Author Archives: Kurt Luchs

Best Buy Frequently Asked Questions: Returning A Damaged Item

By: Eric Feezell

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1. What is Best Buy’s policy on returning damaged items?

While Best Buy’s official policy states that we do accept returns on damaged items, said items must be manufacturer defects (i.e.; must reflect structural damage or operational malfunction at or before the point of purchase). Our policy further states that once an item has been opened, its tag removed, or its packaging altered in any manner whatsoever, responsibility for the structural integrity of that item falls solely on its purchaser.

2. All of your products are packaged. How am I supposed to know if something was damaged before I opened it?

Best Buy does not sell damaged or defective products. That is not in our policy.

3. Why was my digital camera broken when I opened it, then?

Best Buy cannot speculate on an answer to this question, as it is not in our policy to do so. Besides…you would probably know better than we would.

4. But I didn’t damage it!

Yes, you did.

5. Okay, how did I do it, then?

Perhaps you accidentally dropped the box before you purchased it. Or, maybe your kid, pretending it was a football, threw the box out of your shopping cart.

6. Wait a sec…how the heck did you know that?

Best Buy is omniscient and pansophical.

7. You realize those mean the same thing, don’t you?

Oh? Whoops! Guess we should have consulted our extensive array of electronic dictionaries, PDA’s, and handhelds from our Office Products section, near the rear of the store! We offer everything from basic devices to the most up-to-the-minute technologies, all at unbeatable prices.

8. Really? Sounds kind of neat. I think I’ll go back and — hey, hold on just a minute! I’m still not satisfied with my experience here. Is there someone else I can talk to about making a customer complaint regarding my camera?

Absolutely. Please step over to our Customer Care center at the counter opposite this one and they will assist you in filing an official complaint.

9. Am I not in that line now?

No. You are in the Customer Service line. You will need to speak with a Customer Care representative to register a complaint. Official complaint forms may be picked up at the Forms and Warranties counter near the front exit.

10. But I just waited an hour and a half in this line. Now you want me to go stand in two more lines?! Where’s the store manager?

If you wish to file an official complaint and speak with a store manager, you will actually need to stand in four more lines: Customer Care, Forms and Warranties, Managerial Appointments, and Managerial Consultations. Unfortunately, our policy states that Best Buy management may not be consulted without an appointment. If you wish to avoid the wait, you may also schedule an appointment by phone between the hours of 11:00 p.m. and 3:00 a.m, Mountain Standard Time.

11. Okay, okay, hold on. Let’s be reasonable. What if I have a warranty? Here. Will that make a difference at all?

Again, we must redirect you to the Forms and Warranties counter. However, we should advise that, depending on the type of warranty you purchased, it may not be the right kind. In fact, yes, we are certain it is not the right kind.

12. But you didn’t even look at it!

Correct. The Customer Service Department is not permitted to address warranty issues. Such inquiries must be presented at the Forms and Warranties counter, or discussed with a store manager.

13. You’re kidding me, right?

That is not in our policy.

14. Shouldn’t you guys have explained all this when I bought the warranty in the first place?

We did. Best Buy cashiers are trained to make all aspects of your warranty clear at the point of purchase. Speaking of clear, have you checked out the resolution on Sony’s new line of High Definition TVs? We’re offering them at a special discount till the end of the month!

15. You don’t think I’m falling for that one again, do you?

We had to try.

16. Would you mind trying a little harder to replace my camera, then?

We feel we have offered an exhaustive list of options in light of your particular situation. Replacing your camera, however, is not one of them. Nor will it ever be. No matter what.

17. Fine! You just lost my patronage forever! How about that?

Actually, that isn’t really true. Remember the two hundred dollars in Best Buy gift cards you got for Christmas? You know, the ones that say, “Not redeemable for cash?” Feel free to throw them away, if you like. Either way, we’ve already got the money.

18. You know what I’m going to tell your manager? That he’s running a Godforsaken crap hole!

We would advise against registering such charged complaints. Best Buy firmly maintains an equal-opportunity stance with regard to employees and customers alike, in strict compliance with anti-discrimination labor practices. We therefore will not investigate or even acknowledge any complaints suggestive of religious, sexual, or racial prejudice.

19. It’s a colloquialism, for God’s sake!

We trust the previous answer was clear on this issue. Also, when you buy that electronic dictionary, we would like to borrow it for a second.

20. Aren’t you people the least bit ashamed of yourselves?!

Best Buy proudly offers great service and top-quality products at even better prices.

No, in other words.

21. Yeah? Okay! You can take this camera and stick it where the sun doesn’t shine, you bastards! Also, will you do me a favor and ring this DVD player up here?

Because your patronage is important to us, we will make an exception this time and ring you up here. You may not use your gift cards toward this purchase, however, as the Customer Service register only accepts cash, credit, or debit.

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Notes From “El Cadete”

By: Tyler Smith

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“TIJUANA, Mexico – The police department has issued about 60 slingshots to officers in the violent border city of Tijuana, where soldiers confiscated police weapons two weeks ago on allegations of collusion with drug traffickers.” — Associated Press, November 23, 2006

— Today we were out in the field, forging ahead in the battle against corruption in the streets of Tijuana. This is what police work is all about. It’s us against them; good vs. evil in a truly biblical sense. In the field we can make a real difference. Unfortunately, my partner Juan Pablo forgot his slingshot, and when a gang of overweight 3rd graders took hostages (“Put the carne back in carnicería!” they belched) at a municipal building off the Paseo de los Héroes, they held us at bay with spitballs and Indian rugburns until reinforcements arrived. Nobody was seriously hurt, thank goodness. Juan Pablo thinks he may have a severed prostate from the wedgie he received at the hands of the chubby mob, but I think it’s really just his pride that’s wounded.

