MJBDiver.com

An extremely rare mega typhoon plowed through Bonzi World and completely destroyed everything on the man-made island, including the amusement park, shopping center and the 79-story Bonzi Tower.

European Weather Service satellite images show that Typhoon Gustavo and Typhoon Henri were both on such identical paths that the two storms merged into a devastating mega typhoon that was more than twice the size of the island and packed winds in excess of 200 miles per hour. So devastating was the storm that it left behind absolutely nothing in its wake.

However, Bonzi World owner and CEO of Bonzi Enterprises Jim Bonzi was quick to dismiss the news of Bonzi World’s demise despite photographs of the storm’s damage along the nearby coastal region of Ochoro. He made the following announcement on Purpel, his social media network:

Beautiful day here at Bonzi World yet the FAKE WEATHER MEDIA wants you to think my island was destroyed by a typhoon? Sad!

Response to Bonzi’s announcement was swift and damning. A sampling of some of the replies:

Dude, your island is GONE. (that’s GONE, as in NOTHING THERE, in case you haven’t figured it out yet.)

Fake weather media? Does that mean there’s no blizzard advisory for South Florida?

Pay no attention to him. He’s been hallucinating after having been smacked in the face from a flying palm tree.

Romping through the Bermuda Triangle again, are we?

Is there harp music playing where you’re at as well?

Attempts were made to reach Jim Bonzi but he remains notoriously difficult to reach for comment. His staff issued a statement indicating their support for Bonzi’s claims although they hinted those claims might be fruitless.

Kevin slowly opened his eyes and found himself lying on the floor in a brightly lit but empty room. His senses were struggling to assess the surroundings after what felt like a drug-induced bout of unconsciousness. Or was it?

“Have a nice nap?” a deep voice from nowhere rang out.

Slowly Kevin regained control of his consciousness and became aware of his location. Then his mood changed from confusion to that of annoyance as he realized where he was.

The mysterious office suite underground beneath the hospital where Kevin worked.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” emanated the voice from a speaker on the wall.

Kevin was confused. “What do you mean?”

“You have a crew working throughout your hospital.”

“Oh yeah,” Kevin smiled. “We’re upgrading our network.”

“You are?” the voice sounded shocked. “Why?”

“Well, we’ve been behind the times for a little too long, so it’s definitely time to upgrade the network to something faster and more reliable.”

“We had an agreement, remember?”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as Kevin struggled to recall just what that agreement was.

“You agreed to never upgrade your network no matter how tempting the newer technology it may be. Does that ring a bell?”

“Oh, right,” Kevin nodded as he remembered that vaguely worded agreement. “But I hadn’t heard from you for a while, so I figured you didn’t need our network anymore.”

“We’ll always need your network!” The voice shouted. “Our work is neverending and our mission will continue indefinitely. Don’t you realize that this is a matter of national security? Of course we need your 100 megabit networking hardware with Cat3 network cables. Our proprietary protocol only works with your antiquated network and for you to upgrade to newer technologies completely defeats the purpose of our mission. You must prevent the upgrade from taking place, or else.”

“Or else what?” Kevin asked, his voice shaking.

“Or else our agreement will be terminated along with yourself.”

Suddenly there was a loud buzzing sound from the speaker that jolted Kevin awake. After quickly examining his surroundings, he realized he was in his office in the Information Systems department of the hospital where he worked. He had been sleeping at his desk and had a most peculiar dream.

Or was it a dream?

Kevin stood up and opened the door to his office. He could hear the excited chatter of the department’s employees as they clearly looked forward to having a faster, better network. One of the employees saw Kevin and smiled.

“Great news, Kevin!” Robert said. “We’re set to switch the first floor to the new network tonight and if all goes well, we can start dismantling the old network tomorrow. Does that sound good or what?”

Kevin didn’t hear a word of what Robert said. In his mind he was struggling to assess his situation and how to resolve it.

They’ll kill me if we go forward with the new network. How do I stop this?

Or was this all just a dream?

What should I do?

Chico stepped on the gas as he turned onto the on ramp leading to I-95, almost tasting the sweetness of victory ahead. Then uncertainty set in as he had no clue who his opponent would be. Would he emerge triumphant with an improved racing record or would he just sink lower to the point of eternal shame? That question would soon be answered tonight.

Chico merged into the light traffic on the interstate and set about searching for his opponent. He flashed his bright lights twice in rapid succession and looked around for a response. No luck. He tried again and the car ahead changed lanes to move out of his way. Not the response he was looking for, but one slightly comical in tone to ease the moment’s tension.

Then he flashed his bright lights again and this time he got a response from one of the cars ahead. Its driver had tapped on the brakes twice to signal an acceptance of Chico’s challenge. The race was set to begin.

