Giving good ideas a bad name:Over at Prime Buzz, Jeffrey Spivak breaks down Clay Chastain's shifting succession of light-rail plans with a simultaneously informative and dismissive tone that you can't just learn from the AP Stylebook. I'm not saying it's a whirlwind tour-de-force of hilarity — we're talking about The Kansas City Star, not Crazy magazine — but it hits all the points I would have hit, including a bulleted list of Chastain's idiotic light-rail propsals. Only instead of using bullets for my bulleted list, I would have used Truck Nutz. Highlights:
Spivak calls out Virginian Clay Chastain for his unhealthy interest in Kansas City, Missouri, transit issues.
He also points out that nobody in local government takes Chastain seriously anymore.
Spivak points out that Chastain's cost estimates per mile are always ridiculously low.
Spivak comes very close to calling Chastain an attention whore, right there in the lede.
After the jump, a Truck Nutzed list of snack food deformities resembling major religious figures. Click here, or on this very valuable, very sidesplitting issue #1 of Crazy:
My precious, precious child. Where you saw a trail of yellow cheese-flavored dust, that is where I carried you. A Missouri woman found a Cheeto shaped kind of like a Middle Eastern Jew nailed to a crucifix, which is like sweet, stupid catnip for KMBC Channel 9, your Kansas City religious apophenia news source, or something. Remember back when they devoted spectrum to a rock with the Virgin Mary in it? HAHA, Our Lady of Feldspar confers mineralogical blessings of volcanic sublimation on all who broadcast her gravelly visage.
On the one hand, I almost think the woman who found the crucifix-y Cheeto is being a smart-ass when she calls it "Cheezus" in the report. But on the other hand, she vows to put it on display so people can go on pilgrimages to view it, or something. Once the Cheeto — the Piss Christ of disgusting snack foods — gets involved in theology, haven't we crossed the line into outright blasphemy? THANK GOD FOR FLOODS IN SOUTH KANSAS CITY, as a beloved Topeka family might blast-fax to a media call list from their holy compound. Also, a cooking show in which vaguely Jesus-shaped splotches appear on all the ingredients would be excellent counterprogramming for The 700 Club. Also, IRON MY SHIRT, LARRY MOORE.
IRON MY SHIRT, SPRINT: You guys, I am so not kidding about Sprint and its customer service department. Sure, the company has a very, very nice downtown arena, but it hates anyone who signs a Sprint service contract. If you want to stay on Sprint's good side, it's pretty obvious that you need to sign a contract with T-Mobile. The Consumerist reports about a guy instructed by Sprint customer service to "go to a hilltop" to make calls on his cell phone because he had no reception at his house. I've used a grand total of three cellular providers in the past nine years, and Sprint is the only one that apparently requires direct line of sight with cell towers in order to make phone calls. This poor bastard just gave up and stopped paying his bills, amid a series of customer-service phone calls and the various fabrications Sprint feeds to unhappy customers before turning those customers over to a collection agency. It's a weird way to do business, but this is the company that just sold off all of its cellular towers to an imaginatively named company called TowerCo for $670 million and then leased them back.
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