Springs Resident Fined $50,000 by East Hampton for Messy Bedroom

Springs resident Ryan Blight, whose cluttered yard led to his conviction on littering charges earlier this year in East Hampton Town Justice Court, was fined a shocking total of $50,000 by Town Justice Lisa R. U. Anal for having, get this, a messy bedroom. "I checked out Mr. Blight's bedroom myself and there were used condoms, moldy old issues of Playboy under his bed and underwear on his lamp," Justice R.U. Anal said.

Through the years, Blight's bedroom has been covered in soot, infested with (you guessed it!) mites, piles of chairs, and even a six-foot statue of his ex-girlfriend's biceps. "One of the reasons that my bedroom no longer attracts hot, young chicks is I lost my impetus to clean it when they fined me $50,000 for being a slob," said Mr. Blight in an exclusive interview with HAN. "But then again, being chronically unemployed, functionally illiterate, ugly and impotent may have something to do with my lack of success with the babes."

"The bedroom is atrocious," neighbor Dim Sullivansky said to the judge. "Using my high-powered binoculars, I can watch Ryan catching mites and squeezing them with his fingers from my bedroom window. I wish Ryan would simply go away...he's a waste of food and oxygen." Over a year and a half ago, Mr. Sullivansky teamed with other disgruntled Springs neighbors and collected 63 signatures on a petition asking East Hampton to chemically castrate Mr. Blight if he didn't clean his bedroom in 30 days. 

HAN vows to stay on top of this late-breaking Hampton's saga and provide our dear reader (notice we didn't write "readers") with updates whenever and wherever they're necessary. Stay tuned for the next stunning chapter in East Hampton's sordid history, a town run by hacks with too much time and money (your tax dollars) on its idle hands. Marvel as we do at the courage of Mr. Blight as he fights to keep his right to live like a bum!
 

Joke Of The Day...

What do you get when you cross a Bonacker with a Shinnecock native?

A drunk with prospects.

Jerry Daila Enema's Near-Viagra Experience

Jerry's Dink

By Jerry Daila Enema

At first I was excited.

I actually started to laugh at the grotesque nature of my limp predicament.
But, slowly, ever so slowly, I began to enjoy myself.

At one point, I put on some old Frank Sinatra ballads. But breathing became an issue and I pondered, "Can an ancient bald guy die trying to well, you know?...What an incredibly stupid way to recapture my youth.
How would my family take this act? The papers will never let me live this down.

It all started last Saturday when I was watching the Playboy channel. My wife, the mummified Judy Sphinct, was having her nails done. It was late afternoon and I felt stirrings I hadn't felt since the Mets won in 1969. I decided to run a bath after popping my little blue friend.

Now I must confess that I love bubble baths because they hide my furry beer belly. In fact, I poured every bubble bath lotion imaginable into my hand in order to capture that elusive feeling. I was feeling powerful...I was feeling potent...I was just about to...

"Honey I'm home," my wife Judy said as she opened the bathroom door. Thinking on my ass, I slid into the water and tried to hide under my rubber ducky. That's when I freaked out. The more I moved, the more I slipped into the water. The bubbles covered my signature glasses and I lost all feeling from the waist down. Bathus interruptus!

When I came out of the bathroom and told my family of my near-viagra experience, they took one look at the wet copy of Playboy by the bathtub and they knew what I was trying to do. "We should just hire you a hooker you dirty old coot," said Judy. My son B.J. said nothing. I could read his mind: "What was Dad really doing with his rubber ducky?"

My daughter Messy gave a better summation. "If you ever pull a stunt like that again, Dad, and I won't let you throw any more slumber parties with my friends."

Surging Red Tide in East End Believed to Be a Psych Ops Operation on Elite Liberal Bastion

In a country divided into blue states and red states facing another too-close-to-call Presidential election, it should come as no surprise that a toxic species of algae known as red tide has reappeared on the East End in recent weeks. "We're one of the capitols of the elite liberal media effetes and those cagey NASCAR-loving rednecks in the boonies have hit us right where it hurts," said Joe Halloway, who accepted Barack Obama as his personal savior last year. "What better way to get under our skin than destroying our ability to throw clambakes and staining our pristine yachts?" Joe whined in typical liberal fashion.

In recent weeks, as the McCain-Palin ticket has resurged in Middle America, liberals of all stripes have begun to panic and this latest round of psychological operations may prove to be especially effective. "We bard my brother's pickup truck in Jawjah and dumped Red Dye #40 into Peconic Bay," admitted Eustace Pickens. "We ain't ignert folks and we is raedy to fight for our rats." East End liberals will not take this latest attack lying down. They plan to retaliate by driving a caravan of powder blue Bentleys and dump blue dye to disrupt an upcoming truck offroad shootout in Texas.

Diary of a Hamptons Hitman

Hi...My name's Robert. I live in the Hamptons. I have a good job, a devoted wife named Mandy, two adorable children Max and Erin (ages 4 and 8, respectively) and a spacious mansion on the beach. Recently, I was driving my precious cargo for an ocean dip in my powder blue Bentley on a beautiful summer day. There wasn't a cloud in the sky as I brushed Max's hair with affection and we sang, "Row...row...row your boat...gently down the stream."

