Drunk and bitter on Valentine's Day

  I'm not opposed to love. In fact, I love love, especially the sex part. It's not even that I hate Valentine's Day. But like every event in our society that contains even the slightest hint of sappy sentimentality, it has been done to death. (Can you say, "Titanic?")

  For example, as if it weren't enough that some person or persons came up with the concept of setting aside an entire day dedicated solely to the celebration of lust and adoration, this same person (or persons) decided that this day needed a symbol. It was decided that the best symbol would be a bastardization of that big, red, thumping blood-pumper in the middle of the human chest. Of course, since the natural appearance of this vital organ doesn't exactly evoke feelings of lust (unless you're into such kinky stuff as barfing on your partner), it had to be "prettied up" by taking out the lumps and slapping on some ribbons and bows.

How I survived nine minutes of Dick Cheney

  Editor’s note: This article first appeared in the August 2002 edition of the Capital City Free Press.

Monday, July 22, 2002

3:07 pm

  I tried to get out of it. Given that my employer, The Montgomery Independent, had published a lengthy prelude to this event last week, I don't see why I am baking in the mid-summer Alabama heat waiting for the man they call Dick Cheney. I've been told this man runs the great nation we live in but still only gets second billing for it. Poor guy.

Joseph O. Patton: Taking back Thanksgiving!

  I am genuinely elated to report that I have survived another Thanksgiving… or rather what remains of this rapidly deteriorating national holiday. I ate, I watched football, I napped. God ordained back in the Plymouth Rock days that we adhere to this sacred ritual, right? And doing so enables me to show my Turkey Day pride, get my festive gobble-gobble swerve thang on, but mostly just suffer from indigestion as a result of all that sweet, blessed gluttony.

  But increasingly each year something else is ominously creeping into the view from my yam-tinted glasses, vulgarly tinkling on my Thanksgiving joy and ruthlessly pushing all the pilgrim imagery to the side - its name: Christmas.

We once went “MAD” for the magazine — and it was fun and funny

  The world is soon going to be a little bit less MAD — and the poorer for it.

  The quintessential baby boomer-era satire mag, MAD magazine has announced it will soon contain only re-published content, on a monthly basis — industry-speak for trying to garner what nostalgia-tinged profits might still be obtained from those who recall better days.

Ask Dr. Bumdinkle: Are open relationships healthy?

  Author's note: Yes, I'm back. It's a condition of my parole to give people advice on trivial matters which they should have the sense to sort out on their own.

Dear Dr. Bumdinkle:

  I love my girlfriend deeply. We may even get married one day. Since we met, we have considered ourselves to be in an "open relationship," which by our standards at least means we're free to romance other people, including having sex, but our emotional bond and the core relationship stays strictly between us. We do not get attached to other people. In other words, despite our flings with others, we always come home to each other. And yet we often get criticized by our friends for sleeping with other people.

Joseph O. Patton: Taking back Thanksgiving!

  I am genuinely elated to report that I have survived another Thanksgiving… or rather what remains of this rapidly deteriorating national holiday. I ate, I watched football, I napped. God ordained back in the Plymouth Rock days that we adhere to this sacred ritual, right? And doing so enables me to show my Turkey Day pride, get my festive gobble-gobble swerve thang on, but mostly just suffer from indigestion as a result of all that sweet, blessed gluttony.

  But increasingly each year something else is ominously creeping into the view from my yam-tinted glasses, vulgarly tinkling on my Thanksgiving joy and ruthlessly pushing all the pilgrim imagery to the side - its name: Christmas.

Ken Paulson: The high stakes for short messages

  The queen of England had a rough weekend recently. It rained relentlessly and her youngest son Edward was stuck in the garden wearing an Easter Bunny suit. I know this because I follow "Elizabeth Windsor," a Twitter account that shares Elizabeth’s personal musings. It’s informative, amusing – and totally fabricated.

Justin Abodalo: 50 years ago, Lenny Bruce’s arrest no joking matter

  The First Amendment is serious – except when it’s not.

  Comedian Lenny Bruce, a hero of stand-up comedy, was arrested April 3, 1964 — 50 years ago — in New York City during his act for saying profane words on stage. Bruce’s routine was mild in comparison to what today’s comedians say on stage – but at the time, it meant a series of confrontations with local police in various cities.

Ask Dr. Bumdinkle: Hoping to secede!

Disclaimer: Don't be a jackass. "Ask Dr. Bumdinkle" is for entertainment purposes only.
        
Dr. Bumdingleberry or whatever:

  As a proud American who believes in the Floundering Fathers’ belief that Jesus should run our government and black folks should not be allowed to be black folks, I’m joining the movement to petition the President to consider a request from my home state Alabama – Roll Tide! – to secede from the Union.