Tomato Family Growing Feral Farmers

It was discovered on 5:55 AM Friday morning that a large crop operation on the edge of Hamsterdam Hill was not growing the usual variety of wheat, barley, or corn, but was in fact growing human farmers, who allegedly emerged from pods resembling giant snap peas. The farmers, wet and confused, have been stumbling into town, alarming residents.

“I found one diggin’ in my trash last night. Sames as all the others that came round here. White beard, trucker hat, and riled up as all hell,” remarked local hole examiner Laura McJorgensen, 41. “He was goin’ at it with my terrier, Jasper. They were both barin’ their teeth, growling and all that. Didn’t even bat an eye at the broom, had to bring out the hose on ‘em.”

Locals have been calling on the proprietor of the farm to control its crops, an effort that has failed so far. Some speculate it is because the owners of the farm are giant, sentient tomatoes.

Momma Tomato, as she is known around town, is often seen squeezing into a pickup truck after running errands at various shops. None seem to know how the limbless vegetable operates the motor vehicle, but theories abound.

“I think its mind control. Why, these tomatoes can grow farmers, certainly they’ve mastered a wheel, you know? BAH! Away! Dammit these fellers are frisky!” Said local hog washer Larry Lemon, 31, as he batted away a vicious, feral farmer with a rake.

Not all residents hate the tomato family’s mangy offspring. “You know what, I think they’re kind of cute,” remarked local paint taster Barbara Fartblocker, 61. “I don’t mind ‘em, honestly. If I have a little lasagna leftover, I’ll leave it on the back porch, and I’ll see ‘em come a runnin’ on all fours. I know I shouldn’t, but hey they gotta eat too, poor little rascals.”

Child Upset at Being Taken To Old-Timey Toy Shop

Tommy, 9, was first quite pleased at the news that he was going to be taken to a toy shop and that he could pick out any toy of his choosing, after having gotten a 96% on his spelling test. Things took a turn, however, once he saw the shop itself.

“Where are the video games?,” gasped Tommy, after running around looking at the charming shelves full of books, stuffed animals, and board games, “Puzzles? Seriously? I mean I wanted a toy, but not like this. Not like this.”

The Wooden Toy, owned by proprietor Fanny Greenbaum, 74, has been providing outdated toys to the community for years. “Most of our customers are desperate uncles who wander in, sweating, and only have a few minutes to find something for a niece or nephew they haven’t seen in years. The child, who is invariably expecting a normal, modern toy, will instead get one of my handcrafted, one-of-a-kind pieces and hate it. We don’t do returns,” noted Fanny, while smiling malevolently.

Godzilla Emerges, then Decides Destroying Town "Not Worth the Energy"

At 6:07AM Monday morning Ham Hill Police began receiving reports that the 7,000 year old reptilian monster had emerged from its volcanic lair in Mount Hamsterdam, before simply looking around, sighing, and returning to its slumber.

“It emerged all triumphant-like, it did that scream thing it does, but after it looked around, it seemed to re-appraise the whole decision,” said Edna Rabble, 45. “Been there on a Monday, am I right or am I right?,” said Edna, while elbowing the air playfully. “Also, it seemed to be upset with all the trash on its mountain.”

Mount Hamsterdam has become the informal center of Hamsterdam Hill’s trash processing efforts in recent years, as major cuts by Mayor Harrington to town services have meant local businesses has popped up offering to “Melt Your Trash!” by dragging it up the mountain face and tossing it in the active volcano. Often times the trash disposers tire of their task and simply leave the rotting bags strewn about the mountain.

“Sometimes I’m just like, dayum, this mountain is real big, you know? And I just leave the trash on the side. You get it close enough to the crater, it will melt anyway, just from the heat and all that. I will tell you the smell up there, wooooo doggy,” exclaimed local ‘Melt Your Trash’ purveyor Stan Porkslap, 31, referring to noxious gray cloud the many half melted bags have left around the mouth of the volcano, “I’m not surprised that big lizard critter gave up after smelling that. I guess we’re kind of all heroes then, right? If our trash did made him reconsider? I’m gonna tell my grandkids about this someday.”

Mayor Harrington Says "All Citizens May Vote, As Long As They Are Me"

In a sweeping announcement on the eve of the mayoral elections, Mayor Harrington has utilized the grand powers of his office to make some questionable changes to the eligibility of voters.

“It’s quite simple. I’ve realized that when people are not me, they may not vote for me. I have control over my own limbs, see?” observed the mayor, as he demonstrated by swinging his arms and legs about.

“But take Lewis over here, the poor simpleton, he can, regrettably, move his own feet and hands about in whatever manner he pleases, perhaps even casting a vote for my opponent,” Mayor Harrington noted, while pointing to a confused townsperson standing nearby, “I have no dominion over his muscles and sinews. This is why we must ensure that all citizens can vote, but only as long as those citizens are me.”

The latest voting rules changes are consistent with the increasingly bizarre tactics used by the mayor throughout his 12 year term. In one particularly memorable instance, the mayor released dozens of cats tied to tiny helicopters to scare voters away from the polls.