— A big scare this morning. A woman came into the station looking wild-eyed, wielding an intricate and deadly-looking blow gun. We all dropped to the floor and begged for our lives. We continued begging into the afternoon, until the woman was tackled from behind by an alert sophomore from San Diego State who explained that his girlfriend must have mistaken our precinct for a day spa, and that the “blowgun” was really just a drinking straw they give you with the yard of beer over at Carlos & Charlie’s. No, but seriously, that straw was crazy.

— Another day of lectures from the tons-of-fun federales. A large man dressed as a harlequin came to the precinct and droned on for what seemed like hours, talking about “sharing,” the importance of it, and how if we ever find any cocaine, we’re supposed to give it to somebody wearing green. After the harlequin explained that the federales would be taking our slingshots and replacing them with “I assure you, very sturdy wooden sticks,” Juan Pablo (it really was just his pride that was hurt, he confessed to me before nap-time) added a little comic relief, making his always-entertaining “farty music,” by cupping his hand under his armpit while flapping his arms. He spent the afternoon in “time-out,” but I think we all agreed the gag was well worth it.

— Went out to the firing range to practice with my slingshot, but had to give it up after a half-hour when I tripped over some Big Wheels power racers and fell keister-over-tea-kettle into the Jungle Babies inflatable pool. Am I cut out for this? I have my doubts every day. I feel I have so much to offer the force, but I fail to make a name for myself. It’s as if I’m invisible, in a way. I am reminded sometimes of the predicament faced by Snuffleupagus, but mostly just because I have a relatively long snout and have been told on more than one occasion that, in the right light, I resemble a woolly mammoth.

— Met a girl today. Luisa. She has eyes like the wild dragon Juan Pablo drew during time-out (along with breasts that also resemble those on the dragon) and a sense of justice and morality that rivals my own. She noticed that I had taken a second helping of cake from the break room and promptly stabbed me through the hand with a pencil. I thought of our great moral heroes, Emiliano Zapata, Pancho Villa and Ricardo Montalbán, and how they would smile down from heaven, knowing that Mexico still produces brave souls who will carry the torch of justice. I wondered if Ricardo Montalbán could actually still be alive, and moments after I wondered this I passed out from the pain. Much to my chagrin, I awoke in the nurse’s office to learn that Luisa had been held back a year, the federales had confiscated her pencil, and Juan Pablo had once again been targeted by a knot of youths. This time, the ragamuffins forced my partner into a brutal game of “Smear the Queer” in which he was throttled into submission with a frozen block of queso fresco.

— Finally had a moment alone with Luisa in the hall before the bell. My heart exploded in a paroxysm of love and justice as I approached her. “I heard what happened, Luisa. It’s terrible. We must fight together to end this corruption. What’s your phone number?” I asked her. “I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t know it,” she muttered, “and besides, I’m going to marry my Dad.” This bit struck me as odd, but these days, who knows? I am hesitant to continue in my pursuit of Luisa as a confidante, lover and co-defender of justice, for after I ventured to hand her my phone number, she squealed and stabbed me through the hand with a fistful of Pixy-Stix.

— With the prospect of any relationship with Luisa gone, the precinct has become a somber, spirit-crushing place. Full of curiosities, too. Juan Pablo has devolved into a sullen creature who, at any mention of police tactics and/or precinct protocol, picks his nose and eats it. Not to mention, when I approached the commandante concerning my idea to streamline the office memoranda by covering the perimeter of our transmissions with glued-on macaroni and sparkles, he curiously suggested that I “just shut up and play with the finger paints, mongoloid.” I think most of the comandante’s hostility may stem from the fact that in the last week, the superintendent of federales has:

1. Confiscated our sticks.

2. Issued us stones.

3. Confiscated those stones.

4. Ordered us to just use “our words.”

— Morale has sunk to an all-time low here. Juan Pablo has become paralyzed from the waist down after being hit in the pride with three adjectives, a modifier and a burst of double entendres. Luisa, heartbroken by her father’s refusal of marriage, has taken to pouting in a corner, scrawling macabre images throughout a Hello Kitty coloring book, while the comandante feigned a case of strep throat that forced us to endure a substitute with scant knowledge of police tactics and who, I fear, has been stealing my Ritalin along with the contents of my lunchbox. As for myself, I try and take comfort in the little things; eating glue, police justice and kicking back to listen to The Wiggles, who I’ve just been informed broke up over artistic differences. Oh, man. Sometimes I feel like the whole world is against me.

But that’s police work.

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Animals: The Way Of The Future!

By: Charlie Nadler

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Every day, an animal is born on this earth. Many of us will go our entire lives without ever interacting with these mysterious beasts, but their swift advancement has nevertheless garnered the esteem of the world community. Today, even critics must concede: Animals are the way of the future!

