From the Comments:
wumble says: You know when you dream all your childhood about becoming a princess, and then you just happen to be rich, white, blonde, and beautiful, and then you become adept throughout junior high and high school at various sexual tecnhiques, often in cars parked behind Oak Park Mall, and then you pledge sorority at college and enjoy, with your likeminded sisters, your full flowering as a member of your class, and then you graduate and meet an investment banker and the suddenly, bam, he proposes, and you move off to Leawood, become his princess?
That's what I feel like today. I didn't just get what I wanted. I got what I fucking deserve.
(Except that Trevor showed up and was confusing.)
My beautiful suit of clothes: Whenever I go down to the Department of Health and Senior Services office for my WIC card, I wear my white tuxedo so nobody on the street will know about my dependence on state largess. Usually they don't even notice my flip-flops, if I walk quietly."Look at that fancy, fancy man," they say in my imagination, amidst the constant, imaginary murmur of voices talking about how awesome I am. "He must be stepping into the WIC office to pick up his social-worker girlfriend for lunch," they say. Then I have to make up a story for the clerks in the office, so they won't think I'm rich and cut off the free-flowing cheap tuna faucet. "It's a costume. I stand outside the tax preparation office and wave at cars," is what I usually tell them, implying that it's day-labor work. "None of the other guys at the Labor Ready office ever show up in a tuxedo."
The fancy clothes make the sexy man, and in this case, they're really easy to slip on because it's a super-sexy burial tuxedo I bought cheap from an undertaker — as it turns out, burial suits in the formal category aren't in high demand. It's open in the back so you can slide it onto a corpse, so it just pulls on in one piece, like a smock. This one time, I was being chased by the Green Apple Market security guard over some bullshit beef about some packs of batteries, and I got away by stepping around a corner, ripping it off with one pull and stuffing it in a bag. It's the best fifteen bucks I ever spent, and the reason I'm bringing it up here is that I fell asleep at the MAX bus stop at 20th and Main yesterday and somebody pulled it off of me and walked away with it. Now I have to go into the WIC office wearing my cargo shorts and my "LET'S FLIP A COIN, HEADS I GET TAIL, TAILS I GET HEAD" T-shirt.
After the jump, I am unavoidably compelled to write something about the 2008 Democratic National Convention, even though everyone else on the planet is writing about it. Seriously, it's like the internet has turned into the Dark Knight and Barack Obama box these days. I'm seriously thinking of taking up ham radio. Anyway, click here, or on this flyer I've been leaving under windshield wipers in downtown parking lots:
"The Balanos are coming from inside the pantsuit!" Okay, okay, that doesn't make sense. How about, "I'll take Balano to the bank... the pantsuit bank!!" Oh, screw it. Things look pretty grim for Barack Obama's presidential ambitions, according to the oiled, muscley King of Midwest Voices Beach and occasional Kansas City Star op-ed columnist Ross Balano. Back when Hillary Clinton seemed like a lock for the nomination, Balano thought she would be the easiest candidate for Republicans to beat. But, just like Mickey Rourke's charisma, all of that has been washed away by the sands of time, and, in the case of Mickey Rourke's charisma, an abundance of nose-flattening amateur boxing and an addiction to elective surgeries.
Now that Barack Obama is officially the party's nominee, suddenly, according to Balano, Hillary Clinton was the Democrats' best prospect all along. If I've worked the math right, I think he's saying that Barack Obama is the weakest Democrat currently running for President, and I guess I ... agree? Anyway, Balano really liked Hillary Clinton's speech at the Democratic Convention on Tuesday, and probably like wants to marry her or something. I'm sorry; that was childish and totally unbecoming to a man of my stature and carefully sculpted physique. As an apology, here's a little joke: What has two thumbs and occasionally goes into the Christian Science Reading Room and reads things that are not about Christian Science? Answer: THIS GUY!!!!!
Yesterday, I was minding my own business reading the National Review in the Christian Science Reading room, which I had hidden inside this month's issue of Fabulous Fatties, for obvious reasons, when the shrieky Christian Scientist attendant came over and shrieked at me to get out, and to take the malt liquor I had so obviously disguised in a paper bag with me. I walked down to the MAX stop and finished my NON-ALCOHOLIC AS FAR AS YOU KNOW beverage, while reading this sensitive article by Ward Connerly, a conservative black man who believes that affirmative action makes things too easy for black people, as clearly evidenced by the sheer number of black people currently running for president. "Sen. Obama has cast his lot with those who seek to ignore America’s racial progress, and who, instead, prefer to sustain race and ethnic preferences that impede our progress," Connerly writes. Instead of contemplating the obvious racism of Barack Obama, I finished my beverage with one long gulp, enjoyed a hot, satisfying belch and fell asleep. When I woke up, MY GODDAMN TUXEDO WAS GONE! Cash reward, you guys. My phone number is posted on the Daily Briefs Facebook page.