Obesity Declared Newest STD: Stupidly Transmitted Disease

A new study on obesity weighed heavily on the news this week. Recent research suggests that having an overweight friend or family member might make one more susceptible to weight gain– regardless of the distance between one's friend and oneself. The researchers explain that having obese acquaintances make people re-evaluate their views of acceptable body images.

So, in the true spirit of eliminating discrimination again body types, one researcher suggests, “Why not make friends with a thin person […] and let the thin person’s behavior influence you and your obese friend?” Many publications running this story included diagrams at this point of the article demonstrating how to ensnare one of these slender people (latin name thinium anorexius). The most popular method used language understandable to the target audience, telling readers how to team up and “sandwich” their prey between their large girths. Once caught, the next step involves asking the new quarry to demonstrate how to politely excuse oneself to the restroom after every meal and effectively tickle one’s Adam’s Apple to maximize weight loss.

Yet the thin population is not the only institution at risk during this outbreak: Germ theory has also come under attack, as researchers hinted that this epidemic might result from air-born bodies: “If the new research is correct, it might mean that something in the environment seeded what may be called an obesity epidemic.” This epidemic also seems to be causing a joint plague – useless journalism. The New England Journal of Meidicine first published the study’s results on Thursday, and within hours new magazines all over the nation glazed their covers with the tasty headline. Wide-spread panic quickly ensued as people geared up to fight the pandemic. Infected parties were quickly quarantined to local YMCAs, diet pills flew off the shelves, millions of copies of Heavy Weights were burned en masse, and when sanitation masks ran out, people resorted to holding cuts of steak to their mouths, only exacerbating the situation further. No word yet has come from the government whether or not it will institute marshal law to contain the outbreak, but a report is expected as soon as the Cabinet is done watching doctors replace the Energizer Bunny powering Dick Cheney’s heartbeat with the more evil-looking rodent from Donnie Darko.

Not a Sober Association

NASA’s credibility experienced some technical difficulties this week as reports of sabotaged computers and inebriated astronauts surfaced. On at least two occasions, NASA pilots were found to have violated the twelve-hour abstinence period required before every launch. Although these accusations seem recent, NASA missions have long orbited around alcohol, especially after the Gemini mission when a new water gun made injecting liquid into food and beverage containers first possible and taking shots out of those toothpaste-tube-looking containers much more enticing.

In a shocking expose, Edwin “Buzz” Aldrine revealed he received his semi-famous nickname after he and Neil Armstrong became known as the first men to win at Beer Pong in a zero-gravity. He also commented in a bitter voice on Neil’s celebrity: “Worst night ever to pick the short straw for DD.” He went on to disclose that Neil’s famous quip is a re-write, and that Armstrong originally said, “One small step for man, one giant leap for my stomach! Outta my way, she’s gonna blow!” and, mistaking the nearest crater for a toilet, promptly regurgitated his previous night’s intake while Aldrine held back his oxygen tank and patted him on the back like a good friend, muttering in annoyance, “Houston, we have lift-off.”

In light of these allegations, NASA’s shuttle Endeavor, which was scheduled for launch on August 7^th to continue maintenance on the space stations, has been postponed. Installing all those new kegs could look mighty suspicious now.

Going Once, Going Twice...(How long do we go if no one wants it?)

Wild West World owner/operator/debtor Tom Etheredge would have hung his hat on the resignation peg ages ago if he could have still afforded either a hat or a peg. Seldom has been heard an encouraging word and the skies have been cloudy all this last month for Etheredge, and now, lassoed by the throes of bankruptcy, he was forced to auction off his homestead and the popular Prairie Rose Chuckwagon Supper club this week. When the Eagle broke the story, Etheredge reported to the newspaper. “I don’t have any comment about it…I had to sell that too.” The auction room fell silent when it went up for bid. People coughed uncomfortably and slowly placed their paddles below their chairs. To fill the awkward silence Etheredge jingled his spurs and broke into a rendition of that great patriotic tune “This land was my land, this land’s now your land.”