“Those cats were not happy to be helicopters, I will tell you that much,” remembered Barry Pudlip, 33, “I was just about to cast my ballot when several of the cat-copters descended on my head, hissing and clawing at my scalp. I remember seeing the Mayor in the distance, smiling with glee as he manipulated some sort of remote control device. But it was still better than the previous election, I will say that.”

The most controversial of Mayor Harrington’s election time obstacles came in 2012 when he constructed elaborate and dangerous mazes to each polling location.

“So I get through the damn maze, dodging swinging axes and hidden spike traps beneath, and then there’s a dragon at the end,” remarked local egg sniffer Donna Wrapper, 51, “I sighed, then grabbed the sword nearby and smote the beast, but still. Where did he get dragons? I was fairly sure those weren’t real, but you tell that to the burn scars on my feet.”

Chum's Boiled Stew Shop Closes "Due to Economy, Definitely Not the Taste"

Longtime boiled stew shopowner Chum Ackley, 62, has been forced to fire his only employee as his sales have dropped precipitously in recent months.

“I’m only selling 1 or 2 Boiled Stew Specials a month now. That’s down from almost once a week before that. I had to lay off ole Dorothy here,” Ackley lamented, pointing at his 11 year old bloodhound. “I don’t pay her, technically, but I’m going to have to cut down on the treats.”

Chum’s Boiled Stew shop is well known for being that one store in town that never looks open.

“You can go in there? I had no idea,” observed local car licker Rub Mittens, 31, “I assumed they were out of business. I was actually in the mood for stew one day but this giant dog barked at me a lot when I got close to the store, and it looked like some guy was peering at me through the blinds. Not a great vibe.”

After many interviews were conducted, only one resident could even remember eating Chum’s stew.

“You know what, I did get stew there once. It was 1973, I remember because my sweetheart was just back from the war. We were so giddy, we wandered into this strange shop and ordered two stews. I’ve never had anything so gray in my life. The meat in it was gray, the broth was gray, even the vegetables were gray. If I had to describe the taste, it would be ‘gray’,” noted local otter cleaner Pam Jerrywinkle, 68.

Chum insists it is market forces, rather than his recipe, affecting sales.

“It’s these damn taxes. The soup is still great, see?,'“ Chum lifted up a spoon full of grey sludge and slurped, before recoiling horribly.

“Gah! I should have tasted this more often. Haven’t tasted the stew since ‘86.”

Gunshots Heard in Cotton Candy Field Dispute

The Hamsterdam Hill police were called early wednesday morning when gunshots rang out in the latest battle over cotton candy fields in North Ham Hill. The disputes center around Stinky Johnson, 51, and Radna Grapple, 62, who both claim rights to the highly lucrative confectionary shrubs.

“That cotton candy field has been in my family for generations, I don’t know where Radna gets the nerve. Gramps would send me out there, 3, 4AM to go harvest it. I’d come back a few hours later, my hands all sticky, dozens of flies stuck to various parts of my body. Are the Grapples trying to pretend that my childhood didn’t exist?” yelled an irate Johnson, as he swatted away dozens of flies, hungry for the sweet, air-filled candy that covered his overalls.

“That cotton candy is mine. I planted those shrubs from just a baby cotton candy seed just last week. You know a cotton candy seed when you see one because its bright blue and pink. Everyone says the blue flavor is blue raspberry but I’ll end the controversy now, all the colors are the same flavor. That’s the kind of things you know from managing a cotton candy field all your life. Shoo! Shoo!” boasted Grapple, as she batted away hundreds of eager flies.

Hamsterdam Hill contains some of the only soil in the world suitable for cotton candy to grow, as it is 56% sugar. The fields are worth millions, as cotton candy is the second most popular food in Hamsterdam Hill, after pizza hamburgers, the longtime favorite. Both families have been harvesting the rare plants for decades, with scuffles breaking out every few years. While no one was injured, the latest confrontation left several cotton candy plants smoldering, destroyed from dueling shotgun blasts.

“It tastes like s’mores, kinda,” observed Dolly Grapple, 8, grandson of Radna, as she tore off a gooey, charred chunk from a nearby shrub.

Local Kraken Insists it "Is Only Trying to Give Hugs"

A 4,000 year old octopus-like sea monster, who resides in Ham Hill Bay, insists that it is vastly misunderstood, and is not at all trying to sink ships.

“I really am very friendly,” insisted the ancient, massive creature, “when I flail my tentacles across the bow of a ship and snatch up sailors, I am merely cuddling them, like you tiny humans would do to a puppy, or a baby. I never drag them to the inky depths below, as those tales of legend would have you believe.”

Sailors around Ham Hill Bay have for millennia have described an octopus, perhaps 50 feet in length, that could wreck entire ships with its massive tentacles. But the creature, who insists on being called “Ralph”, has been clear that this is not his handiwork.

