Archive for September, 2008


An Open Letter to the Editor

I don‘t know if any of you remember me. A while ago I was an investigative journalist for Suburban Panic. You know, back a few years ago, when it had standards? After breaking stories on the pharmaceutical companies, the myth of “Canada“, and the true identity of the Grimace, I retired. Or rather, I was asked to leave.

By court order.

It was an unfortunate situation. The editor said some things he didn’t mean, I said some things I did. You know how it breaks down.

Even though I was gone, chased from the light of all the glorious truth I had spread from my little stronghold of honest reporting, I did not despair! I did not disappear! No! I did not surrender, turn to the darkness and face the night alone. I have been sitting and waiting. Reading Suburban Panic and… crying. Crying tears of shame and horror. After forcing myself to peruse this site and bear witness to the monstrosity it has become, I have come to a clear and absolute conclusion.

This site desperately needs me back.

Some slack-jawed, “reason” obsessed “logic” whore who’d rather sit in a closet and jerk off to the newest edition of [put name of Actual Skeptical Magazine here, please] than open his eyes to the reality surrounding him, has taken control of this once engaging and interesting forum. He has steered it away from its original purpose, and has substituted blatant hurtful lies for the truth I once spent whole hours researching. He’s gone for dry, boring sarcasm, instead of the delightful humor I sought to instill.

What I’m really trying to say is simple.

This site sucks.

No one is writing with dedication or concern for the people en mass. No one seems to be concerned with the massive governmental cover-ups, mistruths, and conspiracies which abound in our society! If anything, the so called “contributors” are perpetrating the lies! Quite frankly, when I’m interested in finding an honest, well researched perspective about, well, anything, I don’t look to Suburban Panic. If I did, my eyes would burst from my skull in frustration, followed shortly by my brain, which would run out my ears in a desperate attempt to flee from the anger and betrayal.

And who is to blame?

What kind of monster could be responsible for such a low blow to science and truth? Well, it causes me great pains to say this but the man responsible for such crimes against humanity is none other than the the man I did not marry.

Oskar Kennedy.

I am shamed and shocked by the changes my ex-boss (and the man who is not my husband) has made on this site. The man who I remember as a conscientious observer, a noble, truth seeking individual, has spiraled into a frame of mind I find disgraceful. It is my duty as a fellow human being, and – most importantly – as an American, to delve into the depths of what is really going on this world.

So I am issuing a challenge. I dare the Editor to publish my new series of investigative articles. You know what? I’ll take it one step further. I will triple-dog-dare Mr. Kennedy to post this letter, and my following piece entitled “Bigfoot: Not That Hard to Find,” and allow the great people of this country to decide once and for all, do they want to read crap that no one cares about or do they want to read insightful and thoughtful articles which illuminate what is really going on in their world?

AND I CAN NOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. OSKAR KENNEDY IS NOT MY HUSBAND.


A Note About Newborns

Here’s something about babies that nobody bothered to mention. Newborns have to grow into their heads.

My sister recently gave birth to her first child, a little girl who, hopefully, will be supplying our impending little one with hand-me-downs until they’re both in college. Because I am a dutiful (if not necessarily enthusiastic) brother, I packed my wife in the car and drove down to see the new baby the day she and her exhausted but happy parents came home from the hospital.

Because she is my niece she is, of course, as cute as a button on the belly of a baby panda. She’s got a bit of the squinty, jowly, miniature-old-man look that all newborns have, but she’s tiny and soft and she wriggles and makes little grunty, gurgly squawks that will be charming as all hell until the first time she gets colic.

I’ve never held a freshly minted human before, and it was quite pleasant. But I wasn’t at all prepared for the thing that she did with her face.

Rather, I wasn’t prepared for the thing she didn’t do with her face, which was move it with the rest of her head. I was reclined slightly on the couch, and she was lying with her head on my chest. She turned her head in response to some sound or another, but her face stayed in place. All the internal parts – skull, nose, eyes, jaws – turned where she wanted to look, but the pressure of her head against my chest kept the soft parts – eye sockets, lips, skin – from moving. She looked like a Shar Pei being dragged around by the cheek.

I really didn’t mean to mention this phenomenon to anyone, because saying “hey, your baby is cute, and OH MY GOD WHAT’S WRONG WITH HER FACE?” is too blunt for even my limited grasp of tact. But I made mention of how soft her newborn skin was, and we sort of got off on a tangent that ended with me wondering out loud how many of them we’d need to make a nice comfy bathrobe.

I am a terrible person.


Apostastic! Part 2: For The Bible Tells Me So

My Methodist upbringing mostly lacked the dramatic elements of more demonstrative religions. The only parts of it that were at all compelling were the bits that came out of the bible.

The Christian Bible has, for all its faults, some pretty good stories, especially for a young boy. Natural disasters, bloody battles, amazing miracles, even some naughtysexiness. And it’s written in such an archaic manner (or translated so inaccurately, depending on the version) that the constant slavery, rape and infanticide are hardly noticeable.

Even for adults, there are some valuable fables and parables. Many portions of the text, especially in the New Testament, contain sound moral and ethical lessons. I wouldn’t look for advice on gender equality or race relations, but if you’ve been hit by a car and you’re bleeding out at the bottom of a drainage ditch? Well, there’s a reason why someone who stops to help is called a Good Samaritan.

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Did You Know…

that didgeridoos are off-limits to women? Well, I didn’t, until I read that the Australian edition of The Daring Book for Girls (co-written by a pal of mine) gives instructions for playing a didgeridoo, and now some of the more traditional Aboriginal leader types have gotten their panties in a twist ’cause they say the didgeridoo is a boys-only toy.

In fact, they bellow, a woman who touches a didgeridoo risks permanent infertility!

dont try this at home if you want your womb to be fruitful

don't try this at home if you want your womb to be fruitful

I would insert a deplorably sexist comment here about a well-known pregnant 17-year-old currently in the news, and how maybe we should integrate didgeridoo lessons into abstinence curricula, at least in Alaska. Instead, I’ll merely speculate on the economics of investing in a didgeridoo and lessons versus my lifetime expenditure on condoms and the Pill. How long or frequently do I have to touch a didgeridoo to permanently knock my ovaries out of commission? Considering the leaders’ over-the-top reaction to the publication of the Daring Book for Girls book in Australia, apparently a single lesson on a borrowed instrument would suffice.

Anyway, I found a reference to an ethnomusicologist who says that tradition never kept girls from playing the didgeridoo informally

But I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to interfere with a threat to my having more children. I’m signing up for didgeridoo lessons ASAP as ASCAP.


My Racist Friend

Recently I was shocked, appalled, and otherwise taken aback by comments from a friend. I’ve known this guy, whom I’ll call Richie, since Tenth grade, which is roughly twenty years. We were visiting the Ocean City (New Jersey) boardwalk and letting our collective kids (bunch of communist children) ride the rides in the swamp of germs and bullies. It wasn’t the actual visit or the rides or the communication during most of our visit that alarmed me, but a simple walk to the car to feed the meters for another fun hour.

While walking back with “Richie” and, uh, “Ken”, “Richie” started talking about politics. “Richie” is quite the typical redneck, softball playing, beer-swilling citizen of the town I grew up in, deep in the southern part of New Jersey (the other ass as I like to call it). He’s a proud Republican. Why? All the trite reasons – he thinks Democrats will raise his taxes, take away his guns, and let races other than white rule over his home. He used to be a gun owner until it was taken away by the police due to an illegal discharge. This was when he was a Police Officer, as well. He is also a Paramedic, who believes that “AIDS babies and Retards” should be killed, because they serve no purpose.

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