The Cooter Times Vol 4
Est 1923

Founder: Catherine J. Cooter
Current Editor-in-Chief: Georgette Plunkett-Ernle-Erle-Drax family of Charborough

Letter from the Editor
Georgette Plunkett-Ernle-Erle-Drax family of Charborough

Ladies & Gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I am proud to announce the return of the Cooter Times. This Esteemed publication has been part of our world for nearly twenty years now, although about as regular as a fat woman's menstrual cycle whilst she goes through very stressful and emotional times. But enough about me, lets talk about... well Me. 

The urge to dust off my typewriter and come back to the streets has been strong. Much stronger than my desire to be The Competition Commission International Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Diplomatic Relations Chief Chancellor's Intern. And although I have much to do what with bossing people around, screaming at others to shut up, and demanding certain people go to bed, I thought it was high time I looked to my roots, the ones that aren't drenched in pompous surnames, historical tyranny and estates worth millions.

I thought it was high time that I stretched my legs, branched out, and tried my hand at something my former ancestors were rather fond of. Making up shit about people for their own personal entertainment and the mountains of attention that go alongside it. 

Will this paper resume full-time? No, probably not. I have a very busy schedule of taunting city hall and ignoring people for the most minor of offenses. But let us not dwell on the future, my friends. Let us take this moment, no really. Life is hectic and fast-paced and you never know when it will end.

So let's all just... Stop, its Cooter Time^tm. 

Lets Get this Ball Rolling
Alternate Title: So many balls you'd think I'd wandered into Polio's Mom's work

Oh the weather outside is frightful, but City Hall is so delightful, so they gave us some balls to throw. Oh it snowed, oh we throwed and we throwed. 

Last weekend saw a flurry of activity on the streets as distinguished Dons, capricious capos, and eager earners (honestly, it was everyone ok? We all took part. How many clever alliterations do you need to prove this?) to take up a new kind of battle to celebrate the winter season being in full swing. 

The event ran the course of a full twenty-four hours although some who were not partial to the cold and were only interested in the hot cocoa on offer taking shelter from the endless onslaught of balls to the face (Something, something, something Someone's mom, I'm sure). 

City hall graciously handed out prizes to families who had participated in a picture contest the previous week, giving some additional ammo already prepared, and some a very suspicious yellow color. This spurred on a level of pathetic prowess not usually seen in our world, where we sit in cafes all day and bars all evening. 

Truly a wonderful event, with no real winners because lets be clear - we all took a lot of balls to the face and that makes us all the losers. 

SpikeS takes Auth in Philadelphia

This is where the article would go about SpikeS getting auth again after his previous adult who spawned him died tragically. I say this is where the article would go because I can not be arsed to speak any more about SpikeS.

The end. 

 
Shake, Rattle & Roll

This upcoming weekend the City hall has announced another event - this time it will be a 24-hour Rattle event  which has only historically been put on once before in history, in August of last year. 

The event is a mixture of target practice, gambling, and a full 24 hours of shit-talking in the main coffee shops. And if you've been around (Ahem. I won't make the joke) then you know one of our favorite pastimes as a community is shit-talking. 

So come put your money where your mouth is, get that gun cleaned up, and join the fun this weekend while we all laugh at that one person who will consistently fail to hit the target, throw a tantrum, rage quit, and then come back in twenty minutes for more. (It is me, I'm making fun of me.) 

No News is Good News? I think not

Like many a paper before me, you may have noticed the influx of the written word landing on our street corners. This is a great turn of events, the youths that would hassle us outside our headquarters, throw rocks at our windows, and firebomb our gates finally have proper employment again. At least until we're all bored of making things up and fuck off for another few months. 

With the rising interest in hearing the latest happenings, I thought I would do something unique that the other papers haven't done. I reached out to important members of our community to hear what they had to say. 

Hiya, I'm writing a Cooter Times. 

Give me (a) quote that I can twist turn into a story...

ChrisCornell was the first to respond, now you may Chris as the Right-hand-Man of that fucking weirdo you see in the Main Coffee lounge talking about popping popcorn in assholes, BerZerk. I know Chris as "Oh I vaguely know that we're friends, so now I'm going to call in a favor..." 

