Insufferable sommelier prick thinks every wine is loamy

 [Austin, TX]  Patrons of Austin's new theater-district, seafood restaurant "Cork & Hook" were forced to endure endless flowery descriptions of red and white wine options while just trying to enjoy a damn night out last Saturday night, observers reported.  According to witness reports, sommelier Eric Gentry crouched next to one table after another and, with an irritatingly and unnecessarily hushed tone, pontificated endlessly about imagined flavor-forward undertones, textural murmurs, body fleshiness, and soft, velvety hues of the restaurant's various bottles.  Each vineyard's narrative was presented in tortuous detail, as well as the evolutionary history of the grapes used, the acidity content of the soil, the winery's social-consciousness accolades, the quasiclerical mastery of the vintner, and even a lengthy, elementary-school level articulation of sun angles.  And, above all, that each wine was loamy.

Explained one customer, "I thought it would be nice to get some advice about what wine might pare well with my weird mango halibut entrée.  What a mistake.  That unbearable tool of a sommelier accosted us for the next 45 minutes, perseverating about the oaky virtues of sauvignon blanc versus pinot noir, and I think he said the word loamy 15 times."

Said another, "We had to move tables.  I don't even drink wine, but that asshole was crouched next to the table behind us for like an hour, and I couldn't take it anymore.  If I hear 'bouquet' one more time I'm going to throw up a flower.  That guy is an unctuous fuck."

According to others, the evening was made even more unendurable by Gentry's obviously fake Chilean accent.

When asked for comment, Gentry produced a spontaneous, obnoxious soliloquy about Portugal's Douro Valley and whether its reds had become better balanced by moisture-induced mildewing.  He was last seen being savagely beaten with a decanter by one of the restaurant's busboys, who subsequently described Gentry's pool of blood as "puckery and medium-bodied". 

Overturned lube truck results in hilarious marathon runner pileup

Survivor contestants vote host Jeff Probst off island

[Mamanuca Islands, Fiji]  In a shocking and unprecedented development, for the first time in its 36 installments, contestants on the popular CBS show "Survivor" chose to vote the show's host, Jeff Probst, off the island.  #backstab   #finally

"Thank god that idiot is gone," said Donathon, one of the players in this year's 'Ghost Island' version of the show.  Added Wendell, another contestant, "I thought he'd never shut up."

For 18 years, contestants on the show have struggled through bizarre, colorful, team-based and individual competitions, been subjected to a confusing potpourri of tribal names, icons, and chanting with no apparent relation to the cultural histories of the many nations (e.g. Thailand, Australia, Kenya, Vanuatu, Fiji, and many others) that have served as the show's setting, endured 24 hour videotaping, and have entertained viewers with their lack of morals, loyalty, or common decency as they continually scheme to their own individual advantages in their quest to win the grand prize: $1 million.

This year's show is filmed at several beachside campsites and a small 'tribal council' amphitheater on an island in Fiji.  Additionally, each week one player from either the Mololo and Naviti tribes is sent to the neighboring "Ghost Island" for an idyllic night of rest and relaxation in paradise, with ample food, water, and shelter, plus the chance to gain strategic advantages- all of which, for some inexplicable reason, invoke feelings of trepidation, loneliness, and self reflection in the players.  #sobstory

The players on each installment's shows are chaperoned through this process by longtime host Jeff Probst, an enthusiastic dingbat who continually shouts at them during competitions, tallies votes, repeats the totals for TV viewers with severe short term memory issues, and asks players to reflect publicly on their perceived standing in the power and clansmanship hierarchies that prove to be almost manically unstable from one hour to the next and underscore the psychopathy and social disorder that enables certain players to thrive.  For 18 years, Probst has ushered the contestants through each game- the TV version of which culminates each week with a player being voted off the island.  The show's producers work hard to maintain original ideas for the competitions, game shifts, and rule variations, in hopes of sustaining their impressive TV viewership.

And yet, in its most recent episode the contestants of Survivor surprised even the show's production crew when they nearly unanimously voted to remove Probst from the island.  Said the players in unison to the clearly-startled host, "Jeff, the tribe has spoken."   #Jeffblindside

"It was bound to happen sooner or later", explained Libby, a contestant on this year's show, "I mean, he never bothered to collect any idols, like ever, and he's been doing the show for almost 20 years."