-----------------

Well, that’s it for this week. If any of you have web design skills (as I know many of you do) and would be willing for little or no payment (emphasis on the no...unless you accept abstract currency, like camaraderie and loyalty) to make my site attractive to the occasional internet traveler who only reads my site because their browser happens to break down in front of it, please contact me. I’m the sort of person who has not entirely abandoned the assumption that the Internet is just a large piece of latticework used to catch butterflies or that little elves operate the World Wide Web out of a tree in some secluded knoll in a magical forest like in those Keebler commercials, but with more wiring. So I need lots of help and guidance getting into this whole “HTML” thing kids are doing these days, and if you’re offer your services, I’m accepting. I will give you some fancy recognition (that you’ll have to design yourself) on my site and push your business cards onto everyone I know. If you could just write the link to my site on the back of the cards in advance, that would save me some time, though.

Calculus is Deriving Me Crazy!

No update this week - Foreboding calc final takes precedent over a fake news blog that I am suspicious is simply gathering dust on the RSS feeds shelf of the negative two people who read it, a number which only makes sense if you've spent the past eight weeks hacking through the dense Calculus 1 With Analytical Geometry jungle with a calculator machete as I have.

See you next week for an actual update.

Bankruptcy: The Final Frontier

Tom Etheredge, owner and operator of Wild West World, apparently wore spurs too big for his boots because after just two months in operation, the saloon doors have swung shut on the amusement park. This last week, the park filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy. Although the closing came swiftly, the park did not materialize with equal celerity: “[My wife and I] spent many hours in prayer over this dream” where God manifested his destiny in the form of over-priced plastic sheriff badges, canteens, and Annie Oakley Pez Dispensers.

But, alas, God was surely an impatient thrill-seeker and could not wait for the proposed 2008 rollercoaster that “only the bravest cowboys would lasso,” thus plotted with his cohort, Mother Nature, to destroy the park. Etheredge blamed torrential early summer rains and a tornado that occurred the day before the opening in a town just 110 miles away from the park for his financial problems: “The entire State was in shock as a result of the catastrophic Greensburg tornado the night before that wiped a nearby community literally off the map.” He’s just jealous that all this publicity still hasn’t replaced the permanent “Greensburg Recovery” box on the Eagle website, which provides breaking, up-to-the-minute coverage of people re-spackling their kitchens.

Etheredge also turned on the Eagle, citing that all the media attention was hurting his ability to sell Wild West Poor-ld to potential buyers. It definitely wasn’t all that icky money trouble, that’s for sure! To defend his innocence, Etheredge pointed to other disasters of the same magnitude as the closing: "Blaming me for all of this is like going into Greensburg or going into New Orleans and saying, 'You guys should have done better; you should have planned better.' Yep, good thing nobody never, ever said anything of that sort to Micheal Brown.

Reaction to the closing has been largely negative and has prompted a heated debate about other failed amusements around the city and the success of future ventures, such as the downtown arena and proposed casino, opinions that the Eagle has been reporting closely. Some put faith in the Wichita economy, while some vehemently argue that Wichita is merely a ghost town or a knock of Kansas City, where everything’s up-to-date. Many declare that the West is dead, and should too be so as entertainment (Uh, have they not seen Dances with Wolves?!) One thing’s certain about these opinions though- there ain’t room in this town for the both of ‘em! Clearly, we better just tie those unpatriotic townies to the railroad tracks now before votin’ time comes ‘round!

Those financially involved in the park have expressed significant concern regarding their investments and Etheredge’s responsibility. Many investments involved “largely undocumented verbal agreements,” where the two men spat in their hands then shook on it. Thus, private investigators are exploring the legality of Etheredge’s actions. The inquiry gained significant ground when they hired Sacajawea to head the exploration. Swaddling her baby on her back, she foraged around in the wild paperwork, scouted the empty park from time-to-time atop the highest roller-coaster with her hand placed on her furrowed brow, and said in that ethereal, Indian manner, “Yes, a lawsuit is this way.” In the event that Etheredge is found guilty of fraud, an old-fashioned shoot-out will take place in the town square. For now, Etheredge is simply hanging in the scaffold. Fruit-throwing will be permitted between the hours of 12-2 pm daily, and admission is free.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A recent report has found that using iPods may pose a threat during storms. Many testimonies have come from injured parties. One man, who said he was casually minding his own business while taking his usual run around the block during a thunderstorm, said he sustained “chest and neck burns, ruptured eardrums, and a broken jaw” when lightening struck him and his device. Also newly unearthed threats: jogging, holding metal objects during storms, stupidity

