I've always had trouble writing "News of the Weird"-type posts. Because they're like the journalistic equivalent of those wacky cans of peanut brittle that turns out to have CRAZY SPRINGY SNAKES INSIDE! And what am I, Mr. Krazy Headlines So Weird They're True? Which is what I asked Justin while we were shaking the vending machine in the hallway.
"More like Mr. Ten Year Old Girl," said Justin. "If you owned a restaurant, it would be called Toby Keith's I Love This My First Bra™ Training Bra." This is Justin's new "thing," ever since we had dinner at Toby Keith's I Love This Bar and Grill at Harrah's Casino. Earlier, he'd suggested a path of small-business entrepreneurship resulting in my ownership of a restaurant called Toby Keith's I Love Giving Men Socially Uncomfortable Neck Rubs.
I couldn't come up with a really cutting rejoinder, so I pretended I was too busy reading the St. Louis Post Dispatch to engage in a childish exchange of insults. "But seriously," I said in a businesslike voice I know how to do, "What am I supposed to do with this story out of St. Louis?" I waved the newspaper at Justin. "It's about two sequestered jurors who had sex while deciding the verdict in a murder trial. And two sheriff's deputies guarding the jurors who also had sex. It's so wacky. It's like the wacky Carrot Top of jurisprudential happenstance."
"With regard to your use of the phrase 'jurisprudential happenstance,'" said Justin, "I thoroughly enjoyed my meal at Chris Packham's Toby Keith's I Love Peering At Pornographic Victorian Lithographs Through My Monocle. I had the Fancydancer Sampler Platter. DEE-LICIOUS. Almost as good as Chris Packham's Toby Keith's I Love Sit-Down Peeing Bar and Grill," etc. etc. Justin works up a pretty good head of steam when he gets going, which makes him popular with the ladies, so this went on for a while. Instead of trying to write something wacky about jurisprudential boners, I'm passing this story along to illustrate the ins and outs of workplace dynamics. After the jump, Krazy Kansas and Science Whatever. Click wherever you want.
It's tough out there for an abortion doctor, Hustle & Flow, you guys: Here's an all-star lineup of headline-grabbing Kansas movers and shakers: Lawyers for Dr. George Tiller are calling Linda Carter, former workplace sexer-upper of former Johnson County District Attorney Paul Morrison, to testify about whether District Attorney Phill Kline, the owner of Toby Keith's I Love This Tiny Blastocyst and Grill, asked her to pressure Morrison into filing charges against Tiller alleging that an illegal relationship with a second doctor. Justin has more. It's totally like the Oceans 11 of right-wing shibboleths and sex scandals. My new thing in 2K9 is bold-font name-dropping, y'all.
Science Whatever: The New York Times has an interesting and terrifying story about people whose visual cortexes are destroyed -- for instance, after a stroke -- who have regained a crude form of sight whereby imagery is processed by a primitive subcortical visual system, completely subconsciously. The piece opens with a blind stroke victim who is able to navigate around objects placed in his path by mischief-making scientists. This demonstrates why we need to teach children at an early age that there is a completely separate brain operating inside their heads over which they have absolutely no control, and which can at any moment wrest control of their little arms and plunge brussels sprouts straight into their mouths. I was going to use the nouns "scissors" and "eyeballs" instead of "brussels sprouts" and "mouths" in the previous sentence, but some of you have children, and I'm trying to avoid loading you up with any horrifying imagery because YOUR BRAIN IS NOT THE ONLY BRAIN READING THIS RIGHT NOW, you guys. Your subconscious can read, too, and when you're asleep, it can build bombs, fondle your spouse or send anonymous threats to politicians. So I'm trying not to give it any ideas.
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I'm trying to figure out how two jurors having sex while they are sequestered at a hotel would negatively impact their verdict in a murder trial. Was it lousy sex? Does the defendant feel like they temporarily lost some of their life force / mental prowess by not abstaining for the length of the trial?
And what's with the crazy whistleblower?
Oh, special thanks for the brussel sprouts.
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