As Chico sped up to line his car up with his opponent, he was momentarily startled at the sight of blue flames shooting out of his opponent’s exhaust. No doubt a muscle car. But when he saw just what kind of car his opponent was driving, he began laughing.

His opponent was driving a Ford Pinto, but heavily modified for racing. The engine was so big that a hole had to be cut in the hood and the car rode on larger than usual tires. The bumpers were heavily padded to reduce any chance of explosion. Chico himself was driving a 1980 Datsun 210, also modified for racing. It boasted a powerful engine and some nitro boosters that helped secure his solid racing record that earned him a spot in the semifinals set to begin tonight. This was going to be a good race, if not a close one.

The two opponents nodded at each other in a final gesture of agreement to the race before they began their preparations, both mental and mechanical. The starting point was at the sign indicating the exit for Hillsborough Boulevard and the finish line was the Palm Beach County border. There were some spectators watching the race from the overpass, eager for some illegal excitement.

The exit sign for Hillsborough Boulevard zipped past as the two cars accelerated to begin the race. The other cars had to swerve out of the way of the speeding cars eager for a spot in the finals.

Chico was fully focused on the road ahead but to his annoyance noticed the Pinto was at his side and making no attempts to gain the lead. He was sorely tempted to use his boosters but he always saved them for the last stretch for they made controlling his car extremely difficult. He floored the gas pedal but it did little to gain any lead.

The race was now nearly half over but the two cars were still side by side. Chico began to worry about the race ending in a tie, which would have meant another race to determine the winner. Some racers utilized this strategy to wear down their opponents but Chico just wanted the race over with. His races never ended in a tie thanks to his boosters but he was hoping not to use them.

The sign indicating the upcoming exit for Boca Raton was now visible, marking the home stretch. Chico reluctantly decided to use his boosters and had reached for the button when his opponent suddenly slammed on the brakes and swerved off the road for no apparent reason. Perhaps the opponent conceded early and decided to let Chico win, unless there was a speed trap nearby. Chico quickly scanned the area and saw no patrol cars anywhere. He had won the race.

Then came the overpass where the cheering spectators offered their enthusiastic approval of Chico’s victory. As Chico drove underneath, his car was quickly buried by the $500 in pennies poured from buckets overhead.

This racing business isn’t bad, Chico thought, but the payout system is in dire need of improvement.

The door to the waiting room opened as renowned scientist Ranaan Bargaindeli entered to summon the five men who were waiting to take part in an ambitious experiment. As ordered they had been eating baked beans in preparation for the crucial second and final phase of the experiment.

“Come with me,” Bargaindeli commanded as the men rose from their seats to follow him to a large, darkened room illuminated only by a single overhead light in the middle. Numerous members of the press were present to document the unfolding of this unusual experiment about to take place. The five men stood in line in sideways formation while facing the audience.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Bargaindeli announced, “Here you see five married men. They all claim to be faithful to their wives, but one of them is a cheater. How will we find out, may you ask? Observe.”

Turning to the men, he smiled and said, “Gentlemen.”

The first man stepped forward and strained before letting out a loud fart. He stepped back with an awkward grin. There were whispers of disbelief among the reporters clearly wondering what flatulence had to do with advancing scientific progress.

The second man too stepped forward and farted loudly before stepping back while trying to keep a straight face despite the sound of the fart being humourous to his ears.

The third man had to strain more than the first two men, his face turning red from holding his breath trying to force the expulsion of his intestinal gas. He then leaned forward, put his hands on his knees and took some deep breaths before the gas finally came out with a long, deafening roar that shook the walls of the room. He laughed with an embarrassed grin before stepping back to join the other men.

In one smooth motion, the fourth man stepped forward, let loose a loud ripper before he stepped back. Finally, the fifth man contributed his brief fart before concluding the smelly phase of the experiment.

After several cans of air freshener were sprayed to render the air of the room more breathable for the reporters, Bargaindeli returned to the center of the room to address the audience.

“You may be wondering what flatulence has to do with advancing scientific progress,” he said. “You have just seen and heard from the five married men who say they are loyal to their wives, yet one of them is a cheater. Judging from the farts we just heard, I am guessing our cheater is man number three. Am I correct?”

The third man hung his head and stepped forward, amazed at how he was so identified just by his fart. “Yeah, I cheated on my wife. I work at night and she works during the day so I hardly ever see her anymore, so I started an affair with one my coworkers. But how did you know it was me who was cheating?”

“Simple,” Bargaindeli explained, “When confronted with the harsh reality of cheating, the stress causes all your muscles to tighten, including your rectal muscles, which blocks the expulsion of intestinal gas. When relaxed, however, the high volume of gas is then released through the longer than average flatulence.

“In other words, those who cheat fart longer.”

For his work, Bargaindeli became the 2022 recipient of the Dummbel Prize in Marriage Management.