Time To Grab My Mail Sack

Not only have I failed to post much over the past month and a half, but I’ve also neglected to answer any reader mail, and as a result, my mail sack has swollen to an ungainly size. Hopefully, this will lessen the load:

Hi Blogless!

I’m having trouble figuring out when you’re being honest and when you’re full of crap!!! What ever happened to the Truth-O-Meter? Will it be back anytime soon?

Thanks!!!!!
Debbie from North, SC

Debbie,

I appreciate your enthusiastic, if somewhat self-serving, concern for TOM. Actually, I recently had a sit down with him, and for the time being at least, TOM’s taking an administrative leave of absence. To spend more time with his family. Don’t even think it’s because he ran out of clever semi-relevant ways to say “True” or “False” (his words).

By the way, I Googled “North, SC” because, frankly, I thought you made it up. I was a little troubled to learn it actually exists, and what’s worse, it’s located smack dab in the middle of the state. No wonder you’re confused. So, to alleviate your confusion while TOM’s away, here’s a helpful rule of thumb:

Every lie contains 85% truth.

Therefore, I’m lying 15% of the time. Of course, as you’ve no doubt guessed, that last statement was a lie, and right now you’re busy calculating 85% of 15%. I’ll save you the trouble. It’s 12.75%. A reduction in the amount of lying of 2.25%! So you see? The more I lie, the closer I get to the truth. I hope this helps. Maybe you should move to Arkansas.

Hey BT,

I clipped this headline from the Drudge Report and sent it to you in case you missed it.



Given your propensity for tearing dolphins a new one, and your equally unhealthy attitude toward sports related mass hysteria, I’m surprised you haven’t devoured this story with the ferocity of a rabid pit bull in a kitten nursery. What gives?

Surprised? You’re surprised? How about proud? Do you know how much restraint I’ve exercised over the last three days? Look, to be perfectly honest, the last time I ragged on the dolphins I received a handful of thinly-veiled death threats from exactly the type of lunatics you don’t want to piss off. We’re talking major chemical imbalances here. And now you want me to do it again? And make fun of Michael Phelps at the same time? Surely you jest. Besides, what am I going to say about him? The guy’s kicked so much ass his feet are permanently stained brown. And if he wins the last two gold medals, and at least breaks the world record in his remaining individual event, then I have no problem calling him The Human Dolphin. Though maybe we could shorten it to “THD” because that sounds less dorky.

But I’m warning you. Don’t think for a second those wiley dolphins will take it all in stride… er, stroke… whatever. They can’t deny he’s won all those races, so instead they’ll probably try to discount his slew of world records. I look for them to implicate the Chinese in some kind of construction scandal, claiming the ChiComs built the Water Cube pool an eighth of a meter too short, or something like that. Sure, it’d be a tough sell, but hey, they’re dolphins. And wouldn’t you love to see the Human Dolphin go head to head with smarter-than-human real dolphins in the court of popular appeal? Confronted with that choice, people would spontaneously explode.

That reminds me. I watched the entire Women’s All-Around Gymnastics Event last night just to see if Bob Costas would refer to sixteen-year old Shawn Johnson as “the adorable Johnson.” He did. Twice! It was like, something, something "is about to embrace the adorable Johnson." So-and-so "must now try to beat the adorable Johnson." My inner Beavis couldn’t stop laughing.

dear dolphin hating jackass

I,m goig 2 kill u! I;m exactly the type of persen u DON”T, ie DO NOT want 2 piss off. what gives u the rite 2 talk about things u no nothing about, spefically dolphins aka marine mammels of any kind? watch yor back. u;ve been warnd!

Anonimuss

ps if u think im telling u my real name u r crazy! it,ll surprise when I sneak up on u!!!!!

Dear Anonimuss,

Regrettably, I’m not a legal scholar, so I’ve taken the liberty of forwarding your inquiry to the experts at the FBI. Hopefully, with their resources, they will be able to assist you in your quest for the origin of “rites.” Don’t forget to vote in November.

When The Troll's Away, The World... Is Still Insane. So It Doesn't Rhyme. Screw You.

It’s been so long since I've posted, I forgot how to come up with a topic. So I wrote some random phrases on strips of paper, put them in a hat, and picked a few. Here they are in no particular order.

