*** SUBMIT YOUR OWN ARTICLE TO THE NOD'S LIMBS GAZETTE ***
Rare Beast for sale here!!!
Description: Long and Curvy it is a purple and blue spots on it.
A couple of reasons to buy it:
It is excellent to get things you can't reach!
It can scare away your worst eniemies.
Also it is very good for gardening and picking out weeds.
If you don't buy it we will get you bad
P.S Its only 5000.00 thats a bargin for a Rare Beast!!!!!
Readers Talk Back
Why have we no life guards at Nod's Limbs beach? Is our city not concerned for our water safety? Why, just the other morning I went to do some yoga on the beach. (I like to do my sun salutations in the sun, otherwise what's the point) and while I was firmly positioned in downward facing dog, my little toe gave out throwing me off balance, landing me right in the Running River. Well, thank goodness the river doesn't live up to its name or I could have been dragged over to the next town -- whatever that is. My chakras get all out of alignment just thinking about it.
-Ms. Moon Violet
Several golfers reported the disappearance of their golf balls from the fairways of the Nod's Links Golf Club. A ball belonging to Mayor Knightleigh was replaced with an exploding ball of chalk that detonated when he tried to hit an approach shot to the thirteenth green. The brakes of the mayor's golf cart also failed, propelling him into the course's water hazard. Flags from several holes were also reported missing. Two suspects were seen fleeing the eighteenth hole of the golf course late yesterday. No serious injuries were reported. Any information should be reported to the police or Bart Funk, course pro.
Medical technicians were called to the Nod's Limbs Firehouse late Thursday evening. New fire chief, Gully Lugwood, required assistance when he became stuck to the fire pole while sliding down for midnight snack-time with the crew. Technicians labored for several hours to unglue the chief. He is in fair condition and expected back on the job when a good portion of his body hair grows back.
Red paint was once again removed from the covered bridges in town. Doesn't anyone have any information on the miscreants defacing our beautiful bridges? Please report any leads to the Mayor's office, as he would like to handle this situation personally.
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"School Practice Day" Cracks Up Kids
By Ted Canworst, staff writer
Scores of youngsters showed up to Nod's Limbs Grammar School a week early for the much-beloved School Practice Day, and what an orderly event it turned out to be!
"School Practice Day gives all our little learners a running start on good behavior before school actually starts," said Principal Mulberry. "And this year, the children really embraced the theme: 'School is for Sitting Still!' "
Boy, did they ever! Mrs. Kettlebaum's third-graders sat patiently in their rigid wooden seats for two-and-a-half hours before Tammy Spatz ended the flawless practice run by raising her hand.
"Sure, that cut short our record-setting session," said Mrs. Kettlebaum gamely, "but I want everyone to know that Tammy raised her hand to ask if she could keep sitting still after practice was over. That's the spirit, Tammy!"
Other practice events such as Pencil Sharpening, Eraser Clapping, Attendance Taking, and Apple Polishing were unqualified successes, said Principal Mulberry. Even the extra-quiet Library Shushing (which was disturbed last year by the sudden air-horn blast that startled Librarian Waltham into knocking over the entire Humanities section) came off without so much as a peep.
That's not to say everything went hunky-dory for our school-age scholars. Line Standing Practice (designed to encourage efficient post-recess queuing) encountered a snag when the kindergarteners couldn't find the masking-tape lines laid out for them. Somehow, the tape had been reconfigured to make a large X in the middle of the playground. These clever children-never ones to give up!-made the best of the confusion by congregating on the X. It was only sharp-eared Sara Brunchliner who heard a mysterious "twang" in the distance that made her look up. To her horror, she saw a swarm of round white objects falling from the skies above.
"Eggs!" she cried. "Run for your lives, classmates!"
The children were just able to scramble out of the way (no pun intended!) as several dozen medium eggs fell to earth-precisely on the X, oddly enough.
