Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Simmering Onion


Media Having Trouble Finding Right Angle On Obama's Double-Homicide


Media

The press hasn't figured out how best to display the gruesome crime-scene photos from the president's bloody rampage.


WASHINGTON—More than a week after President Barack Obama's cold-blooded killing of a local couple, members of the American news media admitted Tuesday that they were still trying to find the best angle for covering the gruesome crime.

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Apparently Man Can't Just Hate Bowling

April 14, 2009 | Issue 45•16

GENESEO, NY—Despite repeated attempts to explain his feelings on the matter, 29-year-old local resident Dave Barrister expressed shock Monday after learning that he was evidently not allowed to simply dislike bowling. "Looks like nobody in the history of the planet has ever just hated to bowl," Barrister said following a 20-minute interrogation by friends, who cited his love of both beer and chicken wings in their refusal to allow him to detest the activity. "I just don't like it, okay? I do not at all enjoy the experience of bowling. Why isn't that enough?" Barrister reportedly bowled an 89 later that evening.

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Marilyn Chambers Dead At 56

Marilyn Chambers, the former pornographic film actress who starred in the film Behind The Green Door and was the face of Ivory Snow detergent, died in her Canyon Country, CA home on Sunday. What do you think?

Young Woman

Josephine Weingardt,
Petroleum Tester
"After watching her survive Johnny Keyes I thought that woman would live forever."

Black Man

Steven McCann,
Systems Analyst
"Thank God—now I can be really sure my wife's not that Marilyn Chambers."

Young Man

Brendan Sanville,
Booker
"She was in porn?

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Stop Anthropomorphizing Me

By Gerald the Dog
April 7, 2009 | Issue 45•15

Gerald

I know this is going to come across a bit harsh, but I want to get straight to the point. Speaking on behalf of myself and all other completely nonhuman members of my species, I must insist that the practice of anthropomorphizing us stops right now.

I am not a human. I am a dog. I can't talk. I can't say a full sentence. Not even close. I can't experience complex emotions, I can't laugh, I can't rob a bank, and I have no idea that my name is Gerald. I can't even write, people, so please stop this anthropomorphizing business this instant.

It's not funny.

The amusement you get out of this unoriginal, overused—what shall I call it?—this fetish simply boggles the mind. What is your fascination with having animals speak? I'm a dog, for crying out loud. My brain weighs three-and-a-half ounces. Three-and-a-half ounces. I can barely understand what's going on around me, and what little knowledge I do possess is based primarily on smell. So tell me, why do you keep putting me at poker tables and making me dance and sing the blues? I do not wear hats and I certainly did not receive my doctorate in media criticism from Harvard University. I can assure you, if I were ever given a diploma, I would eat it. So, I beg you, for the last time, stop this right now.


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