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The Cooter Times Vol 8
Those who love men, those who love women, those who love none and that one dude who we know seriously loves goats – Welcome to another edition of the Cooter Times. All the news we could be bothered to write about or make up.
This week’s edition is near and dear to my heart, I mean they all are mainly because I hunch over my typewriter like some sort of fantasy creature that lives in a dark cave full of fungus (Or fungi heyyoo).
We have stories of love, hypocrisy, stupidity, and… well what else is there to cover in the great Cooter Times outside of that?
Now I do have a lover in the nighttime and whilst he has brought me a delightful cheese board with goats’ cheese, brie, and some stunning blue it was my duty to send him away (But I kept the food, lets be real) and get on with this paper.
And finally, this edition was brought to you by the Letters I. G. F. Y. W and the numbers 6 & 9.
Smooches,
Catherine J. Cooter
Spike Spiegel – If we don’t talk about him, we get murdered or something
The world describes him as a Cancer. We had assumed there was no cure. One man spoke up saying the cure was more Cowbell. Trixie, where are you?
Until Trixie is found, we will continue as is. Mocking all his friends, hiding behind weird immigration documents from Elis Island and just doing absolutely nothing to better the world we’re in.
(Editors note: Spike has the charisma of a stale Christmas cookie from 1912. But unfortunately, you all have the intelligence of my pet gerbil from grade school that killed itself by chewing repeatedly on the cord to the lamp. Truly shocking for everyone, but mostly Nibbles.)
Hypocrisy at its finest
Our world has a slew of vocal, tiresome, and pedantic people who roam the streets. They feel their voice is their contributing factor without putting any real effort in to support this thing of ours.
One family line has repeatedly come out and stated how they believe the upper structure needs to be strong, available, active, and intelligent (Here is where I point out the irony, thank you). That last part might be made up, or the bar is literally in hell; either or.
But it has now come to light that one coastal crew leader has fallen out of the lime light of activity, but the hands he’s chosen who are related to those who spoke so outwardly in regards to the expectations of a leader has failed to honour their families’ beliefs. One would think it impossible for something so ingrained in you since birth to have you casually changing your mind, your mood, your very being just on the whim of where you are in life. But alas.
Another one has gotten a bit of attention and has lost all their scruples. We are not accepting donations to pass on to this unnamed individual so they can get the help they need to get back to the path their family wanted for them. Or for their leader to steal. Whichever.
Vito1905: the man with the dumbest name
This man was given up at birth, and clearly his parents could not be bothered to pretend to give him a last name and instead he has gone by his first name and the year he was born.
People say he has been around being annoying, but thankfully we have not had any run ins with the orphan. We suspect we will now, and it will be amusing.
The Old man and the uh... Old man
Miguel and Father O’Malley were tragically separated. Miguel stated he could not stay up, Father O’Malley assumed he meant his dick and not his headquarters.
The two have parted as “friends.”
Ladies, Gents, and dwellers from Kent,
We’ve done it. Another Cooter times in the bag. I would love to write something witty here but there is a cheese board next to my typewriter and to avoid putting my forearm in goats cheese (When it should be in my MOUTH… the cheese, not my forearm) I am developing a cramp from holding my arm in a weird way.
So, think of something witty here, something insulting here and something SCANDALOUS here and we’ll compare notes in the future.
Until then, this has been the Cooter Times.
Smooches,
Catherine J. Cooter
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