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A new law has been passed that prohibits negligent parents who are behind on child support payments from gaining hunting and fishing licenses. Large communities of hunter-gatherers have already protested at the Capitol Building to argue that killing game IS child support. Unfortunately, their concerns rang silent on the ears of lawmakers as the legislature also conveniently named English as the state’s official language this week, winning in a very close margin over Cro-Magnonish.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Also, now that Wild West World has closed, the State has provided an incentive for Western-themed entertainment by offering tax credits to moviemakers who set their films in Kansas. Again, have they seen Dances With Wolves? Been there, done that.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Good news! The number of crimes in Wichita has plummeted this year by less than one percent! Unfortunately, the statistic regained its original level this week as a man died from wounds sustained by being run-over by his own slow-moving car which he accidentally put in reverse instead of park. Also, homicide has increased significantly. Police are still scratching their heads to crack the case on how homicide does not qualify as a crime.

OTHER BREAKING NEWS:

I’m sleeping with the enemy. Or, rather, the enemy is sleeping with me. I can’t decide who has the upper-hand in this situation yet – but, as it is, the Eagle has landed…on my blog. The Eagle staff not only knows of my existence, but has posted a link of it on their own website. Although I am surprised by the endorsement and confused as to why they used my full birth name, the editors go to great pains to distance themselves from me: “Check out this cool [but really, really snarky blog.] It’s funny [but really mean, offensive, and did I mention snarky? We don’t need any of this sort of unpatriotic, liberal propaganda around these parts, no siree!] Here’s a link to it! It’s proof young adults actually read the newspaper [and are extremely cynical, and, snarky, definitely snarky”] But, a huge commendation to Theresa Johnson for being kind enough to post about my blog, the favor is not lost on me and my puny, unknown blog. Right now, I can only aspire to one day be named a scapegoat for all of Tom Etheredge's woes. But, as it is, I hope I still have time for blogging now that I'm Wichita public enemy #1, what with all the baby-kissing, ribbon-cutting, parade-attending I’m sure to be busy with after all this publicity. Maybe I can even be in a Spangles commercial! To see me and Bichitalk in all our celebrity, go here: http://blogs.kansas.com/the_editors_desk/

Also, I’m entering a humor writing contest and would really appreciate some reader feed-back. I have my favorite pieces, but my opinion is entirely biased and unreliable. Also, this contest is sponsored by a Scottish publishing company, so I need to submit a fake report with international appeal, not one rooted in local information, which is, um, the entire purpose of my blog. But, if you could tell me which ones you think might win the hearts of those cold, ruthless UK bookies, I’d really appreciate it. The deadline isn’t until December, so hopefully I can start some covering national news in the coming posts. But I don’t know, I’m scared to barter in the world market. I hear there are terrorists out in International Newsland. Some of them are even the less pesticide-covered, home-grown sort, and who wants all that healthy, unsynthetic terror? It savors too much of raw governmental incompetency.

Well, this post was unnecessarily long. I better receive an equally proportional amount of comments inciting a discussion about how I’m discussing how everyone is discussing the discussion on Wichita entertainment. Until next week, yours truly.

Well, as you know, yesterday was supposed to be the luckiest day ever, but unfortunately, the Eagle still went to press. But luckily, you have me to sift out the foolishness with my sieve of truth and bake it a much less absurd concoction:

Pro-hops-bition
The world can finally bring their speakeasies out into the open, as the petition to ban a new law allowing the sale of alcohol on Sundays failed this week. Starting tomorrow, liquor stores in Wichita and twelve surrounding townships can now maintain business from twelve to five on Sundays. The petition, driven by pastor Wade Moore, failed because over forty percent of the signatures were found to be invalid (Dead give-aways: Balthazar, Leviticus, Machabees). Some religious heads embrace the bill, rejoicing the day has come that they can finally stop serving all that Welch’s and go straight for the Chardaney. Yet, many are still fighting the law even in the face of adversity. Catholics especially mourn the sharp drop in attendance now that mass will become obsolete as an alcoholic watering hole. (Scribes in the Vatican are hastily rewriting the Communion Rite to say “This is my blood, the one true and ever-lasting covenant, it will be shared for you and for all in the form of a nice, cold brewskie”) Overall, Moore condensed the potential harm the law may impose into a concise statement, saying that new law opens “a door for the enemy to come in to do something more destructive.” Like releasing newly-converted Paris Hilton from jail.