Animals Are Strong, Courageous

The wilderness, which is the natural habitat of animals, is a very disorderly, undomesticated sort of place. Without the modern conveniences upon which humans have become so dependent, animals lead a rugged lifestyle that instills in them not only an appreciation for nature and the outdoors, but also the sharpened instincts and enhanced features necessary to succeed in the future.

Of these various features, perhaps the most remarkable is their unparalleled physical strength. A strapping physique is imperative as it allows the animal to effectively defend his or her property. (Consider this: Animals possess the strength of apes, and they don’t even go to the gym. Just imagine what they could accomplish if they had personal trainers — which they undoubtedly will in the future!) Along with having great strength, it is necessary for animals to be courageous; otherwise they would constantly become frightened by bears and crocodiles. Courage with strength to match is the way of the future; therefore, so are animals.

Animals Do Not Have To Answer To God

Man, who was created in the likeness of God, ultimately has to answer to his creator. On the approaching day of the rapture, the pious and the sinful will depart on (very!) different paths, but the godless animals will remain here on Earth. With all of humanity out of the picture, animals will undoubtedly seize command of the planet. It is difficult to say whether this “animal kingdom”? will be ruled with style and sophistication, or whether the earth will descend into a cesspool of perversion and debauchery, similar to what happened with the dinosaurs. In either case, animals will have proven that they are indeed the way of the future!

Animals Have Probably Already Been To The Future

This is more of a personal theory, and I am (technically) not an expert on the particulars of time travel, but it strikes me as naive to assume that a species as accomplished as the animal will never ascertain how to complete a simple trip through time. It is important to remember that if future animals achieve time traveling capabilities, they have likely already traveled back in time to visit with past animals and impart their knowledge of the future — including the particulars of time travel. Furthermore, because animals do not speak or wear clothes, there would be no way to differentiate a future animal from an animal of the present. (The obvious exception here would be if a future animal were to encounter its past self, or vice versa — in which case the space-time continuum would be destroyed.)

Now that it has been established that animals have been to the future, surely it follows that they are also the way of the future.

Animals Look/Act Futuristic

Especially their eyes, if you take their picture or shine a flashlight on them at night.

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My Imaginary Love Life Reviewed

By: Ralph Gamelli

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Amy Pasternak: A fellow fifth-grader, and my first case of puppy love. At recess, in an effort to show my interest, I whipped a snowball at the back of her head. This was repeated for several days with no luck. If not for my inability to express myself in a more socially acceptable manner — perhaps by sharing some gum with her or by showing off on the monkey bars — she might have been my first kiss.

Julie Gibbs: Our lockers were side-by-side all through high school. I couldn’t count how many times we exchanged pleasantries such as “Hey” and “Long day, huh?” and “Have a good weekend.” If I’d had the nerve to take it to the next level, I’m guessing the two of us could have become as close as our lockers. High school sweethearts. Saturday nights at the movies. Junior and senior prom. The whole deal. And then an amicable split as we go off to separate colleges. Not one of the guys she met there could compare to me, though.

Linda: I don’t remember if I ever got her last name, and in fact I’m not really sure about the first. It could have been Lisa (we only met once during a dorm party and the music was really loud). She was more than a little tipsy and clearly willing to go upstairs with me even though I was tripping over every other word and sweating like a marathon runner. Would have been my first one-night stand if I hadn’t gone to get her another drink, then slipped out the back door in fear.

Maggie (as read off her name tag): She used to be the cashier at my grocery store. I always made it a point to go to her register, even when the line was longer than others. Despite eating a lot healthier during her two years and four months on the job, I apparently failed to impress her with my dietary selections. I would have said something chatty after answering her usual query about paper or plastic, but I was uncomfortable making my move with the bagboy standing right there. We’d have ended up going out for a while and having some fun. I was still in my twenties in those days, though, and not looking for anything too serious. Possibly an ugly breakup.

Charlotte LePlante: A co-worker for a number of years who once made a favorable remark about my shirt. Had I returned the compliment instead of blushing and hurrying back to my cubicle, one thing would have led to another and inevitably drawn us into an illicit affair. Probably best it never happened, since I saw her husband at the office picnic every year and no doubt would have felt guilty about the whole thing. Then again, Charlotte had great legs. No. Better if it didn’t happen.

Kathy McTeague: She lived in my apartment building for years. We ran into each other countless times and had many brief yet exciting conversations regarding the weather. There was even that one time she held the elevator for me. I got to know her schedule well by keeping a careful eye on the parking lot, and of course you can always tell a lot about a person by the kind of trash they leave in the Dumpster behind the building. For six long years we lived under the same roof, playing house, but in the end she left me. I didn’t even know she was gone until I saw the Kowalskis moving in several days later. Love can be a cruel game.

Some woman on the sidewalk: She was wearing a really tight pair of jeans, and when I stopped for the red light, I could have sworn she glanced over at me for a second longer than necessary. I should have smiled or honked the horn or something. We might be married by now.

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Battle of the Bands Who Would Have No Career If Radiohead Had Kept Making Accessible Music

By: Eric Feezell

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Hello, and welcome to the third annual Battle of the Bands Who Would Have No Career if Radiohead Had Kept Making Accessible Music. I’m your host, Thom Yorke: primary creative force behind Radiohead — the only band of any significance in the last decade.