Citius, Altius, Fortius Concussio: Is it just me, or do you sense the dark cloud of impending doom over Beijing? Not that I give a shit about the Olympics. The ChiComs could censor the entire thing, from flame-on to flame-out, and I probably wouldn’t even notice. I mean, if you’ve seen one doped up athlete you’ve seen them all. And I don’t think I could stomach another athlete-triumphs-over-personal-obstacles story. Just thinking about it makes me want to vomit on Bob Costas. Are any of you planning on watching the Olympics? And if so, why? What’s the appeal? Seriously. I’m not being sarcastic. I honestly don’t get it.

Wish I Knew How To Quit You, Joker: Saw The Dark Knight. Hope these guys saw it too.










And took notes.

What I Really Need Is One Of Those Crazy Ass News Stories So Fantastically Loony That No One Would Ever Believe It If I Didn’t Provide A Link: Cool.

Gone Baby Gone: Don’t know if or how closely you’ve been following Caylee Anthony: Without A Trace (cue theme music). Unfortunately for Caylee, Greta Van Susteren is on the case, which means she’ll likely never be found. Say what you want about Greta, but she knows an eight month ratings booster when she sees one. Just ask the Holloways. What I really like about Greta is the way she goes from talking about the fate of a missing little girl to Brangelina baby pics to Brett Favre shenanigans and back again without ever changing the expression on her face, as if all three were equally significant. They don’t teach that in TV school; it takes natural broadcast talent. Or excessive cosmetic surgery, I’m not sure which.

Greta’s been in North Korea for a week or so, but she was back last night discussing—with Mark Fuhrman no less—the forensic fine points of whether fingerprints, hair, urine and defecation stains found in the trunk of a car were more or less suspicious than finding them in the back seat. And as I hypnotically listened to them tease out the salient threads of their hypothetical analysis, I couldn’t help thinking: O.J., you sonofabitch! If you hadn’t butchered your wife, I could be watching two totally different schmucks exploitatively furthering their careers under the guise of investigative journalism!

Wouldn’t it be great if all the Caylee Anthonys of the world, all the Natalee Holloways, all the other kids who go missing every year and are never found—the ones who aren’t cute enough or blonde enough to sustain a 24/7 media circus—wouldn’t it be great if Greta Van Susteren had them all? You know, just… stashed away somewhere, like at her secret underground mansion in Colorado, or “North Korea,” and she used them to periodically bolster her ratings? And wouldn’t it be great if they were all living somewhat normal secret underground lives, making somewhat normal secret underground friends, and playing somewhat normal secret underground games? And like, Mark Fuhrman would stop by from time to time and bring presents and they’d all run up to him and give him great big hugsies and call him Uncle Mark and he’d pat them on the head in a totally non-sexual paternal manner and dispense wisdom and life lessons to them via humorous parables and they’d all say, “Thank you, Uncle Mark!” Wouldn’t that be great? Wouldn’t it?!

The media’s been using kid gloves on the mother because some of them feel stupid for having cast Elizabeth Smart’s parents in a dubious light. But hey, innocent until proven guilty, right? Or until the cops offer you immunity in return for the slightest bit of cooperation in the search for your two-year old daughter. Who knows? Maybe this IS a bizarre and convoluted kidnapping case worthy of an episode of Without A Trace. Maybe the mother WANTS to talk but she CAN’T because the mysterious kidnappers have threatened to harm Caylee if she does. Maybe her lack of cooperation is all a ruse designed to bamboozle the kidnappers, and she’s secretly working with authorities behind the scenes to arrange a clandestine meeting/ambush, in which Caylee is returned unharmed, the bad guys arrested, and everyone happily ever after fades to black, roll credits. Wouldn’t that be great? Wouldn’t it?

I SAID, Hold The Mayo: All right, just so we don’t end on a depressing note, here’s some of that whacky Florida-ness everyone likes. I actually kind of sympathize with this guy. Many a time have I restrained myself from leaping over the sneeze guard and pummeling the sandwich artist because he didn’t understand the phrase, “No fucking olives!”

UPDATE: It must be an airborne virus.

UPDATEST: The good people at Yahoo have some of the Subway 911 call available here.