By CHRIS PACKHAM
Professional voice of reason Mr. Yael T. Abouhalkah of The Kansas City Star calls for a transfer of cranial heat and the prevailing of cooler, sexier heads with regard to an offensive New Yorker cover. I was all, like, "The New Yorker? What, did John Updike write another precious New England elegy to extramarital blowjobs?"
What do I know? What with my subscriptions to Cat Fancy and Dr. Norman Vincent Peale's Guideposts, I don't have time for The New Yorker.
But a coworker explained that the magazine printed a watery, boring cartoon depicting Barack Obama nailing Jesus Christ to a crucifix made out of your puppy, or some damn thing. I should point out that in a display of bipartisan overreaction, even the McCain campaign denounced it. Everyone's upset. Over a cartoon. Seriously, you guys, I always hated fucking Animaniacs, but I'm not going to heave any bricks through windows. Although, just typing the word Animaniacs started that nightmarish theme song playing in my head.After the jump, some stuff about the Department of Corrections and Bombardier Aerospace. Click here, or on this drawing of a Bombardier-manufactured CRJ-100 flying away from you. Please note that you are crying and wearing a dress:
Out by the river: Probably contrary to whatever the judge's intentions were, most of my court-ordered meetings with Kurt, my parole officer, take place at Caddyshack on Third Street, where he tosses back shots of Dewar's, bitches about his ex-wife and talks about how much tail he gets working his night job as a racial sensitivity trainer for the Power & Light District's security detail. "Shit, man, they's all high-school drop-outs and day-labor hoboes," he says. "Everyone knows it's a reverse-osmosis caucasian filter. The whole trick is teaching those stupid kids to pretend they ain't racist."
I usually pick up the tab. I need to stay on his good side, and back in 2003, Missouri probation and parole officers were wrongly excluded from a cost-of-living pay increase. It took a judge to overturn that decision, but since the Department of Corrections ignored the court order and failed to give the officers their back pay, Kurt's always asking to borrow money and smoking "OP's" -- specifically, my packs of Parliament Lights. But keeping him happy keeps me out of Leavenworth Penitentiary, and if that means I have to play wing-man while he picks up barflies, then I'm gonna suck it up and talk to the fat chick, because I ain't never goin' back.
I hate chess metaphors: The Kansas City Star is asking the question that Tony's Kansas City has been asking for weeks: Was KC a pawn to Bombardier Aerospace? Only, when Tony asked it, it didn't end with a question mark, it wasn't actually phrased as a question, and there were some breasts or something in there. It doesn't take a Kansas City Business Journal, or even a Camp, to know that no Canadian aerospaceplanes were going to be rolling off any imaginary assembly lines out by the airport. Everyone — including babies and Larry Moore — knew it was a long shot, but the Star's Kevin Collison spends 600 words advancing the un-fucking-believable contention that big businesses would never leverage competing bids to maximize an advantage, and Kansas City was therefore a real contender. I used to sell term life insurance to old people, so I've seen some desperately terrifying levels of naivete in my time. But that's like watching a toddler cross a busy highway or something.
Yeah, yeah, I know Bombardier is a Canadian firm, which sort of defacto makes it a "mom-and-pop" operation. But it's also a company so large that when its product-excreting sphincter relaxes, airplanes come out. Unlike Collison, I just sort of assume that the third largest aircraft manufacturer in the world has wind-tunnel-tested proficiency with the wheeling and also with the dealing. The weirdest thing is the article's unstated thesis that somehow, Kansas City's feelings are hurt by Bombardier's decision to remain in Canada, and Kansas City needs the emotional reassurance of quotes from the director of the Missouri Department of Economic Development. So I just want to get out in front of Collison's apparent assumption that I'm a pussy, and say that I haven't been crying into my pillow all week about the aerospace industry.
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Have you ever been subjected to a 2 hour 45 minute flight on a CRJ-100? It's like being thrown through the air in a culvert drainage pipe while you munch on your knees.
As further embarrassment to the city of Kansas City and all who live here, is the growing number of far flung nonstops accessible only on long rides aboard these so-called "regional jets." Food for thought on your next flight from KCI to Philadelphia, Cleveland, Cincinnati, New York (Newark), Salt Lake City, Raleigh-Durham, Washington D.C. (Dulles), Tucson, Jacksonville, Toronto, Pittsburgh, or New Orleans.
It has been many a long night since I've popped my monocle. Oh Wretched Cognition!
Chris, I am an old school Republican and the surprises I have seen over the past 20 years have set my brow in a perma-scowl, thus fastening the monocle securely in place.
Yet, and I swear this is true, as I write this a KC Star peddler knocks on my door. After explaining that I would not support that rag if it were completely free, he tried to explain that the coupons are the real reason to get the paper. That popped my monocle as I chuckled in agreement with his statement. Hence, I explained to him that because of the coupons, if the subscription were free, I would take the paper. This discouraged him immensely but sent him fromward my porch.
I am (the) Trevor and I appoved this comment.
Trevor:
Tom Cruise is so tiny that any amount of his excrement is, technically speaking, microscopic. Also, like a fly, once he touches down upon a surface Tom Cruise vomits before alighting again.
Mr. Packham:
I said "sometimes." But then (the) chatterbox says something about Tom Cruise's excrement on Oprah's couch, and the love betwixt us blooms again whilst I verily am reading methinks.
Chris,
Christ: I didn't mean any of that nasty stuff I wrote before: I know I'm just writing/talking to myself, I just can't seem to stop!
I want to apologize to myself, right here, right now.