As Probst went to read the votes aloud, he was visibly stunned and confused when opening the first one to see his own name.  "Jeff?" he inquired?  "Yup," answered Michael, another competitor, "Your day has come, man.  You've gotta go."  And as he opened another and another envelope, reading his own name, Probst slowly seemed to grasp what had happened.  Said the players, "Jeff, two.  Jeff, three.  Jeff, four.  Jeff, five.  Chris.  Jeff five, Chris one.  Jeff six, Chris, one.  Jeff seven, Chris, one.  Jeff eight, Chris, one.  Jeff nine, Chris, one.  Jeff ten, Chris, one.  Jeff eleven, Chris, one.  Jeff twelve, Chris, one."  Then finally, "And the first host to ever be voted off the island: Jeff."  #countthis  #roastProbst

The obviously-disoriented Probst was given 5 minutes to pack his bags before being escorted off the set.  Producers took advantage of the unexpected turn of events and kept the cameras rolling as he attempted to say farewell to the competitors, only to be beaten savagely with wooden idols, pelted with food reward scraps, and taunted by the players as they shouted the night's vote at him over and over again: "Jeff twelve, Chris one!  Jeff twelve, Chris one!"  Probst will now only be able to participate as a member of the show's "jury", wherein those eliminated get to determine the show's grand prize winner between the final three contenders.  #pathetic

Asked to justify their decision to remove Probst, the other players offered the following:

"He wouldn't stop screaming at us during competitions!  I get it, we're losing.  Everyone can see that.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to put a puzzle together with that moron windbag yelling at you?  It's enough that we struggled to unlock our blue bag of sand and untwirl it from the rope maze while standing on the yellow beam above the water.  We don't need to also keep hearing how we're 'way behind'."
  
"That guy was a total tool."

"I don't even think he can make fire."

The only vote cast for someone other than Jeff was Dominic's vote for Chris.  When asked why he didn't vote with the rest of the group Dominic stated: "I don't give a *$!* what those other idiots decided.  Chris is a total douchebag, and he wouldn't even make an alliance with me."  #nemesis

CBS representatives were also quick to add that they will be adding rules to prevent this situation again in future installments of the series.  They told Leeks and Scallions that next year's version of Survivor will be filmed in Ko Tao, a small picturesque island off Thailand's coast with breathtaking white sand beaches, and will again star Probst as the show's host.  Regarding this year's contract, CBS told our reporter that Probst will still get his $14 million salary, unlimited supply of rum, pineapple, and bananas, and jus primae noctis privileges for any of the players on the show.  #didnthavetoeatricetoearnamillion  #suckit  #dreamjob

Town opens nation's first full-kill animal shelter

[Tooele, UT]  Citing overcrowding and a persistent lack of cute or cuddly animals, the city of Tooele, Utah, recently opened "FKUT", the nation's first Full Kill Animal Shelter.

"Yep, we just kill them all," stated Roy Bindhauf, the shelter's general manager.

When pressed, Bindhauf reassured our reporter that they "wait a couple hours to see if their owner shows up."

Tooele opted to build the state-of-the-art facility to respond to the growing need to deal with  unattended stray dogs, feral cats, household pets no longer wanted by area residents, and the existence of Pomeranians.  In addition to those animals brought in by city officials, the shelter features a check-in hatch through which animals may be dropped so that they slide down a chute leading to an oversized dumpster. Those wanting extra attention afforded their rejected feline or canine companions may opt to open the front door and dispose of their animals more humanely: by paying for them to be walked down the "farm path to heaven" (a hallway painted to look like a pastoral midwestern scene, ending in a trap door disguised as a pile of food, landing them in the same dumpster).  Finally, for those with particularly deep wallets, the staff at FKUT will temporarily place the unwanted animal in a holding pen with soft mood lighting and "Ave Maria" gently playing in the background.  After 4 hours, the animal is dumpstered if nobody elects to pay the additional "daylighting" fee.

"Business has been great," boasted Bindhauf, "When we first opened, we were probably only processing a handful of pets an hour, but a few months ago we had to get a second dumpster, and just last week we expanded our hours to include those patrons wanting to drop off their animals after bar time."  Added Bindhauf, "And we're saving a fortune on dog and kitty chow."

Perhaps surprisingly, the response from other area shelters has been supportive.  In fact, the FKUT staff recently teamed up with employees of Utah's no-kill animal shelter (NKUT) for a charity softball game fundraising event, from which 100% of the proceeds were donated to the Pure-breed Retriever Puppy Rescue Association (PRPRA), a group dedicated to finding good homes for  unwanted adorable, cuddly little brown pups with big floppy ears and oversized paws.

