Let’s Open Up the Weird Wednesday WTF Mailbag, Shall We?

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weirdWhen you’ve spent almost two years writing about the weird (and sometimes wonderful) things in the world, you get a bit of a reputation. And then because of that reputation, people send you emails with suggestions of things to write about.

And suddenly, you’ve become a hoarder of WTF. Your virtual mailbox becomes this thing with a life of its own, and you find yourself faced with a real dilemma — start throwing things away, or come up with a solution.

So this week, we’re going to clear out the old mailbag of weird so I can get to WTF inbox zero for exactly 15 minutes. Ready to read? Let’s go.

Oh God, Why? Why Would You Do This?

Why would you send this to me? Apparently, cockroaches are evolving and may become impossible to kill. Hope you liked your raisin bran this morning.

A Purdue University study found that German cockroaches are now being born (hatched? allowed to breed with impunity? burped from a hell portal?) already immune to toxins that they haven’t even been exposed to yet.

So … that’s a thing now.

You Can Ring My Bell, Part I

Ah, the Ring doorbell, and it’s sister, Nest. Great for avoiding solicitors, catching porch pirates, and well, collecting panty-wearing perps in the act of unscrewing your porch light.

Like, say, this poor homeowner in Wylie, who found just that.  Wylie police soon nabbed the alleged knickers-wearing pilferer, one Michael Jimenez, who was arrested for criminal trespass.

“The events that led up to the incident are currently unknown,” CBS 11 reported.


You Can Ring My Bell, Part II


OK. Let me expand on that. Aw, hell nah.


Just This Guy In a Onesie and Spaghetti

So, this isn’t Florida for once, but Oregon homeowners came home to find a man wearing a woman’s Christmas onesie belonging to the owner, which he took on permanent loan after he also ate a cupcake and made some coffee.

He was allegedly aided and abetted by a co-conspirator — a cat named Spaghetti, who was wearing a shirt.

Not the actual Spaghetti. Presumably.

The homeowners told police when they came home, they noticed some damage, and some items that didn’t belong to them, and found a cat wearing a shirt in the home’s crawl space, Fox 12, the local affiliate, reported.

“Police said the homeowners believed ‘something or someone’ much larger than the cat was also in the crawl space,” the station reported. “Officers arrived and the suspect, 38-year-old Ryan Douglas Bishop, emerged from the crawl space. The woman who lives in the home pointed out that Bishop was wearing her ‘Christmas onesie’ pajamas.”

Apparently, Bishop and Spaghetti broke into the home, had a snack, raided the dryer for something more festive, and then ended up hiding in the crawl space.

Police said the homeowner declined the return of her onesie.


No word on if Spaghetti’s shirt was also hot, however, animal control had to be called to retrieve Spaghetti, who wasn’t goin’ to the clink without a fight.

The Ventosity of Dope

If you’re gonna hide from the cops because you’re doing allegedly bad things, you may want to start taking a good probiotic, and reading up on what makes people gassy.

Learn from this guy’s mistake. He hid from Clay County, Missouri, sheriff’s deputies because he had a warrant out for his arrest (he was wanted for possession of a controlled substance).

“The suspect hid to avoid police, but apparently let out a fart so loudly, it gave up their hiding spot,” Fox 9 reported.

As the great Benjamin Franklin once said (true story, look it up), “He that lives upon Hope, dies farting.”

It was the drug dealer, in the library, with the flatulence. I guess he cut one and ran. I guess he didn’t mean to toot his own horn. Just goes to show, the bowel howels can come at the worst times. The bubble guts really got him. He was a real farticipant in his own downfall. You really don’t want to be hiding from the cops when you fire the stink torpedo, answer the call of the wild burrito, or give the trouser cough.

This story really came roaring from the rear.

I’ll show myself out now.


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Bethany Erickson

Bethany Erickson lives in a 1961 Fox and Jacobs home with her husband, a second-grader, and Conrad Bain the dog. If she won the lottery, she'd by an E. Faye Jones home. She's taken home a few awards for her writing, including a Gold award for Best Series at the 2018 National Association of Real Estate Editors journalism awards, a 2018 Hugh Aynesworth Award for Editorial Opinion from the Dallas Press Club, and a 2019 award from NAREE for a piece linking Medicaid expansion with housing insecurity. She is a member of the Online News Association, the Education Writers Association, the International Academy of Digital Arts and Sciences, and the Society of Professional Journalists. She doesn't like lima beans or the word moist.

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