Our contestants are ready for an exciting day, but first, a little background. In the mid-90s, a weary music scene turned from grunge in search of something new. Radiohead responded, producing hits like “Creep” and “High and Dry.” But we soon grew tired of 14-year-old girls singing our songs at slumber parties and decided to release increasingly complex and obscure albums. Enter today’s contestants, who have all attempted to pick up the mundane and sugar-coated mantle we willingly tossed away:

Hailing from London and sporting the finest in carefully maintained stubble and expensive sweat pants: Chris Martin and the boys from Coldplay.

Endeavoring for a second hit while playing “Why Does It Always Rain on Me?” as an opening act for any tour that will have them: our underdogs, Travis.

And, fresh out of rehab, the soft and cuddly newcomers: Keane. No guitars. Aren’t they adorable?

Let’s give them all a big hand. And, oh, one more thing. Even though these lads rose to fame mimicking early Radiohead, I will be judging them by Radiohead’s current standards. Unfair? Maybe. And now, for our first challenge:

Pictorial Analysis of Woman Baking Cookies

On the screen in front of us is an antiquated picture of a middle-aged woman, apron-clad, pulling a tray of cookies from the oven. Okay contestants, please describe what is taking place here…Time’s up! Let’s see those answers.

Coldplay writes: “Is she lost, or incomplete? Does she feel like a puzzle, she can’t find her missing piece? (Fee-ee-ee-eeeeeeeeel.)”

Incorrect. Unfathomably fruity, and incorrect. Also, negative points for phrasing your answer in the form of a question, Coldplay. Do I look like Alex Trebek? No, obviously not, because I look like a gargoyle. Moving on…

Keane offers: “She’s getting older; she needs something to relyyyyyyy on.”

Wow. Truly stunning. Tell me, Keane. Now that you’re sober, what have you been relying on? A 16-year-old lyricist? Wrong. No points. Do us a favor, boys. Go grab a pint and don’t stop drinking until you’re dead. Next.

Travis?

Oh, this is interesting. Travis has not provided a verbal answer, but instead submits a mason jar containing a solitary tear drop from each band member. This, too, is incorrect, but I will award partial points because we were not actually forced to listen to anything that Travis produced. Thank you, Travis — you are gentlemen, truly.

The correct answer is: The woman’s seemingly elated expression belies her disenchantment with the corporate bastardization of the confectionery industry. Or, put lyrically: She: defeated. Stop now. Otis Spunkmeyer carcass. Traverse equals sign.

Let’s move onto our next challenge:

Write an Electric Guitar Part to Accompany My Acoustic Strumming

I will now strum a simple chord progression: C/G for two measures, into A minor for one measure, and finally into G major. Ready lead guitarists? Accompany!

Travis is playing the root note of each chord in double time while running through an industrial-sized delay pedal set at 7. That is incorrect. No points. Or imagination.

Coldplay is…Oh my! Really? Coldplay is also playing the root note of each chord in double time, but they have set their industrial-sized delay pedal to 8. Also wrong. Plus, negative points awarded for Chris Martin walking needlessly across the stage in slow motion.

Finally, Keane is doing what it does best: proving that anyone can not play guitar. Keane has actually crawled inside the piano and is plucking desperately at the strings with the butt end of a guitar pick. So help me, Keane, if you don’t stop this instant I will nail the cover shut and sell the lot of you into white slavery. You really are a bunch of — wait a second — ARE YOU CRYING, KEANE? Oh, c’mon. Wipe away those tears boys, and Daddy will show you how to play a diminished chord? Okay? There ya’ go. Who’s a big boy?

In fairness, that was actually a trick question. The correct answer is: a disgusted refusal to play anything whatsoever over a chord progression so banal.

On to our next challenge:

Without Using Words, Convey Man’s Place in an Increasingly Technological World

Okay, Keane’s up first this time. Let’s see. Very good. All three members of the band are drinking heavily. Understood. An opiate against the fake plastic tech-ocracy. Good. And now, oh, there’s a second bottle, and…hey, you’re not even playing, are you? No points. And, Christ, at least have the decency to drink real liquor. I didn’t even know they still made wine coolers.

How ’bout you, Coldplay? All eyes are on Chris as the band prostrates themselves on the floor before him. Let’s see what he comes up with. Ah, brilliant. Chris is walking and lip-syncing in slow motion again. Boy, that just never gets old. Negative points, and Mr. Martin must leave the country, taking his American wife and tragically-named offspring with him.

What’s this? Travis seems to really be up to something. They’re gathered round a dust bin and…could it be? Yes, they are actually eating the partial remains of yesterday’s lunch out of the garbage. Fascinating. Starved by the barren façade of technology, man must return to yesterday for nourishment! Good show, Travis! What’s that? You were just hungry? You haven’t been able to afford regular meals since 2003? Oh. Well, points awarded for the visual, nonetheless.

The correct answer was exactly what Travis did — except for the part about really starving to death. And now, our last challenge:

Name Radiohead’s Next Album

Okay, me and the boys are putting the final touches on our new album. For our final contest, please write down a suitable title for this LP…Time’s up.

Coldplay. Your answer is: Kid X, Y, & Z

That is just adorable. Of course, it’s wrong, as Radiohead would never come so close to repeating itself — even in titling its albums. But I am awarding partial points considering how much worse it could have been. Nevertheless, do not mistake my happy-go-lucky magnanimity for weakness, Coldplay. I’ve got my one fully functioning eye on you.

