a veritable orgy of looting and pillaging, thus affording those dedicated souls
unprecedented access to the confidential archives of the past 12 years worth
of communications that originated there. With all of that wisdom and lore at
their fingertips, and considering the recent widespread displeasure with local
weather conditions, it seemed appropriate to resurrect a series of excerpts
from mid-winter newsletters in the past that seemed to mirror the current mood.
While
considerable pressure has been applied in an effort to produce an article heralding
the joyous approach of Spring, a poll of the staff indicated that might be
a bit premature. See excerpts below:
JANUARY 2001
Greetings fellow members from snow covered Metro Fergus,
where it seems to have to snow every damn day of the week, and citizens
are growing
a bit testy
as they
weary of the daily shoveling and scraping. The spinning flywheel on the municipal
snowplow kicks a sparkling shower of crystals directly into the face of the
increasingly surly operator, and with each passing week he seems to show less
concern for
mail boxes, garbage cans, pedestrians, and parked vehicles along his route.
Angry residents fume in the wake of destruction left behind by their tax-funded
nemesis
as they dig their January issue of the Green Magazine out of the snow bank.
Gyp, the Town Collie, has been bordering on distemper as a result of the stress
induced
by having to dig for fire hydrants and appropriate tree trunks. The local postman,
who had no room left for new scars on his shins, has taken to approaching the
household from different directions, in order to distribute the wounds more
evenly over the various parts of his body. The sole island of activity on the
local
scene appears to be the busy slopes of Mt. Fergus, where idled school children
clinging to the inverted hood of a 1957 Desoto plummet toward the rusted hulk
of the IH trail grooming tractor decomposing in the growth of sturdy Pines
at the bottom of the hill. All this, while the Mayor-Elect, still reeling from
last
month’s legal battles, rehearses his inaugural address, to be delivered
from atop the pool table at the Prairie Saloon on January 20th, weather permitting.
February 2001
Greetings fellow members, from mid-Winter Fergus, where the
crowds once again gathered in the Town Square in hopeful anticipation
of an optimistic report from the all-seeing,
all-knowing, prognosticator of meteorological phenomena, Phergus Phil, the
Groundhog. The parka clad citizens clutched their steaming cups of coffee,
and an occasional
flask was seen tilting in the early morning sunlight as the shivering citizens
sought to stave off the bitter cold. In due time the sluggish rodent poked
his bewhiskered head out of his earthen lair just as the sun broke over the
peak
of the City Hall. The bright light and the sudden appearance of his shadow
gave the beast such a start that he leapt some 3 feet straight up above his
hole.
Just as his fattened body neared the apex of it’s moment aloft, several
shots rang out, seeming to come from a grassy knoll at the edge of the Fergus
Municipal Park. In mid-air, and surrounded by tufts of flying fur, Phergus
Phil turned nose to the hole and dove, with a speed and precision seldom associated
with his species, to the depths of his den, never to be seen again. Needless
to say, conspiracy theories sprung up almost immediately. Most locals assume
that a citizen, having grown weary of the winter, simply snapped and sought
to
forestall the “Bad News Beaver” from giving his annual report.
Others see a more sinister scenario, such as a rogue sniper from the “Wehrmacht” arm
of the Cider House Fools in Westphalia. Some feel there may have been a second
shooter, perhaps training his sights from the upper levels of the MMOGTA Publishing
Center. The investigation continues.
March 2001
Greetings fellow members from Frostbitten Fergus, where fervent hopes
for even the slightest hint of Spring are crushed like bugs underfoot
on a daily basis.
We all seem to be held hostage by the “Winter without End” and the
hardy residents of the thriving megopolis of Fergus are no exception. Staff psychiatrists
at the Fergus Institute for the Meteorologically Insane report an unprecedented
influx of new patients seeking treatment for cabin fever, snow blindness, frostbite,
distemper, gout, and any number of other weather related complaints. Treatment
methods vary from prolonged exposure to the time honored Swimsuit Issue of Sports
Illustrated to replayed video tapes of last Summer’s tractor pulls. Severe
cases that do not respond to these conventional therapies are treated with
potent serums from the Fergus Fermentation Facility where good grapes go bad,
but then
get good again.
 
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