Praining
Floods and severe rainfall continue to plague parts of Texas, Oklahoma, and Kansas. Reporters and critics have pinpointed a variety of scapegoats for past catastrophic weather, from global warming and President Bush. This natural disaster has a direct source, however; Alabama Governor Bob Riley. To battle the recent heat in the state, Riley has issued a “Pray for Rain Campaign.” His crusade against drought encourages all Alabamians to put their head in the clouds and plead the good Lord to send some rain. Jerry Newby, CEO of the Alabama Farmer’s Federation, endorses the Campaign, saying that local farmers desire their fellow Alabamians’ blessings to save their barren fields, a clear violation of the “Thou shalt not covet they neighbor’s rain stick” commandment. Yet, the ignorance of Riley’s theistic appellation overrides his concern for his constituency: The last time a political agenda was used to push copious amounts of rainfall, the world took a permanent underwater nap during an all-continent-consuming flood, in what political analysts are calling the best erasure of a paper-trail next to deleting e-mails. It also reveals his gross over-estimation in God’s geographical knowledge as Mr. Almighty missed by three states. Riley’s next campaign: convincing farmers to mow a huge arrow in their ruined fields pointing towards Alabama. In a related story: investment in large wooden vessels is experiencing its largest increase since the ark’s wildly successful joint-“Comfort for Carpenters”-advertising campaign with Biblical Birkenstocks popular in the A.D. 40’s.

Opinion Line pick of the week:
“The police know of 3,154 documented gang members? Arrest them!”
The U.S. Government knows of a one Scooter Libby? Let him go!

In Local and State:
Senator Sam Brownback reportedly flipped and flopped like a salmon swimming upstream this week when voting on an immigration bill. Only minutes after swiftly backing the bill, Brownback retract his support. Brownback said he planned the ‘ol switch-eroo all along, reportedly inspired after watching his favorite movie, The Parent Trap. He said he the conscious indecision served to prove a point – that he has been confusing Congressional sessions with participation on “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” all along. Although Brownback confidently proclaimed pre-meditation, he continued to flip-flop about his flip-flopping, hinting that his retraction was a spontaneous conclusion: “I became convinced along with my colleagues on the floor that this version of the bill was not, and would not become, the vehicle that would fix our broken system.” (He then muttered under his breath “I could have sworn all that voting was the Ask the Audience part.”) When asked his final answer on the immigration problem, Roberts declined to comment further, turning instead one of his aides to ask if he could phone a friend. He then leaned over to Pat Roberts, asking “Hey, have you figured out how to use these little ballot doo-hickeys yet?

On the Front Page:
Reports of the holocaust of the Blackberry increased exponentially this weekend. Apple has “quietly disposed” of these scapegoats for years, but mass graves were exposed on Friday when hoards of people flung the devices into trashcans in pursuit of the newer, inferior craze- the iPhone. Queues of people lined up outside of AT&T stores on Friday to get their hands on the revolutionary device, only to discover the product to be nothing more than a rotten Apple. The new device, which marks the death of the traditional phone and the birth of absolute nonsense, comes equipped with iTunes, internet access, and a large hammer for beating yourself over the head with for spending so much money on a completely useless product, and appears to be suffering from a fatal case of activationitis. The devoted consumers, who defended their purchase of the multi-purpose phone in defense of liebenstraum – or “living stupidity,” quickly realized the phones’ inability to actually turn on. Left vulnerable to the elements of wild, non-electronic world, most became traumatized from the face-to-face interaction. One disgruntled iPhoner expressed his horror, proclaiming, “Society is absolutely savage these days. It seems to have regressed way back to 1995. Do you know some people actually still use body language? When presented with that foreign alternative, the payphone, consumers became frustrated when they realized that pressing buttons were not sending text-messages but instead torturously forcing them to have actual conversations. Tragically, feeling despondent and disconnected from the world many could only figure out one effective use for the corded phone- as a noose, especially after seeing the outrageous amount on the receipt. Consequently, no one could be reached for comment for this story. When AT&T representatives were confronted about problems, they noted confidently that “glitches had been minor and isolated” then giggled softly to themselves, saying, “You mean, they haven’t figured out the phones are plastic and filled with candy yet?”