Hell, if Oprah would have me, I would go on her show and (in between bouncing up and down on her couch in my excitement to be sitting exactly on the spot where a microscopic amount of Tom Cruise's excrement once -and perhaps still does, germs being germs- graced the upholstery)and beg with myself to forgive myself as I have just forgiven myself.
I don't know what comes over me � once second I'm looking for a new purse to match my pink crew socks, the next I'm snarling at the waiter because my Cosmo is arid.
I DO need help.
p.s. how did you know I wear a monocle?
(the) Trevor -- with regard to your use of "whilst" and "betwixt" -- and assuming you speak the same way you write -- how do you keep your monocle in place whenever anyone says or does something surprising? Doesn't it pop out? Because I totally have the same problem with my dick.
To the lap dog stealing my Plogdentity:
Whilst you travel around in your shoulder kennel and subserviently lick the juices from the writer�s jowls, let me point out the difference betwixt lap, bird, and watch dogs for you.
Lap dogs are an accessory unable to exist on their own and completely dependant upon their master for survival. They have the ability to be cute, but have no teeth and only a whimper voice.
Bird dogs are essentially lap dogs with the limited additional benefit of pointing to things their master might like.
Watch dogs are the ugly bastards who will chew up a master, any of the other dogs, and stuff that should not be there. They adamantly defend a higher purpose.
My advice to you, stay in your shoulder kennel�sniffing around a watch dog will only end poorly for you and your master will likely just sit back and laugh as you are mauled, dry mounted, and are reduced to a steamy pile on the sidewalk.
I am (the) Trevor and I approved this message.
Chris,
Once again I must apologize for Sally's continued presence within these (meta) pages; if this keeps up we may have to...I don't know, not let her cover any sports for a while, we'll see...
I guess my greater concern is the (obviously totally erroneous) contention that (the) Trevor is the alias of wumble, who in turn is the alter-ego of yourself.
I use the term concern because to be 'outted' this way, especially to such a large readership, will cause you to face the threat of social and emotional abandonment, many PDs (Plogdentities) are compelled to maintain a dual existence that often has significant psychological consequences (Greene, 1994).
For some, this means leading a compartmentalized existence. And, recognizing that they are only partially valued within the journalistic community, PDs must monitor and measure what they reveal, while seeking out the N (Normal) community to express the other aspects of their identity. However, this strategy is fraught with emotional hazards.
To get to the point, we here at WNBTv are afraid that your once whole (not to say wholesome) personality will irretrievable split into a multitude of rather sharp and pointy MYs (Mini Yous)
(Adams & Kimmel, 1997; Icard, 1986).
Though we have no concern for your person, per se, we do worry what significance this might have on your imaginary girlfriend.
Frankly, we think it would doom the relationship and obviate any chance that you might have at returning to a 'normal' life.
Therefore, though it saddens us, we would like to urge you to return to less creative ways of expressing your dissatisfaction with society in general and the world in particular. Perhaps you could simply become an anarchist and bomb things randomly?
In any event, please know that we are there for you, wherever that might be.
Unless, of course, it leads to a lawsuit.
Sincerely,
John McHann
WNBTv
Ah, the arrogance of myself to suggest I have not the skill set necessary to bird dog bird dogs; did I not just write this? And that?
It sounds like I need a good talking to and (the) Trevor is just the 'man' to accomplish the mission.
(El)Trevor: I'm always going to assume that the meanest, most syntactically tortured comments are actually you. Although I'd like to add that the phrase "plogdentity theft" cracks me up every time I read it.
GASP! I have been the victim of Plogdentity theft again...twice this time AS I was writing my comment.
Please, do not attempt to do what I do...you do not have the necessary skill set. Go back to using your own name and writing comments like, "I was there" and offering no useful facts. Being the watchdog to the watchdog is not work for those that merely want to tailcoat and steal Plogdentities.
And, yes, I am off my meds, hence my seemingly diametrically opposed posts today.
I may or may not be better tomorrow, figure it out.
Your artistic rendering of the Bombardier situation is fabulous. Coupled with the bloody fireman badge on the cover of today�s Pitch, my hat is off to the illustrations that were today only made more beautiful by the accompanying words which you and Nadia scripted so well. You Plog slap the Star and point out the beautiful logic that is the Bombardier farce. I laughed, I gasped, I puckered�all in pride for The Pitch.
Were I to offer any advice, it would be to make the stick figure fatter and to add a joint butt and a spilled drink to the bloody badge. Oh, and kill David�s piece on church is good, but bad. Oh, and tell Burnt Ends that you cannot burn water like that.
(What did you expect from me? To let you so easily clear the bar I set so high for you?)
(the) Trevor�s combat helmet is off to you today, so take your shot now you pinko bastards�my noggin is bowed in salute.
Wait.
I know this is unheard of, but I made a mistake.
I meant to call Tony a crybaby pussy.
I mean, he's already gearing up another anti-bike campaign based on this douche bag's post. What a wuss!
Sorry - I'll try and behave like a better alter-ego in the future.
Although - can I have my own Id? I'm jes' sayin'...
Have you ever tried to get the attention of a 6-year-old?
At least Animaniacs didn't try to go all-serious-psychological-completely disturbing with a "I'm a real actor" movie. Though an Animaniac version of One Hour Photo might definitely make the 'to rent' list.
I'll forgive you on the slight. No need to make the day less sad, but I appreciate that kind of customer service. Keep up the good work. I have to check this blog at least once a day.
Sorry, Mallory, it's just that Animaniacs always seemed like a textbook case of "trying way too hard," or what doctors call "Robin Williams syndrome."
Now what can I do to make your day less sad?
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