Things That Suck: Weekly World News Is Over.
There’s always been a place in my heart for Weekly World News. When it came to those less-reported stories, there just wasn’t anywhere else to turn. Who broke Bat Boy? When space aliens met with Clinton, who had the gall to report on it? Forget the hip and would-be “radical” rags you find in the anarchist bookstores. For the real scoop, you needed to look no farther than your local grocery checkout line.
But now those days are over. Gone are the days of Bat Boy, Elvis sightings and the world’s fattest baby. When Osama Bin Laden is found – in one of George Bush’s myriad secret homosexual love dens – who is going to report it? Who is going to publish Ed Anger‘s latest screeds? NYT? WaPo? I think not, my friends. The Weekly World News is over, and you know what? That really sucks.
Well… kinda. I guess I haven’t actually bought one in like six years.
A Eulogy For The Roach That I Killed In My (Apparently) Roach-Infested One-Bedroom Apartment Last Night, Who, In All Likelihood, Has Actually Lived There Longer Than I Have.
Sorry I smashed everything under your exoskeleton into mush. I turned on the lights in the bathroom and you came running out. You know – that cool, moist room with all the smooth surfaces to walk around on? I know this is going to be hard for you to understand, but that’s actually the room that I BATHE in. It’s this thing that most people of my species do when we feel gross. We run water all over ourselves and do all this other stuff that would probably be way over your head. You know what? Forget it.
Anyway, you came running out of that room and went into my bedroom. Right when I was turning on the light, too! I wasn’t expecting that, you little dickens!
If you don’t get showers, you’re not going to understand bedrooms. I’m not even going to waste my time on that. You also probably don’t understand lights, either, save for that weird primordial brain switch that makes you run whenever you see it. Whatever – none of this even matters anyway because you’re dead. I smashed the crap out of you with a shoe. Do you understand the concept of shoes? I bet you do now.
I know you’ve probably lived in this apartment longer than I have. That makes me feel kind of bad for murdering you in what you probably considered your own home. For that I’m sorry, but let’s face it – I pay way more rent than you do. Are you familiar with rent? It’s the stuff I pay way too much of to have to share an apartment with you.
It fills my heart with stress and mild-to-moderate disgust to think that you died as you probably lived – hiding underneath my night stand. You were really big, and you had really long antennae, and I really hope that I never see any of your friends in my apartment for the duration of my lease, which will almost certainly not be renewed.
Rest in pieces, motherfucker.
Stop The Presses: Anna Nicole Smith Is Fucking Dead.
We’ll remember they way you smiled gracefully at your detractors. We’ll remember your unique sense of style. We’ll remember your massive tits, and the way they wooed an old millionaire into giving you more money than any of us will ever see in our entire lives. We’ll remember that TV show you had, and how everyone loved to hate it. We’ll also remember how we totally forgot about your TV show after a while because we got sick of watching you fall down over and over and over again. We’ll remember how you showed up completely wasted at some sort of awards show. We’ll remember how your stepson died somehow. Or maybe it was your regular son. Whatever – we’ll remember it regardless. We’ll remember how you lost weight with the help of diet pills, inspiring thousands of people to do likewise. But most of all, Anna, we’ll remember how through it all, through the good and the bad, the ups and the downs, you never managed to show even a speck of an iota of class. Rest in peace.
Pamela’s still chuggin’ along, right?
(P.S. In honor of the passing of this American icon, please take a moment to watch this video and reflect on what Anna meant to you. She died as she lived – collapsing in public.)
A Eulogy For Saparmurat Niyazov, The Former Authoritarian President Of Turkmenistan Who I Had Never Heard Of Until About 10 O’Clock This Morning.
When I heard this morning that Saparmurat Niyazov had died of a heart attack, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Dead?” I thought to myself, “Saparmurat? Could this really be happening? And if so, who is he? I’ve never heard of him before.”
Saparmurat always thought of Turkmenistan as one of his own children. Maybe as his only child – I’m not really sure if he had children. I think I remember something about that from the BBC, but I’m not sure about the exact details. He thought of Turkmenistan as a child, one way or another, and a child needs to be nurtured, and nurture he did from the very first day of his Presidency (which was a day some time within the last hundred years) to the day he died (which was yesterday, I think). The country will never be the same. Or maybe it will be. I’m not totally sure what’s going to happen over there, or where “over there” is, exactly. I think it’s pretty close to Russia.
The BBC report said that Saparmurat once banned hospitals. That was the kind of guy he was – always joking around, or attempting to ensure painful and drawn-out disease and death for his subjects. There was another thing they mentioned that he once banned, but I forget what it was. Their police force, maybe? Food? I can’t remember, exactly. Whatever it was, it was CLASSIC Saparmurat. You should really google it and try to figure it out. It will provide you with a deeper understanding of who Saparmurat Niyazov really was, just like the deep understanding I momentarily possessed while listening to a radio report about his death earlier this morning.