Elsewhere:
Law enforcement officers arrested a professional flutist last week for terrorizing the mean streets of Philadelphia with his boisterous tunes. The arrest occurred as part of an ongoing “crackdown on street performers” in an effort to satiate noise complaints from local residents. The complaints did not reprimand the performer’s music as much asprotest his constant verbal defense for his heterosexuality. The criminal was cited as often shouting loudly at regular corner saxophonist, “Stop it, I am NOT a girly-man!” Police are still investigating last month’s bloody scuffle between the city’s biggest rival gangs – the Winds and the Strings – which injured at least twenty civilians who incurred severe paper cuts when caught in the deadly cross-fire of sheet-music the two factions were throwing at one another.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I’m sorry that, like this next pun, this was a weak week. It seems my wit decreases proportionally to my schedule’s availability, which as oflate, has been non-existent. Check back periodically throughout the upcoming week for improvement. Perhaps this week’s nonsense will beget better nonsense.

Front Page:
In a lengthy article about transgender individuals, a physician describes gender confusion in complicated medical jargon: "'There are girl brains and boy brains, and there are girl (body) parts and boy parts, and sometimes they get mixed up.'"Consequently, today's prayer in Faith and Values appeals to God to stop playing with his Mr. Potato-head doll.

Speaking of which..."Faith and Values" blurb announces that The Southern Baptist Convention has created a new paying position with the title "Homosexuality Strategist." The job's first employee, Bob Stith, announced that his main goal is to help gays and lesbians overcome the "temptation dominating their life." Mainly, the temptation to run away in the opposition direction when he approaches. The Convention's conference room has now been converted into a locker room where Baptists huddle together in their "Team Discrimination" jerseys and listen to Stith explain their strategic future plays with circles and x's on white boards. Mainly, circling pictures of homosexuals and drawing big x's over them.

Opinion Line:
The white man's burden, reinvented: "Police in small towns around Wichita routinely stop carloads of white kids. Racial profiling?" It's so hard being the majority race with the man always keepin' you down.
------------------------------
On the national front: Hilary Clinton has picked a Celine Dion tune as the official song of her campaign, reportedly after attending her concert at Caesar's Palace. This is one decision that happened in Vegas, and should have stayed there. Although my heart will go on, my vote will not.

Bone picking bone-picking

So, I’ve got some qualms with the Old Testament (who doesn’t? The Old Testament even has problems with itself, lest we forget that embarrassing Ark incident where God was so frustrated with his Earth Etch-A-Sketch that he shook it clean). Now, I understand that way-back when the population wasn’t as diverse, it might have been advantageous for to kill some of your relatives here and there to prevent in-breeding and easy to use that old “divine intervention” gag to cover for your deeds. But there are a few things I just can’t accept:

First, I’m a little confused as to why God made the day of rest holy. I guess this kind of makes sense until you consider what God accomplished on all the preceding days: namely, creating the heaven, earth, day, night, the sky, water, fauna, all cosmic bodies, living organisms, unspecific “creeping things,” humans, etc. And although at the end, God may have wiped his hands and shrugged his shoulders in that modest “all in a week’s work” type of way, I’m sure he didn’t create all the matter in the universe just to pass the time before lunch. Yet, we’re not supposed to give him a gold star or nominate him for a “Creator of the Year”award for all this hard work; we’re to pat him on the back for the day he kicked up his feet on the Lazyboy and watched golf. But I suppose in a Robert Stack-sort-of -way some mysteries will always remain unsolved. Besides,I’m still trying to figure how God's retinas adjusted too all that light after sulking like an emo kid in the dark since the dawn of time.

