Hearing notification written by Commissioner goes unread by all but his secretaries, lot attendant

By Ronn Chesmonde

The Erie County Board of Elections on Wednesday issued a ruling that delays when the West Seneca Town Board will be downsized.

Ward: currently a 4XL.

Dennis E. Ward, the Democratic Elections Commissioner, says that the downsizing will occur when one of two conditions is met.  “We’re either looking at a date thirty days after I can comfortably fit into my size double-XL t-shirts from my college days or ten business days after hell freezes over, whichever comes first.”

The announcement came during a brief hearing that the public knew nothing about until three hours before it began. Only two people in the entire county, West Seneca Supervisor Wallace “The Hammer” Piotrowski and local downsizing advocate Kevin Gaughan, would admit to “eagerly awaiting the hearing,” hoping it might offer some closure to the legal question of whether the downsizing will take effect in 2010, as intended, or in 2012.

Yet as of 10 a. m. Wednesday, neither of the two citizens knew the hearing was scheduled for 1 p. m. until a reporter from The Buffalo Ruse smelled the strong odor of stale urine in a parking lot downtown and realized an agenda had been “enacted” by Ward.

Ward said that he clearly spelled out the time and the place of the hearing in the parking lot of the Erie County Elections Office using his own urine.  “The secretaries all said they could read it clearly from five stories up so I don’t know what these two are complaining about,” said Ward.  “Maybe downsizing advocates can’t read cursive.”

Piotrowski said the board never told him the hearing had been scheduled and he admitted that it didn’t occur to him to look for Ward’s message spelled out in urine in a County parking lot to confirm that the hearing was scheduled.  “I’m just not hip to the ways of these savvy politicians, I guess,” said Piotrowski.

“It just continues the pattern of politicians trying to retain all their power using pee-mail in municipal parking lots,” he added.

Ward was unmoved.  “We notify the people who are interested,” Ward said. “Do we make an effort to notify the whole world? Not automatically.  Plus I don’t like having to drink so much extra coffee that early in the morning.”

Ruse staff, other people, rocked by loss.

By Hardy Astrom

Before leaving the Ruse offices for the last time, Old Cronk (as we called him) left a message.  It was a message for all future Ruse staff writers, a message that has touched the fingertips of each of us before we sit down at the typewriter.  Its simple wisdom, wrapped in humility and grace, inspiration and  truth, is what we hope to imbed in every article we produce.  It is his legacy, and our responsibility.

Pedaling The Ruse

Walter (Something) Cronkite began as a paperboy, delivering the Buffalo Midmorning Ruse for four years before truancy from school forced him to retire at the age of 7.  His passion for bringing John (and we presume Mary) Q. Public the news never died though, as he sent notes to classmates, informing them of the most current happenings at P.S. #4.  A few found in the school yearbook are: “Miss Johnson Drops Chalk; Back Row Hooligans Give a Giggle.”  “Lunch Today:  Bagged”, and “Janet Stubbs Lowers Pledge Hand Early in Possible Nazi Gesture.”    A natural for crafting the plain and truthful, Cronkite skipped high school and took an office boy position at The Ruse.

Under the guidance of Murray Lite Sr., Cronkite covered, first the local news, then the national.  His first published article was an opinion article, ominously titled, ”City of Buffalo Politicians Would do Well to Caution Against Decades Long Series of Awful Decisions.”  If only our politicians read The Ruse.

Cronkite climbed the competitive Ruse ladder as aspiring reporters fell to the wayside, favoring either fluff or rumor over truth and social conscience.  He vaulted to the position of Ruse Senior Editor Jr. at the age of 16, after his report on the state of the waterfront included a closing argument for progress.  Cronkite advised simply, “Somebody should put something pretty near the water so people will want to go there.”

Readers responded as 16 days of riots followed, as citizens demanded a comprehensive plan that would showcase the waterfront, and establish Buffalo as the second best vaction spot next to Niagara Falls.  Politicians pacified the angry mobs, extending the hours of all local drinking establishments to 4 a.m.  The Waterfront Reform Movement stopped there, ACA (against Cronkite’s Advice).

