Dalton Schweneker is packing away his thick gold chains and baggy pants.

Schweneker, a white rapper who goes by the handle, "Double Jelly," said he's growing tired of rap and wants black musicians to invent some new musical style that he could shamelessly lift.

"Yo. Yo. Yo. Here it is. I been rappin' and free-stylin' for 18 and some odd months, know what I'm saying," said Schweneker. "I'm tired, you know. I need somethin' fresh. And my parents want to convert my basement studio into a media room. That's cold. Mom and Dad. Cold."

Schweneker believes black people, who revolutionized blues, jazz, rock and roll, reggae, rap, and, to their detriment, disco, are falling behind in their delivery of new musical trends. Without this infusion of alternative culture, Schweneker is afraid he may start playing blue grass, or take up the cello.

"The ho don't  flow to no Joe strapped up to a cello, ya know," Schweneker begins to rap. "Sorry about that. It's become almost a habit. Like Tourettes."

Schweneker said he was diagnosed with cultural kleptomania last year and he's undergone intense psychiatric therapy.

Jake Mathau, whose long dreadlocks frame his albino-white face and black t-shirt with a map of Africa, wants an updated form of music, as well. Mathau fronts a reggae band, "The Whiners," but says the band is waiting for new direction.

"Then me aks you dis question: how can we be learning new songs if no songs be made by de black folk," said Mathau. "Fo de love of Jah, how many times do I got to be singin' 'I Shot The Sheriif'? We know, we know: it wasn't de deputy for Chrissakes."

Previously Mathau stole blues songs from black musicians in another hopeless attempt to craft an independent identity away from his bland suburban existence. He had claimed that he wrote, "I Believe I'll Dust My Broom," as a junior high school project.

Some black musicians say whites are on their own. Curtis Brents, a black singer songwriter, said he has gone in a different direction.

"They're on their own," said Brents. "I just got a job as a chemical engineer."

Refusing to budge and smiling mindlessly, four polite Huntingdon drivers are now trapped at a four-way stop intersection following a traffic anomaly.

The incident unfolded noon yesterday when four extremely polite people arrived at the intersection at the exact same time. Now, the drivers are all yielding the right-of-way to each other at the same time and refusing to move.

Traffic Control Officer Wanda McCutcheon said it was a worst-case scenario.

"It's what you might call a perfect storm, if you weren't afraid to use a cliche," said McCutcheon. "To get four polite people on the road is one thing, but to get them to arrive from four different directions at one time at a single intersection is a disaster in the making."

The overly-polite motorists are currently just gesturing and signaling permission to each other.

"A lot of nods and finger waves," said McCutcheon. "A couple headlight flicks."

McCutcheon said typically one driver will move no matter what the protocol at a four-way stop is.

"In routine stops at these intersections, the law of averages says you'll have at least one asshole who will dart out in front of the others whether it's his turn or not," said McCutcheon. "This doesn't seem to be the case."

Twenty-three hours after the incident occurred, police said all four vehicles are still trapped at the intersection. Occasionally, one car hops toward freedom, but is quickly stopped when another polite driver hops his car forward, which stops the progress of the other vehicle.

Traffic is backed up to Lewistown.

Samuel K. Jackson, of Mount Union, witnessed the incident.

"It was horrible! Horrible!" said Jackson. "I told my wife, I feel pretty fortunate that I'm an overly-aggressive asshole behind the wheel and she said she'll never yell at me the next time I pass funeral processions in a no-passing zone."

Bill Doots, of Johnstown, remembers the go-go mid-2000's with relish... and mustard... and ketchup.

Doots and his wife Shirley, who collectively tip the scale now at 490 pounds, were in better shape in 2006 when the couple purchased a faux brick colonial McMansion because the twin doors allowed improved access to the home. 

"The money was really flowing from my job as a health club instructor and Shirley had just received a grant to write haikus about cupcakes," said Bill. "The sky was the limit, but the pie was unlimited, we used to say."

Then, the credit crisis hit and Bill lost his job. Soon after, the Doots lost their home. They were tossed to the corner with three cases of Twinkies and an unfinished manuscript full of 5-7-5 syllable free verse about cupcakes.

Forced to spend what little money they had on things like rent and utilities, the weight began to pour off. On their last visit to the doctor, the couple were downgraded to just obese, a far cry from their former grossly overweight status.

It's something Bill is still ashamed of.

"I used to waddle down the street with pride," said Bill. "Now, I just kinda pitch and roll."

Shirley has experienced other blows to her ego.

"Behind my back, I hear my friends snicker," said Shirley. "Did someone say Snickers?"

The couple's fortunes have turned around somewhat. Thanks to the enormous amount of graft in government spending now, Bill's health club was re-classified and investment bank and was awarded money from the TARP program. Shirley's book of cupcake haikus has attracted some interest from publishers, as well.

"I put on eight pounds last week," Bill said with pride.

"I ate a six-by-four piece of flake board," said Shirley with a grin. "Delicious."

He was on his way to a country fair. He never knew he would take an off-ramp to hell.

Tragically-named Dick Dickers, a carnival ride and game-of-chance specialist or carnie, said he was driving to the Huntingdon County Fair on I-99 when he missed his turnoff and was forced to take the Bald Eagle exit.

"I tried to get reoriented at the Snappy's up there in that there Snyder Township," Dickers said. "When I got to the parking lot, I begun a'fearin' for my life, or what's left of it."

Dickers, who wears an eye patch and a prosthetic ear as a result of a Tilt-a-Whirl accident, said he never encountered such freakish-looking people. 

"One lady could have been both the bearded lady and the fat woman," said Dickers. "If she was a woman at all."

Dickers added that as a fat, bearded transvestite she would be what carnival workers consider a "Triple Threat."

As Dickers tried to reorient himself in the township, he became more lost. He entered what some call SFyder Township's "Backwoodsy" section and others refer to as the Forbidden Zone, a swath of land deep in the township known for its rich heritage of impoverished conditions.

"I later came to find out that they call it the Forbidden Zone because no form of deviancy if forbidden," said Dickers. "Oh. Lord the things I seen there. The things I seen!"

Mae Belle Carson, Snyder Township archivist and owner of the Brides For Seven Cousins Invitation and Stationery Shop, said Dickers and his carnival posse are not welcome in the township.

"We're tired of pretty boys like Dickers muddying up our gene pool," said Carson. "He can stay out and so can his gainfully-employed artisans and food booth workers. We don't need such rich folks in our land of not-so-plenty."