I was living the dream and I knew it. I had come a long way from the time I was 15 and living in NYC with my father Michael. In those days, dad drove a Buick Roadmaster with a spacious trunk where he stored his precious cargo. When I asked him what he did for a living, he answered: "I'm a restaurant owner, son. Some day, I want you to take over the family business. C'mon, let's run a little errand."

We drove in silence to an abandoned lot. My father told me to stay in the car while he met a key supplier. Suddenly, a powerful explosion shook the ground and my father's bloody and unrecognizable head landed with a loud thud on the car's front windhshield. Two armed thugs grabbed me from the car kicking and screaming and within seconds, wracked with grief, I was introduced to Vito DeVito, my new 'father.' "I like you, kid," Vito said. "But your scumbag dad double-crossed me and you're gonna work off his debt. Welcome to your new family...one that you can never leave, capisce?"

NEXT: After being honored at a celebrity-studded gala event for charity, I garotte a low-level informer in Westhampton, NY

Living on Hess Food: Day Two

After eating an Angus burger at the McDonald's in Southampton, NY, I slept like a baby and vowed to jump start my experiment to eat only Hess food for the remainder of the week. That is, until the news broke the other day that our horny/drug-crazed government officials responsible for collecting billions of dollars in federal oil royalty revenues had created a "culture of substance abuse and promiscuity" that involved having sex with energy company employees, accepting lavish gifts and rigging contracts to favored firms.

I immediately drove back home and e-mailed my admittedly thin resume to the Denver Minerals Management Services office, anxiously hoping for a job interview, sex and drugs, not necessarily in that order. The only thing missing was the "rock & roll."

"Screw eating Hess food for the week," I thought to myself. "I'll buy some cans of motor oil from them and rub it all over my body like cologne and soon I'd be pumping away like a well-oiled Sarah Palin .338 Win Mag." With all the national debate swirling around the pros and cons of offshore drilling, the allure of onshore drilling was proving difficult to resist.

Next: Day Three of the Wainscott Hess Oil Cologne Experiment Ends Tragically When the Author flirts with Self-Immolation...

A Broke East Hampton, NY Calls It Quits and Turns Out the Lights

Facing an insurmountable budget deficit caused by cronyism, incompetence and financial malfeasance, East Hampton's town government has decided to shut down completely and cease its daily operations. However, in order to further line their already stuffed pockets, East Hampton Town Supervisor William McGintee and his gang will be heading to Washington, D.C., the global nexus of overpaid lawyers, gridlock, finger pointing and corruption. Area residents appear to be relieved that decisive action has been taken and that McGintee and his clueless administration will be heading off to greener ($$$) pastures.

In addition to issuing bond anticipation notes (BANs) to borrow against a state-approved $15 million municipal bond needed to cover dwindling revenue, McGintee also approved a controversial interim proposal to replace the entire East Hampton municipal workforce with undocumented workers. As the disgraced town supervisor was cleaning up his office (and emptying the kitty) in preparation for his administration's move to Washington, D.C., he advised that local residents bone up on their Spanish and practice their salsa dancing.

East End Officials Approve Air Taxi Service for the Rich Offering Flights to and from NYC, East Hampton, Southampton and Sag Harbor

An enterprising airplane manufacturer based in North Carolina has received tentative approval from local officials to begin offering flights for the well-heeled to and from the major Hamptons towns year round. "Fire your limo drivers, say goodbye to Rt. 27 and Long Island Expressway (L.I.E.) traffic delays and park your Powder Blue Bentleys," Thad Davis, a company spokesperson said. "Our twin-engine aircraft are able to take off and or land from any paved surface, a grass airstrip or local waterways as shallow as three feet, they basically can function like a large hover-craft. We can pick you up at your ostentatious mansion and deposit your sorry, self-entitled asses anywhere you want."

Davis further explained the motivation behind the new air-taxi service. "Rich people always want to make a dramatic appearance whether it's at their kid's bar mitzvah; or simply turning heads as their plane pulls up to the Ralph Lauren store right on East Hampton's Main Street; or they can ferry their ex-wives and estranged kids to and from their Manhattan apartments for those dreaded court-mandated weekend visitations; it is all a part of the super wealthy's way of life."

Amenities on the aircraft include free scripts of Viagra, naked flight attendants trained in the fine art of Swedish massage, plus chilled champagne and local wines. All the compartments are separate like on a cruise ship so the kids can watch a movie or an in-flight magic show while the adults are getting their daily doses of whatever they need to get through the day. Each of the aircraft has been modified in such a way as to increase their load-carrying capacity by removing the sewage holding tanks, so when you flush the Commode from your suite in the sky you are sending a real message to your fellow Hamptonites about who's top dog in the social pecking order.

The aircraft can carry 5,500 pounds, fly at 230 mph for almost 1,000 miles and their roomy cabins hold up to eight passengers, more than enough space for any group of fawning sycophants. As of this writing, no rates have been established but we suspect that if you need to ask about the cost, you probably couldn't afford the bar tab, let alone the flight.