Soon, National news outlets began to buzz and we knew that Old Cronk (as we continued to call him), would be moving on for pastures that weren’t headed for the crapper.  We held a going away party at the office; nothing extravagant, just a few bottles, a few ladies, and a few tears.  Fanning away cigar smoke, Cronk hesitated at the door before saying his final goodbye.  I’ll never forget what he said to us then.  “Boys, the toilet’s plugged. Get that damn cheese machine out of the break room.”  You could hear a pin drop, as we sat in silence, hanging on every word.  “And I left you a little somthing to think about.  It’s hanging over the door of the typwriter room.”

He coughed, turned and left us, and we all trudged, heavy hearted, bleary eyed, and constipated, to see the words Old Cronk left to every Ruse reporter from then until now.

And there it was, written in a mixture of ink and his own blood, his message to us:

“asdf  jkl;”

Goodbye old friend.  You will be missed.

By Frank Brutus

Murray Lite, the long-time editor of The Buffalo Ruse, held a heavily-attended news conference yesterday to explain why his on-line paper has run so few stories this summer.

“Before I begin I would first like to apologize to the ladies in the audience about the fact that I can’t seem to locate my pants,” explained the gray-haired editor who was naked from the waist down and used a teleprompter to read a prepared statement:

“At The Buffalo Ruse, our motto, ‘We ask the tough questions?’ has been, and always will be, the cornerstone upon which we’ve built our journalistic empire,” said Lite.  “But in these strange times, many of the stories that my reporters have been diligently working on since May have not held up to this probing and questioning credo.”

Lite, who dipped carrots into a bowl of ranch dressing during his comments,  explained that a combination of this summer’s rainy weather, traffic tie-ups on the Peace Bridge and the lackluster campaign of Mayoral candidate Mickey Kearns have all contributed to a “morass of July and August journalistic misfires from Chesmonde, Brutus and Hack that I wouldn’t use to wipe my ass with. An ass, might I add, that you all seem to be staring at a little too intently.”

The news conference took a bizarre turn when Wad Rotson, the long-time cultural reporter for The Ruse who was standing silently at the back of the room, raised his hand to ask a question.

“He’s got a gun!” screamed the semi-naked Lite moments before a throng of security guards tackled, restrained, Tasered and dragged the moaning Rotson from the room.

After order was restored and the ranch dressing bowl was refilled, Lite concluded his prepared statement.

“With the exception of Larry Flesler, who I am proud to say has submitted some of the best work of his career this summer, I’m probably going to have to clean house, ” said the editor.  “But I promise the faithful readers of this paper that l’ll get this mess sorted out by October.”

“Until then, I’m going to keep doing what I do best: walking aimlessly down the dark hallways of Buffalo’s true source for cutting-edge news looking hopelessly for my pants.”

By Frank Brutus

A red-faced Chris Collins, vowing “This isn’t over yet,” pledged to rush a tax increase proposal  to the Legislature in a last-minute attempt to maintain Erie County’s hold on its claim to being the highest taxed county in New York State.  This week, New York City will enact a local tax rate that is slightly higher than Erie County’s 8.75%.

Collins: Doesn't like the smell of #2.

“We’re not just going to sit by and do nothing,” said the clearly flustered County Executive, reached by phone at his vacation resort in Kuala Lampur.  “Losing this distinction would cost our taxpayers both pride and money.  I definitely don’t want to have to pay the highway crews overtime to change all the signs.”

Last year, Collns had signs installed at twenty locations throughout Western New York that proclaim “Welcome to Erie County: We’re #1 in NYS (in County Sales Tax Rates)!”

“I’m thinking about going for 10% just to give our comptroller a little breathing room,” said Collins.  “I think people in this area don’t realize the prestige that comes from having a high tax rate.”

Collins explained that higher taxes are positively linked to more tourism, increased consumer spending and better sexual performance.

“In polls, people always say they want lower taxes but in reality a high tax rate subconsciously means “added value” to most consumers.  Would you buy a brand new car seat for your baby for $1.00?  Of course not.  The higher cost indicates better quality and dependability.  That’s why we need to attract more consumers to Erie County by enacting a 10% local tax rate.”