But a more troublesome issue I wish God would have shed a little light on (haha get it?) is this whole creation thing. To start, the Bible hesitantly looks down at its feet and shuffles back and forth in its shoes about the issue by offering two versions of creation in Genesis. In the first, the Bible has very shaky camera work; Adam and Eve just appear like silent movie apparitions in a blip between the scenes of Genesis 1:30 and 1:31. Maybe that would have fooled those “The Great Train Robbery” viewers, but we’ve got those new-fangled talkies these days! I think what this story needs is way more Spiderman-like special FX. Adam needs to come swinging on a 3-d vine into the garden on Eden, strike a valiant pose strategically flattering his fig-leaf-censored body, and declare he’s arrived to save the day. Maybe if Adam had gotten that sort of publicity instead, he wouldn’t have been so vulnerable to all that evil-apple business later.

But the first story is just the Cliff’s Notes of the remake,which took several liberties in interpreting the original. Although both versions agree that before God got around to making humans ‘n stuff, the whole earth was just a barren wasteland. But the two disagree upon the main event: thecreation of man. In the second, God makes Adam “out of the clay of the ground.”(Although I’m thrilled to see the Bible finally took a page out of Spiderman’scomic book, it seems to have taken the whole screenplay, as this is clearly blatant plagiarism of the Sandman). Secondly, in this story, Eve appears after Adam and was made not out of quicksand; instead God pluck one of Adam’s bones to make her – a rib to be exact. That’s right, a rib. I mean, c’mon, ribs break easily. Couldn’t God have made her out of a more durable bone, a patella, perhaps? At the very least he might have considered using a clavicle. I am outraged at this story, not because it contradicts clear evidence of evolution, but because it sounds like someone’s gross retelling of the true tale at the end of a game of “Telephone.” Although I can’t outright prove it, I’m sure somewhere hidden in the depths of the Vatican, shoved between a couple of shrouds, is a yellowing scroll outlining the real truth about Eve’s creation, and it goes a little something like this…

One fall day during the beginning of time, God and Adam were celebrating Thanksgiving together. After making pumpkin pie (reportedly, God got the idea for farming after he saw Adam gut a pumpkin, become disgusted with the gooeymess, shake his messy hands while saying “ewww, its sticky, get it off of me, get it off of me!” thus scattering the pumpkin seeds all over the earth) and constructing pilgrim hats out of old editions of “The Heavenly Observer” (With a readership of two, it was admittedly not the best-selling news magazine in history, more like a mom-and-pop operation. Or rather, just “pop”-eration, as Eve had yet to enterthe picture. If she had been around before, the newspaper’s logo definitely wouldn’t have been a large lion attacking a gazelle to assert its manliness) God wanted to traditionally split the wishbone. However, since God is invisible, he certainly couldn’t catch game, and as Adam had not perfected his turkey-calling skills, they didn’t have a bone. So, God conveniently decided to announce a recall on all the ribs ever manufactured in heaven, which at that time, Adam was monopolizing and of course did not want to return.
So, that night after Adam had fallen into a deep-I-ate-too-much-stuffing-induced sleep, God hunched over Adam and cut out one of his ribs, kind of like that girl in Saw 2. Reassurringly, God, after leaving an IOU sticky note in place of the rib, sewed up the wound with flesh. Frankly, it would have added a much more unique feature of the human race had God just put a quiltpatch over the hole, but to each his own.
Anyways, God now had his wishbone. But the holiday was winding down, and the novelty of cracking a wishbone lost its appeal as he found himself standing alone amid the palling dinnercandlelight and half-eaten plates of green-been casserole. So, blame it on loneliness or an effort to promote recycling, but during the wee witching hours of Thanksgiving Day Eve, God created Eve out of the now-useless rib. We won’t give too many specifics about this as to create an air of mystery for fallible church leaders to exploit later, but the general theory is that God stole more ribs and stacked them like Lincoln Logs into a human form, waved his Gringots wand around his creation, and voila! such was Eve. God won’t admit it, he had gotten a little bored with Adam after a while, and his declaration “It is not good for man to be alone, I will make a suitable partner for him,” besides sounding like a terrible arranged marriage, was really a cry for attention. He regretted this decision immediately afterwards, not because of his sexist beliefs, but because afterwards man helplessly “clung to his wife, and the two of them become one body." This unintended consequence made God the awkward third wheel in Eden, which among other things, meant he always had to ride roller coasters in a car by himself when they took their annual vacation to 6-Flags Over Barren Wasteland. Thus, in frustration, God shunned the couple from Eden and made them commit original sin – wearing leather (Genesis 3:21)....

