By CHRIS PACKHAM
O Holy Econocalypse: There
should be a horror movie called Black Friday,
because obviously they chose to give the first shopping day after
Thanksgiving an extremely creepy-sounding name. Which, no criticism,
you guys, my new puppy's name is Li'l Princess Blood Feast, after the
shocksploitation classic Blood Feast, by Herschel
Gordon Lewis, and she's ADORABLE. I've heard some people insisting on
the unbelievable explanation that, for many retailers, "Black Friday"
is the first day that their books are "in the black" for the year;
Jesus, some people are gullible. Li'l Princess Blood Feast is getting a
puppy-sized blood-stained smock and a surgical mask for Christmas this
year, y'all, got it all picked out at PetSmart. What are you guys doing
for Black Friday?
After the jump, two of Kansas City's most dispiriting sinkholes of hope
and civic aspiration: The Power & Light District's upcoming debt
service payments and the Funkhouser administration. Click here or on
your mom and dad:
WHOOOO! PARTAAA-AAY! The hours are long and the pay is just
barely adequate, but when you see an old lady's eyes light up after
tricking her into signing a
title loan agreement, you know it's all been worthwhile. In my night
job as a title loan officer, I've seen a lot of old
ladies come and go, and I've repossessed a lot of cars. And if there's
one thing I've learned in my years of doing business, it's that nothing
is quite as surprising as that final balloon payment after six months
at a low interest rate. In industry jargon, it's called "the shocker,"
and it has a corresponding hand gesture.
Now that it's clear that Kansas City took out a title loan in order to
buy itself a new Power & Light District, "the shocker" is coming
and we need to preemptively tighten our sphincters, according to
economics and math and Mr. Yael T. Abouhalkah at The Kansas
City Star. Yael points out that next May, the district has to create
$20 million Americos in tax revenues to pay the projected annual debt
service, or taxpayers will make up the difference. But at least Kansas
City has a centralized hub for for unimaginative prefab architecture
and beer in plastic cups, you know right where to go for that stuff.
Please can we just not be on TV this week?
Now that the The Wall Street Journal has
inexplicably weighed in on Mayor Mark Funkhouser's mutually needy
relationship with troublesome spouse Gloria Squitiro, the whole story
seems even more gross and girly than it was before. Besides inflating
Squitiro's role in Funkhouser's campaign -- even attributing to her the
specific ideas of other people -- the Journal's yucky
"love story" angle touched everyone in places that we're legally
required to keep between ourselves, our counselor and the anatomically
correct doll. WORST QUOTE:
"It's a classic love story," says Garry Cushinberry, a bank vice
president who sat at the mayor's table at an awards dinner Nov. 14.
"He's risking his political career for the woman he loves. You have to
respect that."
Don't tell me what I *HAVE* to do, Garry Cushinberry of Topeka, Kansas;
you, your collection of Harlequin romances and your pretty pink
lady-parts don't even live in my state, HONK, you've
been zung. Don't you have a glass unicorn collection you should be
dusting right about now? HONK! Like a diabetic injecting extra doses of
insulin prior to consuming an ice cream cake, I had to double my
injections of synthetic testosterone and deca-durabolin just to make my
Y-chromosomal way through that Journal article a
second time. If they get to lock up the conventional wisdom on this
story, I can only assume tomorrow's Good Morning,
America segment will play like a smelly Nora Ephron plot.
UGH.
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