Collins says that his “Six Sigma” business plan is built on a foundation of being #1 in as many statistical categories as possible.  “Crime, taxes, poverty.  It doesn’t matter what category or social stigma.  It just matters that we’re #1.”

By Larry Flesler

Gardening has been a hobby of mine for years and I never miss Buffalo’s Garden Walk.

My good friend Van and I made a day of it Saturday.  We grabbed a map of the gardens to view and stopped at Cole’s to plan our walk. We ended up staying at Cole’s for an hour and a half as Van insisted on having a steak smothered with mushrooms and onions. We both had four Dirty Martinis each and eventually made our way out the door.

We walked down Allen towards Elmwood, headed South on Elmwood and caught up with a few nice looking dames. We asked if we could join them on the walk and they obliged. They introduced themselves as Betty and Marge. Van whispered to me that I could have Betty as she was a “3-bagger.”  Van had his eye on Marge and her “nice caboose.”

Betty had the body of a pipe cleaner and was missing an eyebrow but had a nice easy way to her and we got along swimmingly.

We approached our first house and wandered into the back yard. We were amazed at the tiger lilies and sunflowers and the 14″ Koi fish in the pond were awe inspiring.

Van acted a bit unusual.

He was slurring his words and pawing at Marge like she was the last broad alive. He tried to wrap his arms around her, missed completely and fell backwards into the Koi pond. His head banged off an iron bench on the way down and he was bleeding like a stuck pig. Marge and Betty tended to him as I went looking for some help. I knocked on the back door looking for a towel.  A large man answered and was gracious enough to get a towel and some bandages.

The homeowner approached Van (he was still in the pond pretending to do the back stroke). Van asked if he had a towel and if he could use the commode.  Stan the homeowner was really nice about the situation, recognized Van and invited him into the house to get himself together. Van was finally able to get out of the pond and dashed towards the back door, yelling “Outta my way, I’m crowning!”

Marge, Van and Stan went inside while Betty and I continued to enjoy the garden.

About 45 minutes went by when I went inside to see how they were doing. I heard some moaning coming from a room near the kitchen and assumed it was Van being tended to.  I turned the corner and was  surprised to see Stan, Van and Marge sitting on the floor buck-naked, massaging each others feet.

Van, who was clutching one of the Koi, slapped Stan across the face with it and shouted, “Easy on the hammer toe, Stanley.”

I decided it was a good time to go. I fetched Betty and we made our way to the next Garden.

By Ronn Chesmonde

Retired congressman Jack Quinn once referred to him lovingly as ‘Buffalo’s own mentally-retarded audio Al Qaeda.”  Deputy Mayor Steve Casey wonders if he is aware that there appears to be a dead squirrel on his head.

Bauerle: So sexy his listeners wear condoms.

Whether you love him (as his three listeners profess regularly when they call in to his WBEN morning program), hate him (even card-carrying members of the Ku Klux Klan reportedly keep their distance) or have never even heard of him, no one in Western New York can deny that Tom Bauerly is one sexy homophobe.

And WBEN Station Manager Pat Prince tells me that he gets letters every week from elderly, widowed women and transgendered teenagers who both want to know the answer to the same question: ‘Tom, how do you stay so sexy?’

The secret, says Bauerle, is simple.  “I trim both my nose and rectal hairs before each show,” says the controversial talk-show host, who uses a special custom-made trimming tool with handle made from the inlaid skull of a deceased ACLU lawyer (a gift from his proctologist).  “I always do the nose hair first, of course.”

Bauerle has made a career out of launching myopic attacks against any and all Erie County residents he deems to be both “smarter and/or more intelligent than me.”  And that means in the thriving AM radio market that is Western New York he has more than 1 million targets to choose from on a daily basis.

“But I pride myself on the fact that I only go after the weasels in this town,” said Bauerle, who regularly reminds listeners that his ancestors helped to build the first transcontinental urinal, which was constructed in 1878 but razed four years later after federal funding ran out.  “That, to me, is when America began it’s steep downhill descent,” says the host, still embittered over one hundred and thirty years later.  “This is the United States of America.  A man should be able to urinate anywhere he wants to.”

