By CHRIS PACKHAM
Don't Vote: According to Steve Kraske, Robin Carnahan says voter turnout this November could approach 80 percent in Missouri — embarrassing!It's not like we're a new Republic rising from the ashes of totalitarian rule. We've been at this for over a hundred years, or something. I'd say we should act more detached, jaded and world-weary, like the French, except that they had 84 percent turnout for their last national election. So uncool. Don't we have any more cool-acting role-models, like Fonzie? Only, ones who wouldn't endorse such society-affirming values as voting and not doing drugs, like Fonzie? I might show up at the retirement community to vote if Libertarian candidate Bob Barr gets on the ballot, so I can laugh at everyone with a Bob Barr campaign button — seriously, Libertarians so crazy they make me drop verbs! But whatever, you people, go ahead and vote this November. Dress up like Uncle Sam, for all I care. I'll spend election night the way I spend every Tuesday: Sending pseudonymous trouble-making emails to the official Jaleel White website expressing interest in having him speak at my irritable bowel syndrome support group.
After the jump, the sad, dark story of Mr. Gurgles. Click here, or on this signed photo of Jaleel White:
I'll dance on your grave, Mr. Gurgles: Monkeys make the best pets in the whole entire world! That's what I thought, up until last year. You'd think there would be a camaraderie between the people and the monkeys because we have so much in common: Prehensile thumbs; a fondness for bananas and masturbating; clinging tenaciously to a wire mother in the absence of real love. And yet you would be wrong about the camaraderie. Pitch mascot Mr. Gurgles, a capuchin monkey I bought from a vendor at Super Flea, was a total fucking bastard. I'd imagined having a little pal I could dress up as a bellhop or a butler — or he could wear a tiny identical replica of my outfits every day! But the second I opened his cage, he sprang up into the office's network of suspended fluorescent lights and peed all over my workstation.
It took two weeks to capture him, during which time the staff endured stolen lunches and surprise bombardments of monkey shit. Sometimes Mr. Gurgles would leap out of the shadows onto your head and tear at your scalp with his sharp little teeth and nails. Plog shift supervisor Faysal Alkhaiwani used to be a doctor when he lived in Bahrain, and yet he was so angry that I'd released what was, in retrospect, a feral monkey into the office that he refused to stitch my facial lacerations and I had to go to St. Luke's. I spent the bulk of my workdays attempting to catch Mr. Gurgles — when he finally came down out of the rafters to drink a bowl of water I'd placed on my desk, I jumped out from the next cubicle and punched him into unconsciousness. WHAT, SHUT UP! Oh, sure, I'm the jerk.
We donated Mr. Gurgles to the UMKC School of Pharmacy by dumping him on their doorstep with a warning note for whomever cut away the layers of duct tape we used to bind his little arms, legs and tail together. SHUT UP! I didn't hear you people complaining when a teen in Ozark, Missouri fell from a 30-foot overpass, breaking his back, and police responded by tasering him 19 times.
BREAKING: Men get boners! Must credit Daily Briefs! On the fuck-me heels of the revelation that the pretty-but-not-as-pretty-as-Phill-Witt Democratic presidential runner-up John Edwards had a torrid and possibly ovum-fertilizing sexual affair with a character from Jay McInerney novels, comes a second literary establishment bombshell regarding German author Franz Kafka's nasty hardcore porn stash, left among his personal papers inside the "Win32 folder" of the early 20th century, a locked wooden box. Academic and Kafka expert James Hawes, author of Excavating Kafka, says, "These are not naughty postcards from the beach. They are undoubtedly porn, pure and simple. Some of it is quite dark, with animals committing fellatio and girl-on-girl action... It's quite unpleasant."
Glossing over the academically untenable position that "girl-upon-girl action" is "unpleasant," about which Hawes is probably lying, the media will probably pretend for a couple of weeks to be shocked that major public figures have drives and impulses as complicated as stinky old yours. Except for Maureen Dowd, who has never in her entire life done anything morally questionable. This column reads like Rob Schneider's self-righteous "open letter to Mel Gibson" in its embarrassing sanctimony. Mostly, I suspect that she's annoyed by the implicit recognition that John Edwards doesn't have a vagina, countering her whole tired, smelly shtick about Democrats. Seriously, it's like Dave fucking Barry, with all of his "booger" jokes. We get it, we get it. Plus, even though she references Narcissus about eighty times in the column, I'm not 100 percent sure she managed to drive that point home forcibly enough. Hey, you know who else cheated on his ailing wife with a younger woman? Sen. John McCain, although the JFK rules apply, for some reason.
Speaking of which: Ladies and gentlemen, the next president of the United States of America:
Befriendster the Daily Briefs Facebook profile. It will make you a tiny bit less lonely on the internet, unlike jaleelwhite.com, the official website of "actor and writer" Jaleel White, who may offer to speak at your next event, but who absolutely does not care about you the way I do. Baby, you know I mean it.