Star Trek

Why does everyone think I'm a Star Trek character?! Seriously, it's starting to get old. I walked into the doctor's office the other day, to have him take a look at my mullet. Those things burrow into your brain sometimes, causing mulletitis. I have, like, three friends who were hospitalized for mulletitis last year. It's a vicious disease, ravaging your soul and all that. But before I could see the doctor, I had to put up with this idiotic receptionist. I was all, "I need to see the doctor. I don't want to hear another lame story about your kids." I normally wouldn't make such egregious demands, but the last time I was in that office the receptionist tried to sell me a timeshare by talking nonstop about her kids. I'm not sure of the stratagem applied there, but it must have been powerful.

That's when the doctor came out of his office. "Edmonde!" I yelled, for Edmonde is the only doctor my insurance will cover. Never mind that the two of us had a falling out after he wrapped me in toilet paper and mailed me to Saipan. I'm a big fan of practical jokes, but on my birthday? Even I never sank so low, and I've had both the opportunity and motive. What kind of life involves Saipan?! I mean, the people of Saipan are all right, don't get me wrong. But it's just not Guam. There's no utilities, no atmosphere, no meat in that burger. I'm not a scholar, but even I wouldn't put an extinct volcano next to an aquifer. Still, they're a whale of a tale better than Jon Stewart.

Yeah, I was listening to that little dog and pony show he calls a "fake newscast," and I heard what he said to that "guest" of his. Yeah, the crazy guy is always the one getting up on soap boxes and blaming Roosevelt for stealing his couch. Sure. Let me tell you, I knew that man. And Jon Stewart is totally lying- Roosevelt did steal that poor soul's couch, and he enjoyed stealing it. I remember it clearly... the year was 1933. That poor, poor couchless man. It brings a tear to my eye that Jon Stewart, a man whose name is clearly missing a consonant, would have the audacity to malign the reputation of Crazy Joe Mama.

Open Letter

Dearest Colleague,

Your intentions have been intuited, and I will under no circumstances refer to you as "Provost of Pork." Not only do you lack the required degrees to become the provost of any university, but the Department of Orwellian Agriculture has a court order preventing you from mentioning pork in any of your printed documents. I think we all know why, and the fact that you think you can subvert the will of the people pains me to no end. Have you no shame?

Furthermore, I humbly decline the stock options you offered me under duress. My sense of moral outrage forbids me from buying stock in companies that discriminate based on browser use. I mean, sure I have a huge problem with anyone who uses Internet Explorer. But I never actively screened them, put up some kind of script that would give them the eye wrinkles. Why do you have such a zealous hatred of non-Opera browsers? Firefox never choked a chicken, I can tell you that. But to imply that Internet Explorer is so inferior that its users will be cast into the fiery pits of Northern Kentucky is simply offensive. Sir, I admire your aspirations, but must decline your influence.

You have won many converts over the years on your message of Opera superiority, but the times are changing, my friend. Like sand through the fingers of a polar bear, so too are the new browser wars. You tried to rule by fear; history have proven this approach flawed at best. At worst, frosted. In the interest of international cooperation, I must insist that you cede control of the Ottawa Vice. May your shoes always be polished.

Punctually Incognizant,
The Taker of Gist, Third Class