Bauerle claims that his routine of bringing “sexy” to the AM dial starts the same each day.

“I usually have a complete stranger in Ellicott Creek Park explain to me a sampling of the hot news stories that appear in the morning paper,” says Bauerle.  “And then I think to myself ‘What would Jesus do if he was listening to, for example, some moron spout on about universal health care?’  I’ll tell you what He would do: He would hang up on them.  Because even Jesus wouldn’t pay for the exorbitant health care costs that lazy people across this country are running up on the tab of hard working Americans like you and me.”

Bauerle attributes his AM radio sex-symbol status to the grooming habits that he learned while working as a rest room attendant in a Thailand sex shop when he was a teenager.  “I’ll let you in on a little secret I learned in that profession,” says the radio host in his most commanding voice.  “If you want tips in a sex shop men’s room, you’re hair had better look good enough to eat off of.  And I’m not just talking about this golden-brown crown upstairs, either,” he says, pointing to his head.  “You have to meticulously edge the lawn that grows in the basement, too.”

Bauerle dismisses the annual results of Artvoice’s “Face For Radio” poll, which he has been won in a landslide for the past five years.  “Polls don’t mean anything to me,” he claims.  “I go with my gut.  And my gut says that there are plenty of other radio guys who brought the “sexy” every day to the AM dial long before I got here.  Cronkite. Harvey.  Art Wander.  Those were the sexy giants whose silky smooth shoulders I’ve stood upon.”

Bauerle takes a slow sip from his Starbucks non-fat latte, cinnamon powder sprinkled gently over a dollop of whipped cream.  “Me? I’m just happy when my ‘infield’ is properly groomed and I have a caller to cut off or hang up on.”

By Larry Flesler

I had packed up everything at the cottage and was looking forward to heading back across the Peace Bridge this weekend.

Stu and Wadi were kind enough to stick around and help me clean the cottage and get things in order for the next renter. They were good sports although I ended up doing most of the heavy lifting. After finishing off the last bottle of Dewar’s we started to pack things up. Wadi mentioned he liked my wardrobe and kept trying on my clothes as I tried to get them in the suitcase. I was taken aback as he is about eighty pounds heavier and five inches taller than me and my clothes were being stretched beyond there limits. Stu was frustrated as well and they started yapping back and forth.

I let them be and got things organized in my Buick 5th Avenue.

I was piling things in my trunk but was distracted by the arguing coming from the cottage as it was very loud. I was afraid they would start a fight so I went back in. Stu and Wadi, both clad in only their unmentionables, were kicking and slapping each other like a couple of schoolgirls.

Things escalated quickly when Stu grabbed a small coffee table and threw it at Wadi, striking him flush on the forehead and dropping him like a bag of wet cement.  Stu then snapped a leg off the table and beat him like he was a baby seal all the while screaming, “Leave me alone, you gelatinous ball of crap!”

Wadi then grabbed Stu by the ankle and started biting him. He reached up trying to gain his feet but only managed to tear a gaping hole in Stu’s boxers. Stu’s coin purse was now in full view as he kept throwing open hand slaps in the direction of Wadi. He called himself the angry windmill of death.

Stu was so gassed that he collapsed on top of Wadi and began weeping.

My patience had worn thin so I peeled off my badly stretched speedos, my sock garter belts and my smoking jacket from Wadi, hopped in my Buick and sped off.

I made it home just in time to watch a Matlock marathon.

It’s good to be home.

To Tell The Truth

By Caroline Hack

My sister shot a guy in Lubbock and needs to relocate.  She called me from the lap of a strip joint bouncer to ask for advice.  My first thought was that I could cut my rent in half if I let her stay with me.  I did a quick survey of my current pad and remembered that I am living in a storage unit in the Pierce Arrow building.  It’s nice:  8 x 10, chain link walls, sparsly decorated with some cardboard boxes and three table legs.  Not really enough space for a roommate, especially not my sister.  The last time we were in a confined space together (the city of New Orleans) she stabbed me with a car antenna and I bit off two of her toes.

So I told her I had scarlet fever.

She kept yammering on, in a really urgent way, asking about Buffalo. Is it a good place to live?  Do I like it here?  Are there helmet laws?  How long for welfare to come in?