Onto, Keane who submits: Cyborg Lullabies. Oh, from the mouths of babes. Barely literate, tone deaf babes. Still, partial points for the gratuitous use of a technological reference.

And lastly, Travis, who writes: “What is an ‘LP?'”

Hmm. Perhaps that was to be expected from a band so utterly unprolific that they rely on singles-sales to prepubescents for sustenance. No points. And, as a special penalty, I will be giving the hooligans from Oasis your home address and the keys to you apartment.

If you don’t mind, Radiohead will stick with our working title, Frigid, Non-miscible Garbagescapes. Terrifyingly beautiful, no?

Well, that’s it. Let’s see who’s won. Coldplay has negative points and my well-earned disdain. Keane has one partial point and no future. That means the winner is Travis with two partial points! Of course, no matter who wins, the loser is always you, the listening public. That’s it. I’m Thom Yorke. Up next, Adam Duritz hosts a showdown between Train and The Fray in Battle of the Bands Who Would Have No Career If Counting Crows Hadn’t Turned To Crap. Goodnight!

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Random Clippings From The Addleton Gazette

By: Dan Shea

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From the Personals section (page D11), dated 2/14/05:

Professional SWF, 36, seeks TDHM, 30-40, interested in LTR w/ passion + excitement. Must have good SOH, love good food, enjoy dancing, and want kids. Pls. no smokers, social drinking OK.

From the Classified section (For Sale: Misc., page D3), dated 4/19/05:

Lot for sale. Includes king-size waterbed, 2 mostly full beanbag chairs, 3 framed Lamborghini posters, a black light, 100+ vintage Penthouse magazines and 5 bongs. Moving in with girlfriend — MUST SELL! $8 OBO! Contact Dave M. at (505)-555-1977

From the Lifestyles section (Wedding Announcements, page C5), dated 6/20/05:

Mr. and Mrs. Charles Wilton have the honor of announcing the marriage of their daughter, local attorney Jennifer Elizabeth Wilton, to David Richard Millis, a freelance investor, on June the 30th, 2005. The ceremony will include family and friends from as far away as London, where the couple plans to spend their honeymoon.

From the Local section (page C3), dated 7/01/05:

‘BRIDE-ZILLA’ GOES ON RAMPAGE, 3 INJURED

Violence erupted yesterday at a wedding ceremony being held at the downtown Episcopal Church when the bride-to-be suddenly became agitated and began lashing out at guests and others in the middle of the service. Eyewitness accounts vary and no motive for the outbreak is clear.

“The (bride) just went crazy,” claimed a friend of the groom’s. “(Stuff) was all cool, they were up there saying all that ‘I do I do’ (stuff), then all of a sudden the (bride) just flips the (fudge) out!”

“I don’t know why she did it, but I’m sure she had her reasons,” suggested Emily Branch, an acquaintance of the bride. Ms. Branch went on to cluck and nod knowingly at this reporter without further elaboration.

The groom (whose name is being withheld but was described as looking unkempt and blurry-eyed, smelling of perfume and covered in glitter) managed to escape the wrathful bride (name also withheld) due to an over-elaborate wedding dress design. He and the best man leapt into a car parked out front, which some witnesses claim had been left running.

The bride was eventually sedated by authorities and released into the custody of her family.

From the Metro section (page B3), dated 7/03/05:

LAWYER FILES UNPRECEDENTED SUIT ON BEHALF OF SELF

Local attorney Jennifer Wilton yesterday filed a $60 million lawsuit on behalf of herself against one David R. Millis of North Addleton. The suit is unique in the sense that it alleges simply that “the defendant is a dick who ruined the plaintiff’s life.” Many legal experts have said that it will most likely never see a courtroom, but many more legal experts just laughed and hung up on us.

“Um, no, I don’t think she can do that,” said Michael Sanchez, a partner in the firm of Schlessinger, Goldman, and Token. “Well, I sure hope not anyway.”

“David Millis is a dangerous man,” according to a statement released by Wilton. “This landmark case is not only about justice for one woman, my client, me, but also about setting a powerful precedent that can stop behavior like this from other grown men in the future. As far as what that behavior is, I’ll just say that Mr. Millis knows what he did, and if he doesn’t then I’m not going to spell it out for him on a legal document.”

Millis could not be reached for comment.

From the Letters-to-the-Editor section (page A6), dated 8/09/05:

To Whom It May Concern,

For two weeks now I’ve had to look at that stupid billboard along Route 22. I’m sure you’ve all seen it too. It’s the one between the Denny’s and the yellow office building before the Center St. exit. The one that used to warn us about feline leukemia? Need another hint?

It’s the BRIGHT NEON PINK one that says “Jenny, I’m sorry! Please forgive me! Love, Dave” and it makes everyone in town puke!!! Know that one?? I thought so.

I don’t know who Dave and Jenny are, and I don’t care. I don’t need their little fight blinding me with pink rays of wussiness while I’m driving home every day. It’s not only stupid and annoying, but it makes every guy in town look bad. Except for Dave, according to my wife, but it sounds like that dude ain’t getting any anyway.