Fifth-grade science teacher Lou Hu surmised that a passing flock of chickens laid their eggs simultaneously while flying overhead. "It's unusual for chickens to lay eggs while flying," Mr. Hu said. "In fact, I didn't really know chickens could fly. But that's just another example of how science can surprise us every day!"
Thanks to the timely Playground Scrubbing event that had just taken place, the pavement under the X was in pristine condition, and the lunchroom staff was able to scoop up the Grade-A windfall and turn it into a special scrambled-egg snack for the hard-working kids.
The only other glitch on this letter-perfect day was the sudden disappearance of Mr. Hu's giant slingshot, which he uses in his annual "What Goes Up Must Come Down" lecture on gravity. Two children in matching striped pajamas helpfully informed this reporter that any slingshot thief "must have gone the other way," but further sleuthing turned up nothing.
*** Send in your own newspaper article! ***
A Wrong Side of Town?
by Myra Weedle
Nod's Limbs - I am a journalist, dear readers. A journalist. And being a top-notch journalist means tackling some tough issues, raising some pointed questions, and sometimes, yes, even trekking into hazardous territory. My risky move from mere media moderator to serious muckraker has occasionally put me on the precipice of personal peril. However, no journey into the corners of our lovely town has ever left me with such an impending sense of dread -- that is, until I ventured a little too far south and made the mistake of turning onto a dark, weed-choked path just off of Ricketts Road.
My nagging journalistic curiosity kept pace with me on my evening jog along Cairo Avenue last Wednesday evening (which isn't easy because I run a six minute mile). I felt a strange pull in the soles of my running shoes, as if some dark force were luring me eastward. Normally I would take a right on Ricketts and jog west through the charming neighborhood just outside the Black Tree Forest Preserve, but Wednesday's trot was different. A sharp December wind howled and forced me to the east, toward the nameless road.
After a jarring stumble up the unidentified lane, I came to a tall, menacing house tucked eerily in a grove of what must be the oldest trees in Nod's Limbs. Like any exceptional journalist, I immediately made note of key details (I keep a pen and pad in my fanny pack, along with various flavors of lip balm).
This tower-like mansion rose eleven stories into the air, where high arched windows and a single round skylight in the center of the angled roof stared down at me. Chills raced up and down my back as I took in the black cupola topping the house and the spikes sticking up from it, stabbing the sky. I did my share of research, but no record exists naming the house's original owner, or even when it was built.
Perhaps the most unsettling fact: the wicked nature of the individuals now living in the house. Long assumed abandoned, only rumors spoke of inhabitants in this dark place. But inhabitants there are, which I confirmed after the top round window flashed brightly several times with a bizarre glow reminiscent of some Frankensteinian experiment. The house seems to be the address of two pajama-clad children and an eccentric, silent guardian (see my sister's oh-so-enlightening interview in last month's Gazette).
Though my gut told me just to turn around and go home, my journalist's heart could not waltz away from such a deliciously sinister scoop. I had to investigate the goings-on in that creepy old house. When I reached the front door, I noticed the carving above the entrance. It read "Schadenfreude." Now I've studied some conversational French ("Ou est la toilette, monsieur?") and even a little Latin ("Proximo sed nolo fumigare!") back in my Nod's Limbs High days, but this obscure phrase is a mystery to me. Perhaps it's Portuguese or some ancient form of Elvish. Regardless, the heavy weight of dread in my bones convinced me that the translation was not: "Welcome, friend, smell the petunias."
This, dear reader, was as far as even I dare tread. The subsequent downpour of rotten eggs, sneezing powder and a particularly dense can of pickled beets sent me scampering for the safety of Ricketts Road. Were it not for my athletic aptitude and the bounce of my top dollar running shoes, I might have taken a merciless beating. The cackling taunts of voices high up in the dark reaches of this house swirled and echoed in the biting wind as I fought my way back through weeds and angry thistles. I turned only to see the silhouettes of two oddly similar individuals dancing in the stale light of the high round window. I feel something foul is afoot in our charming municipality, dear reader. Something is awfully foul. Afoot. A foul foot. Something with feet is foul and afoot. There, that's what I meant.
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