I could feel the anger burn inside and I wasn’t sure why.  Usually I hate her because I envy her position in life, and while I’ve always wanted to shoot a guy, this wasn’t the cause for my current state of blinding rage.  No, it was deeper than that.  I told her my pancreas was bothering me and got off the phone.

I went to my favorite place to think: a beer and pot induced haze and contemplated the reason I despised - if not my sister - then at least the conversation I had with her.  It came to me three days later as I emerged from a blackout in somebody’s car:  I honestly don’t know how to answer people when they ask about life in Buffalo.  My ego wants to tell people all of the great things about the city, but that always feels like I’m covering for one of my mother’s drunken episodes.

So I decided to try something I haven’t tried since I answered an emphatic “Yes” to the question “Do you want to try some of this?” in grade 6-dropout: Honesty.

So sis, here are some of the great things about Buffalo.

If you want to enjoy the company of black people, go to the East side.  If you prefer Hispanics, go to the West side.  If you want to stay away from educated white people, don’t go near Elmwood, but if you don’t mind dirty, smelly, educated white people, you can go up to University Heights.  For all other white people, go to Riverside and Black Rock.  These are self loathing areas that help you to feel good about yourself.  If you want to feel like your social status is lower than angry drunk people, go to South Buffalo.  Those folks think their particular brand of alcoholic underachievement is better than everybody elses.

If you have a learning disability, moderately off-putting social skills, and are bad at math, you are welcome to join the local political scene.

If you like to judge these people from a safe distance, move to one of the bordering suburbs.  Cheektowaga is nice if you like traffic, strip malls and bad family restaurants.  You’ll love Amherst if you like to watch black people pulled over for driving,  and in Williamsville even the teenagers wiping your car down after a car wash exude an air of superiority (plus they dress better than you).  Hit Clarence if you want to ignore the fact that the City exists, with the exception of HSBC arena twice a year and Shea’s at Christmas time.

Oh, I could go on and on.

Including things like the parks and architecture, nice summers, pretty winters, blah blah blah, seems like such a feeble attempt.  Every other city in the country has that stuff too.  So whatever.

The fact of the matter is that I can’t tell you what keeps me here except for the few friends I still have and the familiarity of my favorite spots.  Some of the reason I can’t tell you is that I can’t really put it into words.  I just feel like I belong here.  And I’m not sure what that says about me.

Davis, pooing his pants in innocence.

Common Council member tries to sell dead bodies to clear his name.

By Hardy Astrom

Tuesday night, Brian Davis thought that his computer had frozen, shut it off and went to bed.  When he was unable to get into his eBay account Wednesday morning, he was ready to call the computer auction giant and file a complaint.  When FBI agents crashed through his front door and pinned his chest to the shag carpet that covers his bedroom, he soiled himself, then silently wept, according to FBI reports.  It’s not been a good week for Davis, as financial mismanagement accusations gain steam and his political future is looking more and more bleak.

According to federal officials, Davis’ computer was seized after items he had up for auction on eBay were reported as fraudulent.  Ebay received enough complaints to contact local law enforcement, who quickly turned the case over to the FBI.  Davis, whose eBay username is ‘BiggMember’, was selling local ‘artifacts’ to the highest bidder.  FBI Internet Fraud Agent Rocco Distillo spoke to reporters and explained his department’s interest in Davis.

“We were called in to investigate sales that were reported as fraudulent and after collecting evidence felt we had enough to bring Mr. Davis in for questioning.”

Distillo said that several items for auction raised a red flag for investigators:  ”There was the “Commemorative Piece of Memorial Auditorium,” Distillo said, “which was simply a rock in a box, a ’Whammy Weenie’, which promised a ‘fan favorite for fending off football foes,” but was simply a dried hot dog painted green, and ‘O.J’s Ugly Ass Shoes.’  Those were just a pair of Bruno Maglis knockoffs.  Well worn.”   Distillo said the most trasparent item was listed as “Michael Jackson’s Glove,” in which the winning bidder was delivered a blue and red mitten.  “This guy is just lazy,” Distillo said.

