Uh-oh, it's . . .
The Boston Market Story
Out of control spy satellite plummets toward Hackensack
By JAMES YOOTOOB
PARAMUS, N.J. (Special to the North Jersey Media Grope) -- The U.S. government today ordered an immediate evacuation of the Boston Market parking lot in Hackensack as a large U.S. spy satellite plummeted towards Earth. Although the Defense Department declined to comment on what exactly was in the spy satellite, unnamed sources, speaking on condition that they not be named -- not that they didn't have names, which they did, two of them in fact, a first and a last name, unlike certain Afghan sources who only have one name, such as Habibullah, to not disclose -- told the Bergen Record of Northern New Jersey and Its Surrounding Environs that the satellite's highly sensitive cameras contained pictures of Britney Spears running over Kevin Federline's foot outside a Los Angeles courthouse. A spokesman for NASA denied this, but the highly sensitive cameras refused to take any more pictures until the spokesman apologized, and several teams of tabloid reporters were seen en route to Hackensack carrying large butterfly nets.
NASA also denied rumors that a rogue numismatologist and award winning headline writer had hijacked the spy satellite in an attempt to reach the International Space Station Boston Market before a coupon good for two dollars off on a dehydrated rotisserie chicken dinner with an extra cornbread pill expired. "That's the last time I clip a coupon out of the Daily Planet," the rogue numismatologist and award winning headline writer, Edwin P. Reiter, was heard to mutter by one of the guards he bopped on the head with a Dunkin' Donuts tip cup before climbing into the spy satellite.
Reiter was also being sought by French police for causing the collapse of that nation's most prestigious bank, the Societe General Charles "Ken" DeGaulle, by printing hundreds of thousands of coupons offering two francs off with an investment in a toaster. Tens of thousands of angry investors stormed the bank's central office last week when they learned that the bonus was actually a pair of bobblehead dolls of Franc Scandali and Franc Burgoo, the editors of Le Figaro Figaro Figaro Figaro newspaper newspaper newspaper newspaper, and not the pair of bancnotes they were expecting.
If the runaway spy satellite were to crash in the Boston Market parking lot, Robert "Ken" Zipf of the North Jersey Satellite Observers pointed out, it could punch a hole several feet wide and 42 miles deep, where a sea of oil is believed to be running beneath Hackensack.
In that case, "There will be blood," said Sweeney "Ken" Todd, the demon barber of Lodi, who added that it would be a good idea for the hungry copy editors at the Bergen Record of Northern New Jersey and its Surrounding Environs to consider sending out for Mexican or Indian food, at least until the runaway spy satellite issue was resolved.
NASA, meanwhile, was scrambling an interceptor mission with the World War II era Space Shuttle Linguini, which had just returned from rescuing Renata Frittata (photo right), a former Boston Market manager who stowed away on a recent mission to Mars and missed her return flight because she lost track of time while shopping at the annual Red Planet ShopRite's Man Man sale. The rescue mission was successful, but due to a close encounter with an asteroid the Linguini was slightly al dente upon its return. Pilot Gabriel Voorhis told authorities that the giant space rock appeared to be suffering from asteroid rage when it struck the Linguini.
The scrambled mission was delayed, however, while Voorhis' mother, Linda, finished scrambling his eggs, reminding NASA officials that breakfast was the most important meal of the day.
"Why don't you use a different pilot?" the recently rescued Ms. Frittata asked NASA chief flight officer Brian Casey-Byrne.
"Because Gabriel is a Top Gub," Casey-Byrne replied.
"Don't you mean a Top Gun," Renata said.
"That's what I said, a Top Gub."
"In that case," Renata said, "give me all your money, because I'm pointing a gub at you."
"You're pointing a what?" Casey-Byrne said.
"I said I'm pointing a gub," Renata said.
"Okay," Casey-Byrne said, but just as he reached for his wallet, there was a loud thud, and all that remained where Frittata had been was a hole in the ground about seven feet wide and 42 miles deep.
Moments later, a slightly disoriented rogue numismatologist and award winning headline writer climbed out of the hole, shook off several gallons of light sweet crude, and looked at Casey-Byrne.
"I've struck oil!" He exclaimed.
"Au contraire," Casey-Byrne said. "I think you've struck Renata."
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Chickie says, How many Patriots does it take to screw up a Super Bowl?*