“There’s definitely some bad eggs down there, don’t get me wrong,” mentioned Ralph, when referring to its Kraken counterparts, “I got this buddy who I won’t name, but he’s been known to have one too many on a Friday and sink a ship or two. But that’s not me, not at all.. In fact, I saved a swimmer last month who swam out too far, and started to drown. I plucked him out of the sea and returned him to the beach. Unfortunately, I don’t think the swimmer knew I was helping, as he did pass out in my tentacle, before soiling himself.”

Haunted Radio Station Only Plays Sounds of People Eating

An old, derelict radio station up in the hills near Mount Hamsterdam has been exclusively playing sounds of people eating, nonstop, for the past two years, despite having no staff since 1996.

The strange broadcasts have divided opinion in the town.

“Sonically, it’s a masterpiece,” raved local music critic Rain Sanders, 31. “Sometimes the people will mutter about what they’re eating. Those moments in particular, really soar. The punctuation of ‘ooh, that’s good steak’ in the middle of 43 minutes of breathing and mastication really sets the compositions apart from the mainstream drivel you hear on non-haunted radio stations.”

The eating sounds are remarkably varied, with a decent mix of slurping, chewing, mashing, and smacking. There is even a fair number of burps and satisfied sighs thrown in.

“I just wait for the farts. You don’t see them coming but then bang! Fart o’ clock. I’ll sit by the radio for two days just for one, good fart,” raved local boot kisser Harley Face, 21.

Some angry residents have banded together to protest the radio station, with some particularly angry residents adamant that the station be destroyed.

“People used to listen to ME chew!,” complained local garbage polisher Dopey Pie, 58, “I used to charge $3 a head, twice a week. I’d have people coming from two towns over. They’d ask me ‘what are ya eatin’ tonight, Dopey?’ I was a star! Not anymore, though. Now these damned ghosts are givin’ it away for free.”

Spikeball Legend Says New Players "Should Cry More"

The most prolific Spikeball player in the history of Hamsterdam Hill has retired at the tender age of 72.

“Game isn’t what it once was. I see these younger players playing with gloves. Defeats the whole purpose! Your hands should be a bloody pulp at the end of a game,” yelled Zebediah Nobbins, 72, “You should have wet yourself at by the end, if you’re playing right. Now you have some players merely whimpering, some don’t even cry! Poppycock.”

Spikeball is the longtime top sport in Hamsterdam Hill, involving a large, metal ball with spikes that is tossed from player to player until one player is left standing. Nobbins has been the undisputed top champion for 50 years. Many argue it is because he has two metal hands.

“He doesn’t even bleed!” argued longtime runner up Bobley Wrinklestein, 76, “You simply can’t have a spikeball match without blood. It’s like eating a pizza without cheese, or a watermelon without sour cream.”

Spikeball was invented by local youths in 1952 after they came upon a massive, discarded surplus of discarded metal, spiked balls in the woods, allegedly part of a failed US army weapons program. Since then, it has taken off in Hamsterdam Hill, its popularity unsurpassed by the more mainstream American sports.

“Where’s the screaming? That’s what I always ask whenever my husband puts on a basketball match,” complained local door massager Norah Dinklehose, 34, “Also, there’s hardly any players crying out for their mother, or doubled over in unspeakable pain. Many of the basketballers just walk off the court at the end, instead of being escorted to the emergency room! I just don’t see the appeal.”

Hunt for Cheese Boy Enters Second Week

Ham Hill Police have asked residents to help with the search for the Cheese Boy, also known as Trevor Doom, 12. He is the “son” of local mad scientist Abner Doom, 69.

“Well I mean technically he is not my son, he is a boy-shaped piece of cheese I brought to life. But I love him as if he was my boy. You best watch yourselves when searching though, as he is vicious,” stated the mysterious scientist, who created the boy from an amalgam of cheddar, gouda, and gruyere about 12 years back. “People say he’s a monster, and honestly they’re not wrong. I think I went with a bit too much lightning when I yanked his cheese body into consciousness. But wow, did he smell great. Like a fresh baked pizza.”

The Cheese Boy is not to be approached, as he has already assaulted several curious searchers.

“I was on my back porch, and I heard something growling. Sure enough, it was that Cheese Boy. He had Mr. Pickles in his mouth!” cried local pole cleaner Sven Forp, 42, referring to his chihuahua. “I ran at the Boy with a broom, yelling at him to drop Mr. Pickles. He finally did, but not before hissing at me, and nearly swallowing my precious pooch. There There, Mr. Pickles, you’re all right.” Forp appeared to be washing cheese-based saliva from the tiny dog.

It is feared that the Cheese Boy is now too feral to be caught, and will join up in the wild with other of Dr. Doom’s escaped creations.

“We’re especially fearful that he may join forces with Ham Girl, and form a delicious, and potentially deadly, crime couple, not unlike Bonnie and Clyde,” noted Police chief Sandy Sandy, 37, chuckling to herself. “Now if we could just find Marble Rye Man, we’d have a pretty good lunch spread going. ….I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”