The most disturbing auction was for “Spare Parts, many.”  Pictures were included and directions were provided to what ’BiggMember’ called his ’showroom.’  Potential buyers were told they could ‘look around and take what you need.’  Investigators were shocked with what they found.  “Mr. Davis provided directions to the Buffalo Science Museum.” Distillo said.  “The spare parts were human, to be taken from the Body Worlds exhibit.”

Davis’ mother posted $40,000 bail.  Leaving the holding center with her son, she issued this statement.  “My son would never do the things he is accused of.  He is not a thief.  This is the man that tried to help start an upscale restaurant for poor people.  He donates most of his paycheck to his kids and other folks who need it.  I see it on his check every week.  He garnishees lots of money to folks.  My son is a good boy.”

Davis’ lawyer issued a statement on Facebook last week saying that Davis was nearly out of personal debt.  Ronald Churchill esq. posted his status as, “Glad that Bri Guy thought to charge $5 handling fee for each petition he collected for Byron.  Can now get Sabres season tix!!!”  Davis did not return phone calls.

By Ronn Chesmonde

Can you smell the excitement?

The organizers of this year’s Italian Festival have pulled out all the stops to ensure that every visitor to the area’s largest gathering of pure testosterone will feel like they have stepped out of Western New York and right into a steaming pile of “Little Italy,” located conveniently right in North Buffalo.  Here are some of the highlights that the organizers have painstakingly planned for months:

Mount Vesuvius: A reproduction of Italy’s famous volcano, this smaller (but topographically accurate) scale model will erupt hourly at the Festival, spewing cheap cologne and sexual pheromones from its top.  Ten lucky guests will be covered each day in actual boiling magma and hot lava in a chilling display of what the residents of Pompeii endured over 1000 years ago.  The kids won’t miss the absence of the carnival rides when they see a 100% real person covered in molten flames!

Fascist Funny Hour: Each day at 2pm, watch the original ‘Axis of Evil’ leaders as they participate in a hilarious and unpredictable stand-up-comedy performance called ‘Victory Over America: What If World War II Was Won By Us Instead?’ The performance, which will change daily, features local Italian-American actors impersonating Benito Mussolini, Adolf Hitler and that whacky emperor from Japan whose name no one can ever remember.  Stick around for the exciting conclusion when a random festival-goer is robbed and beaten to within an inch of his life as a stark reminder to everybody in America that our rule of law should never be taken for granted!

Garbage-Throwing Competition: Throughout the festival, organizers will encourage guests to hurl their garbage in any direction they choose.  The person who throws his refuse farthest will receive a free canoli from Sorrento Cheese, the Festival sponsor.  This competition honors the Sicilian Sanitation Worker strike that began in 1542 and continues to this day.  Sicily’s response to the strike?  Just throw your garbage from your second-floor window onto the streets below.  When it’s not in your house, it’s not your problem.  Last year’s winner, Angelo Collisemo from Lancaster, threw a left-over plate of fettucine alfredo over 60 yards before it landed on his wife’s face!

Organized Crime Hall Of Fame: It’s always crowded at the ever-popular “Organized Crime, Disorganized Prosecutors” tent where you might even catch a glimpse of some of the many Western New Yorkers with Italian roots who have made their living by shaking down store-keepers, tavern-owners and service-providers with threats, violence and murder.  But thanks to the hapless work of underpaid, moronic prosecutors, most of them have enjoyed little or no legal consequences.  Congratulations, #1 Pizza Family In America!

Miss Italian Festival 2009: Organizers have tweaked the requirements for this event after last year’s winner was seen kissing a man at the Festival who was clearly not an Italian American.  So in order to preserve as much ethnic and DNA heritage as possible, all Miss Italian Festival 2009 contestants must sign a legally-binding agreement, written by their Aunt Janene, that they will NEVER, EVER embarrass their parents, grandparents and great-grandparents (may they rest in peace) by being seen in the company of any minority, Irish or Polish man from now until the time of their eternal rest in Heaven.  So help them God.  Why didn’t that girl last year kiss Sal DeNisco instead of that melangia she was whoring herself out to?  Salvatore is such a nice young man.  And his mother says that he’s going to be a doctor.  Such a bright future!