Chris stated that Bod was prettier than SpikeS. I then pushed back saying I didn't want to talk about SpikeS anymore than I absolutely had to. Chris said he understood, given it was BODs birthday so it wasn't nice comparing him to a pile of spoiled tripe covered with the vomit of desperate immigrants just looking for a meal. I am paraphrasing, of course. 

If theres one thing ChrisCornell knows, its food. And BODs uh, Bod...y. Specifically his feet. 
 

Up next was the delightful Music, who without fail decided to be a kind person with a heart of gold and said I should quote something she had recently read in a book, and whilst I agree with the sentiment behind the quote I feel Music has not previously picked up an edition of the Cooter Times and that is on me for reaching out to a lovely woman for a horrible task. 

Be nice to each other. You can make a whole day a different day for everybody. 

Sniffler, the delightful dog owner and also I suppose Godfather in the Bronx was posed the same question. One might wonder what a dapper Anteater is doing owning dogs, and thats because THEY ARE ALL VERY GOOD BOYS. Sniffler included.

And whilst I waited for the correspondance to return to me, I wondered about the name, GOATs. How can an Anteater be a Goat or a dog be a goat or... christ now I know why my great-great-great-great-great-great-twice-removed-great-great Grandmother drank whilst writing this. 

I never did get a quote from Sniffler. Hopefully he got distracted by dogs. 
 

The final member of our community I reached out to was the terrifyingly tall DangerClose. But as the time ticked on and my missive went unreplied to, I realized his name this evening was infact, DangerFar. Which make help some of you sleep soundly tonight, but won't help me get over that 900 word goal we had for this volume! 

The Final Word: Antidisestablishmentarianism

Ladies and Gentlemen, the time has come for me to send this paper to the printers for mass production. It has been a delightful fourty-five minutes of sitting here trying to find a balance between actually providing some interesting information regarding our community and entertaining myself. 

Please note that these views are simply my own, they are here to entertain me first and foremost and hopefully a side-effect of that is also entertaining some of you. I say some of you, because I know our community and its got some proper miserable cunts in it. 

Any and all donations go to me, myself and also possibly Sniffler's dogs because again, THEY ARE SUCH GOOD BOYS. 

This volume of the Cooter Times was brought to you by the letters S,U, N & A, and the number 115*. 

I hope I've done my ancestors proud, and I hope Sniffler understands that his quote isn't being included because I'm literally signing off right fucking now as the delivery boy stands outside knocking and yelling about stillness in cunnilingus or something. 

So in the great words of Catherine J. Cooter, the founder of this exemplary and historical Newspaper - 
Stop, Cooter Times. 

I am a headline. I am top news. However, Spiral wasn't authed by anyone other than Spiral... And this time, I was mostly authed by Transistor. 

I am going to dance for BOD today for his birthday. He is going to swoon and coo. It is going to be magical, romantic, sensual, and titillating. 

"I am almost certain that BOD is relieved that his birthday is over and you've put the tassels away." Georgette said, fishing a coin out of her pocket to pass over to the Newsie who had been subjected to hearing this filth at such a young age. 

It was a hazy morning in Chicago; amidst the cacophony of the morning rush and smokey breath of the factories and bakeries that lingered in the morning air, a solitary figure sauntered down the street, fresh coffee in his hand.  His name was Qalico, a figure known to few throughout the 6 cities, with eyes that held the weight of long past catastrophes.  Decked out in his old worn trench coat and fedora tilted just so he scanned his surroundings and spotted a bench, overlooking the park.

Sitting down brusquely, Qalico nursed his coffee, it's bitter warmth a reassuring accomplice against the chill of the morning air.  Taking a sip, he pulled out his copy of the Cooter Times; freshly purchased from the scoundrel outside the betting shop as he was leaving the cafe on 45th.

As Qalico leafed the pages with a proficient hand, his eyes flicked across the print attentively, absorbing the yarns of corruption, deceit, murder and snowballs with a detached curiosity.

"Exquisite read, as per usual Georgette", he thought to himself and with the taste of freshly made coffee on his lips and the echoes of distant sirens in his ears, Qalico remained seated on his bench, a solitary lookout in the cold Chicago morning.