So Dave, wherever you are, you can have my wife if you take that billboard down. And Jenny, either forgive the creep or tell him to buy you some flowers and a steak.

Signed,

Annoyed in Addleton

From the Blurbs section (page A2), dated 8/12/05:

‘DICK’ SUIT DROPPED

A $60 million lawsuit against local investor David Millis, which alleged that he was “a dick,” was dropped yesterday. The plaintiff, Jennifer Wilton, cited an “amicable and passionate settlement” as grounds for the dismissal, adding that nuptials and “perfect, perfect little babies” were included in the agreement. Millis had no comment.

From the Front Page Headline (A1), dated 11/22/05:

BIZARRE SLAYING ROCKS COMMUNITY

Neighbors awoke to a grisly scene in North Addleton yesterday morning when police were called to the home of David R. Millis, whose body was discovered by a Jehovah’s Witness at 5:45 am. An autopsy will be performed, but police reports claim that he had over two dozen stripper-style thongs forcibly inserted into multiple body orifices in addition to at least one issue of Penthouse magazine, rolled into a sharp cone, fatally lodged in his crotch. To make the tragedy even worse, he was due to be married later that morning.

His fiancee’s whereabouts are still unknown.

“It’s so scary,” said one resident… (continued on A3)

From the Personals section of a small paper several states away from Addleton (page D11), dated 2/14/06:

Mysterious SWF, 37, seeks mild mannered SM any age for LTR w/ stability. Must hate the past, asking questions, and porn. No cops.

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FOX Network’s Weekly Explanation Of Paula Abdul’s Increasingly Erratic Behavior

By: Jay Dyckman

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We here at FOX are appalled by suggestions that Ms. Abdul was acting strangely on last night’s American Idol. Yes, Paula was emotional during and after several of the performances. But really, who wouldn’t be? Did you people not hear Sanjaya’s rendition of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”? What are you, made of stone? I mean, who wouldn’t be reduced to pawing at the face of the person next to you after a poignant moment like that? Or say anything other than rambling baby gibberish? And, if you go back and watch the episode closely, I think you’ll clearly see that Simon offered Paula his sleeve to use as a much needed Kleenex.

* * * * * * * * * *

OK, show of hands. How many of you people are multi-platinum recording artists who danced next to an animated cat in one of the 80s’ seminal music videos? Hmmm? No one? Then perhaps none of you are really qualified to question why Paula was lying under the desk for half of last night’s show. And later appeared to be facing the wrong way. She’s an artist. And that’s how she gleans talent. This is a master at work, people. And when you think about it, it’s actually very Zen-like.

* * * * * * * * * *

Regarding last night’s show: Paula has just informed us that only minutes prior to filming, Donald Trump phoned her and launched into a nasty tirade about her weight and suspect talent. While we were unaware of any feud, Paula has never given us any reason to doubt her credibility and, frankly, the man does have a track record. Knowing this, we are now embarrassed that we approached this brave woman before the show to inquire why she was picking through the trash for leftover Chinese take-out. Our suggestions that she probably not appear on that night’s show now seem callous. Thankfully, Paula is a professional and she wouldn’t hear of it. “The show must go on!” she slurred, literally biting the hands of a young P.A. attempting to restrain her from entering the set. Well, we here at FOX applaud her commitment to the show. Also, we can only assume that Paula’s disheveled hair was deliberately pushed into a comical comb-over in a furtive dig at Mr. Trump. Let’s all take a moment to say “Well played, Paula. Well played.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Many of you might not know this, but Ms. Abdul served in 1990’s Operation Desert Storm. During her tour of duty, Lt. Abdul, as she was then known, was commanding an elite special-ops force when her team suddenly came under heavy enemy fire. Despite only being armed with a pen knife and some lip liner, she successfully took out several militants, even gutting one with her bare hands, before finally being taken captive. During this time, it is our understanding that she was subjected to brutal, systemic torture that left her psyche bent beyond repair. Sadly, somewhere in the middle of LaKisha’s performance of “Livin’ on a Prayer,” Ms. Abdul suffered a flashback to one of her many water-torture episodes and had what experts refer to as a psychotic breakdown. So, as should now be obvious, her spastic arm gyrations and repeated “No deal, Howie!” outbursts during last night’s telecast are entirely understandable.

We here at FOX salute you, Lieutenant.

* * * * * * * * * *

Whatever. Look, you try chugging a 24 oz. Coke container full of Jim Beam and see how far you make it before passing out.

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Superman Dies

By: Michael Fowler

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Today the Man of Steel rallied, briefly. The Kryptonite drip to his arm numbed the pain and wracked his body, but for five seconds his x-ray vision worked. He scanned the indestructible prostate tumor that was killing him. Ugh. Not unlike Bizarro’s face. But why not, when he was 95? Today also he had misjudged his super strength and turned a bedpan into a pancake. The nurses’ buzzer he had mashed into molecules days earlier. The old super powers were erratic if they functioned at all. A stronger Kryptonite drip would kill him. He thought, come on, Kryptonite.

Over the last decade his super feats had not been well received. His construction of a fence along the Mexican border with 10 billion aluminum pop cans was called a silly stunt. His solving the global warming crisis by hauling glaciers from Neptune across space had only enraged the environmentalists. The administration said it didn’t need a senior citizen to hunt down terrorists, and the vice president said the Axis of Evil — Poison Ivy, Lex Luthor, and Mr. Freeze — had been brought to justice. If he wanted, the VP added, he could go after the Penguin, who was implicated in the Iraqi oil-for-food scandal, but why didn’t he just retire?