"No, no, no, we don't take retriever puppies," clarified Bindhauf.  "Or malamutes.  Just other breeds.  And mutts.  Yup, old dogs and young dogs.  And middle age dogs.  Oh, and cats.  Any cat is fine."


At a recent press conference, the mayor of Tooele was asked to comment on allegations of inhumane treatment of animals at the FKUT shelter, to which he responded, "Seriously, have you seen the kind of dogs people have around here?  Disgusting, ratty, foul creatures.  They're like four-legged meth addicts.  I'd rather have a wet rat."  When asked about cats, the mayor replied that his [inappropriate language omitted] ex-wife had three cats and that she was a [inappropriate language omitted] and could go [inappropriate language omitted] a horse.

The surge in revenue has recently allowed FKUT to install some feature upgrades, such as a drive-up window, a live feed on Facebook, Uber-pickup-service, and a "Petting Room" where local schoolchildren may pet the shelter's most prestigious animals for several minutes before the unwanted cats and dogs are drugged and placed on conveyor belts towards the neighboring Oscar Meyer processing plant.

Man gets tattoo of clock on face, spends rest of day using own tongue as minute hand

[Jacksonville, FL]  Area resident Jake "Red Bull" Harrison impressed both friends and colleagues today when he returned from the T-Spot Tattoo Parlor with a picture of a clock imprinted onto his face.  Though he appeared to find it difficult to talk, those around him marveled at his ability to encircle his face with his tongue like a perfect little pink minute hand.

By several hours later, a small bemused crowd of onlookers had gathered to watch the marvelous revolutions of Harrison's tongue, around and around his face.  They cheered him on and goaded him into ever more amazing stunts, including mimicry of a skipping second hand, buzzing as his tongue passed the tattooed "8" near his jawbone as imitation of an alarm clock, and using his tonsils as a cuckoo bird.

He even attempted to simultaneously rotate his tongue around his face-clock while juggling hatchets and singing the Beatles' classic "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds", though the effect was, perhaps, a bit less awe-inspiring than Harrison had hoped... "Bluestein sky talking to Louise and able to come shoot little island Lucian sky is that what you want and need and can you leave that Dolla..." rambled Harrison before being accidentally struck on the cheek by one of the spinning hatchets, causing blood to stream from two o'clock to five-thirty.

Fifteen minutes pass before anyone notices skip in Pow Wow album

God frustrated he made humans too dumb to recognize apocalypse

[Heaven] - God became visibly agitated today when it became apparent that what he had thought were his finest creation (humans) were, yet again, unable to recognize the glaring signs that their days on Earth were numbered.

"Are you kidding?" bemoaned the aggravated deity upon observing that the humans were spectacularly numb to such menacing catastrophic forces as global drought and record heat, monster hurricanes and floods, cataclysmic fires and smoke-filled skies that blot out the sun, giant earthquakes and tsunamis that drown entire cities, mass extinctions and the acidification of the oceans, ice sheets the size of countries breaking off, massive sinkholes opening and swallowing whole neighborhoods, volcanic mayhem, and an onslaught of tornadoes, mudslides, wasps, algae, disease, tea party republicans, avalanches, blizzards, giant solar flares, and Guy Fieri. 

Shaking his head in clear frustration, God wondered aloud "how damn obvious I have to make it that the end is near?" 

"50 inches of rain in a single storm.  A hurricane unlike anything those idiots have ever seen careening towards them.  Blasting heat unlike anything recorded for thousands of years.  The Bravo Network.  Trump.  How much will it take before these moronic fools get it that they are doomed?"

When asked for a reaction to God's apparent disappointment in his creation, Houston-area resident Barb Woodbridge asked for a spare smoke.  Interviewees in other locations expressed a range of reactions, all illustrating a seeming desensitivity to the dangers--as well as normal stimulii--around them, staring downward at their phones, bumping into each other and various immobile objects, only occasionally looking up in order to check the barista's cleavage when ordering a pumpkin spice latte.  For example, when pressed about the impending doom, Sioux Falls resident Dave Gampson suggested that our Leeks and Scallions reporter "suck giz".  Another interviewee in Winnemucca, Nevada, could only mumble.  Numerous interviewees in Oklahoma were unable to reply as they were preoccupied with chasing mega-tornadoes for their YouTube followers.  And the only reply we could get from anyone in Miami was some jibberish about epic waves before communications were lost due to Hurricane Irma.