His prostate cried for attention when he hit 87. He was in the Fortress of Solitude working on his autobiography, the chapter on Ma Kent’s delicious homemade fruit pies. Suddenly he felt a stabbing pain in his gut and an attack of weakness, as if a lump of Kryptonite lay close by. The pain never went away and his powers started to fail. As a nonagenarian the Geezer of Steel could hardly fly, and banged about Metropolis like a large, drunken moth. Exhausted at the end of each day, he fell in bed in Kent’s apartment. Kent, a loner, was utterly isolated. Lois had died of breast cancer in 1988, Jimmy had overdosed a year later. Perry White had been entombed since 1977. No one cared about mild-mannered Kent. In fact, no one believed in him.

The day before his ninety-fifth birthday he finally discarded Kent. He donated the reporter’s wardrobe to AMVETS and went in to work the next morning as Superman. No one at the Daily Planet raised an eyebrow. He had blown his cover years ago in a pre-cancer series of senior moments. There was the time he came to the office with his shirt unbuttoned and his big red S showing. Another time he stepped out the fifteenth-floor office window to catch a cab. A few coworkers snickered at these faux pas, but they only confirmed what everyone already knew. Never a sick day in decades, come on. Turning down medical coverage until it was mandatory, uh huh. Kent had effectively died around 1965, and Superman might just as well have been himself beginning then. But he couldn’t erase Kent from his mind. Although he typed at his desk in full heroic spandex on his ninety-fifth birthday, he didn’t talk to anyone unless they called him Clark. Two weeks later he collapsed at the copier and rode an ambulance to the hospital.

Admirers came, and sometimes he was alert enough to speak with them. Batman stumbled in on a walker. The Caped Crusader told him Spiderman lay in a nursing home with bedsores from neglect, the Green Lantern wore Depends, and Wonder Woman’s closet was full of pointy bras she’d never need again. He enjoyed Batman’s visit, but it tired him. All the celebrities and fans tired him. When Obama arrived, he turned his face to the wall. Superman instructed the hospital to bar all further visits. Superman, he told them to say, was having a bad day.

At the end the Man of Steel found no peace. The Man of Tomorrow didn’t take ‘er easy. The Strange Visitor from Another Planet couldn’t chill. Thing was, he left no legacy. There were no super kids to follow in his footsteps, and he would shortly be forgotten. It wasn’t for want of trying. Lois the lesbian had checked his advances, and then for a brief time, without any protection, and only to perpetuate his name, he had been as Wilt Chamberlain to all comers. But that was years ago, and he had heard of no youths running 3-second miles or leaping over buildings. Had he shot blanks? Was his seed incompatible with the earthly egg? Were all these human hags barren?

Dozing, Superman felt an unfamiliar presence. Opening his eyes, he found a large youth standing in his semi-private room. Brown-skinned and badly overweight, he had that signature ringlet of hair hanging over his forehead. Could it be? He was saying something. Superman thought he heard “I flew here as soon as I got word, dad.” But was this really his offspring, or some con artist trying to get his hands on Kent’s pension and the royalties to I Am Superman?

He waved the young man to his bedside. The lad waddled over. Then the Patient of Steel, with his last strength, grabbed the four-foot, 75-pound green oxygen tank by his bedside and smacked the kid’s cranium with it like Bonds hitting a homer. The guy’s head came right off.

No son of mine, thought Superman, and died.

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Bill Walton Helps You Open A Chase Free Checking Account

By: Greg Boose

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Welcome back to Chase Bank here on Ashland and Roscoe. Truly great to have you with us on this beautiful Wednesday morning. This branch is not only one of the best branches in the city, but it’s quite possibly one of the best branches in the entire history of the world. You’ve just witnessed a spectacular display of customer service up at the teller window with Barbara, and now I will show you the superb benefits of a Chase Free Checking account. Goodness gracious alive. It doesn’t get any better than this.

With our free checking account you will have total access to over 7,300 Chase ATMs and 2,600 branches nationwide. I am truly stunned to hear that you had your last account over at First Federal with their despicable monthly fees and lackluster show in available ATMs. I’m shocked at their display. I scratch my head in bewilderment over the fact that you weren’t even offered online statements. They didn’t give you a choice over check safekeeping? Balderdash. That’s a terrible call. Terrible. Chase Bank is doing things we’ve never seen before from anybody — from any planet! This might very well be the best account for you in the history of Western Civilization.

There’s absolutely no minimum balance for your free checking account when using direct deposit, which is just spectacular. Just outstanding. You also get free online bill pay, and that right there is one of the true marvels of this wondrous world, if not of all the galaxies. You can actually pay your cell phone bill over the Internet. No more of those suffocating and exasperating lines at the post office. Chase is the greatest thing to happen to demand deposit accounts in a long time.

Now it doesn’t take a genius of the human spirit, or someone who went to UCLA, to understand that you might overdraw your account. That’s why the superb beings at Chase offer overdraft protection in the form of a credit card that is directly linked to your checking account. Remember that failing to prepare is preparing to fail, and that sacred cows make the best hamburger. I’m not a critic, just a reporter of the facts: Having overdraft protection is just one the true marvels of Chase Bank. Not just of this generation, but of all time. I can’t say enough about their resolve. Breathtaking move. Just remarkable.

I’m mainstream; always have been. On the other hand, I’m 6-foot-11 and I’ve got red hair, freckles, and I’m a goofy, nerdy-looking guy with a speech impediment — I stutter and stammer all the time – and to top it all off, I’m a Deadhead. But I found a safe place in life in the plethora of Chase’s personal banking services. If Chase Bank, the epitome of competitive greatness, can give a man like me or a man like you the opportunity to exceed the hype and receive a free Chase Check Card and personalized email alerts when there is suspicious activity on your account, then this surely is a momentous event in the storied history of financial institutions.

I just need you to sign here, here and then here on your debit card application. Stroke it, big man! Stroke it. I will also need a minimum amount of twenty-five dollars to open the account. Did you want to go with regular or duplicate checks? And while I’m on the phone ordering them, point a steady finger to the color scheme you prefer. Slam it down, big man! What a superb showing of grace and power. Now please write down your PIN number in that box. That’s a thing of absolute beauty. Perfection. We welcome you with open arms. Remember that this is Chase Bank’s world, we’re just lucky to be living in it.

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Han Solo Prepares For The Mos Eisley Mayoral Election

By: G. Xavier Robillard

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At times I don’t know who I am anymore. I can’t trust myself. Cocksure on some days, and then others? Memory’s fading. Leia thinks Greedo shot first. She’d like to think that. But at point blank range? How does a bounty hunter miss at point blank range? This wasn’t some kid shooting wamp rats out in the desert. This was fricking Greedo. He wasn’t Boba Fett, although in the end, it turns out Boba Fett wasn’t Boba Fett. Still, you’d think the guy who caught up to me wouldn’t have missed. Oh, it all happened so long ago. Ancient history, except it’s not. It’s politics.

Sometimes Leia says I shot first. When she wants to make me feel bad about myself. Like when the Falcon was blocking the driveway because I was waiting for parts and she had to park on the street and then it was “you shot Greedo first.” Or like when she gets mad because I ask her to wear the Jabba slave girl outfit. But is that so wrong? I must be the only guy who missed that — still blind from the carbonite and all. You’d think she could throw me a bone.

Maybe I wasn’t meant to be married. Maybe the Force created me to walk this earth alone, by myself, singular, not part of a duet…what’s the word I’m looking for? No, that’s stupid. There are two rules in politics: you have to be married, and you have to believe in the Force.

There were like a thousand witnesses in that bar, some with several sets of eyes, but everyone remembers something different. The drummer says I shot first. The bald bug-eyed oboe dudes insist it was Greedo. All the bartender remembers is that I flipped him a coin for the mess. Why would I clean it up if he shot me first?

And why does it even matter? I mean, he was going to cause my death one way or the other, right? What difference does it make whether he was a cold-blooded killer or just an amoral bounty hunter dropping me off to be tortured by Jabba? Only an imbecile with too much time on his hands would worry about who drew first. I mean, either way it was self-defense. But I can hear my PR people now: “Of course, it matters. The people of Mos Eisley don’t want a drug smuggler with an itchy trigger finger as their mayor. Greedo shot first.”

How did a guy like me even end up with PR people? I’d like to shoot them first. But a necessary evil I’m told if I want to be mayor of Mos Eisley. Do I want to be mayor of Mos Eisley? Am I qualified? Ah, what am I saying? That’s the Sergeant Solo talking…I’m a Captain! Who should be mayor if not me? I’ve done so much here since I first visited after my record-breaking Kessel Run. Nobody else would have turned this backwater planet into a premier shopping and gambling destination. Nobody else would have had the gumption to build the Death Star Resort with five thousand rooms and staff dressed as Stormtroopers. They called it tacky, but it paid for itself instantly. And I always stood by Chewie even when it was confirmed that Wookies spread Lyme disease.

So why am I listening to my critics now? Who are these Tatooines for Truth, spreading rumors? The lies they tell. That I was never frozen in Carbonite, that I’ve never even been to Endor. And now this – that I shot Greedo in cold blood, and chose a law career later in life defending bounty hunters pro bono so I could make up for it.

I tried to get my hands on the bar’s surveillance tapes, but I’m not sure which is the right one. I swear, there’s like three. One where I shoot first. Another where he totally guns for me first — badly. And then there’s one where I actually turn out of the way, but it looks weird, like the orgy scene in Eyes Wide Shut.

Sometimes I wish Luke were still here. That he had gone on with his life. Had new experiences. Now I only see him on a talk show every couple of years talking about the old days. You knew things were bad when he went from black robes to a white sequined jumpsuit. I get so sad, I can’t even watch. But at least he endorsed me. Lando threw his support to the blue piano-playing elephant at the last minute, saying I was weak on the malt liquor tax issue.

I could always say, “Greed killed Greedo.” I mean, that’s technically true isn’t it? But that would never hold up through all these press conferences and town hall meetings. My consultants tell me there’s shades of truth as if there’s anything subtle about a direct blaster shot to the gut. But, I know I’ll have to listen. Greedo shot first. Greedo shot first. Yeah, that version sounds better. Polls better anyway.

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