So, I just don’t know if I can trust God as an editor. I know the Bible’s authors are supposed to have been possessed by the Holy Spirit, walking around like zombies with their eyes glazed over and speaking the word of God in animatronic voices, but God just seems like a lazy supervisor of his own best-selling chronicle, relying on quarterly sales than just the facts, man, to construct the Bible’s content. I just find many of the Bible’s stories a bit too anecdotal to be the basis of divine truth. Admittedly, a lot of this mentality has to do with my ongoing passage through many science books. I’ve been reading all sorts of fascinating literature about evolution, astronomy,and the like, and I’ve loved it all. I’m now like Ruth on Golden Girls, who relates everything back to one particular thing, except, my thread is evolutionary psychology, not St. Olaf, Minnesota.

And, even though by all standards, I am the run-away, I feel a little abandoned by God. Suddenly, he’s disappeared from the mysticism of the mass into the cold, calculating mathematics of the Big Bang. He seems less like the vengeful terrorist of the Old Testament who smites people left and right with the flick of a wrist (or is that Draco Malfoy?) and more akin to the disengaged entity deists like Ben Franklin believed exists, the kind of guy who left the world in a cosmic microwave like a defrosting chicken, waiting for the buzzer to go off, in the mean time checking the score of the big game and clipping his toenails. Most religions asserts that God is everywhere at once, but now I find myself actively searching for him, like a Where’s Waldo picture. Oh, there he is! Peeping out from behind double-helixes and through the cracks of continental drift. Or, no,wait, is that just his red-stripped shirt doppelganger? So, I suppose any the irreverence is just part of this larger search for what, if anything is attributed to some paranormal force and how much is just a tasty cocktail of my neurological brain juice. I don’t mean to belittle the Bible or what it represents to many people, I just think that good ol’ Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, and their cronies should’ve lightened up a bit when writing this little number. I understand they didn’t have Youtube or Facebook to entertain them while scratching away at their stone tablets, but really, they didn’t need to get their palms leaves into such a bundle over some of this stuff.

But who knows, I’m only on Genesis. I’d like to think that bythe ending credits I’ll be a believer again; however, given that the ending scene involves, among a myriad of other plagues, locusts with crowned human heads, seas turning to blood, angels killing a third of the human race, and man who swallows a scroll whole (say that tens times fast!), seemingly during a game oftruth-or-dare, I’m not to optimistic. But what do I know, I just like romantic comedies.

Bichitalk: The Original

In addition to the world's first Pizza Hut and a serial killer with a name often confused with a Burger King meal, Wichita can now boast a visit from everyone's favorite politician (frighteningly true in this city), George Bush. Yesterday, the President visited with underpriviledged kids at the new Boys and Girls Club facilities, where in an effort to relate to the children, he urged them to call him by his street name, G-Dub. The Wichita Eagle, that beacon of prize journalism, cited that his activities there included "pleasing the children, putting his arms aroudn some of them, talking with them, and watching girls jump rope in the gym" and other creepy, too-close-for-comfort behavior. He reportedly refused participation in a game of double-dutch, but engaged poorly in a lively round of foosball. Overall, I think these incidents bring some alarming issues to the forefront of the Presidency. If our President can't even control small, one-legged plastic soccer players, how can we ever expect him coordinate thousands of troops in a war where the soldiers aren't attached at the shoulder by a long metal pole? Stances on abortion, evironmental issues, should clearly be put on the backburner in respect to good foosball skills; I know it will be the prime candidential quality I will consider when casting my vote next year. Instead of an electoral debate next year, I move that we have a foosball tournament to sway voters.
The Eagle also quotes "[Bush's] remarks were so short that some of the boys and girls making shapes out of dough in the lobby did not even look up from their dough balls to listen." (An more boisterious, unidentified young miscreant reportedly took his own souvenir from the President while shaking his hand. Afterwards, the President looked down at his bare wrist, muttering under his breath, "Damn it, not again!") The story's contributors continue by seemingly apologizing for their feature's mediocracy: "His remarks were delivered in so quiet a voice, the members of the national media crowded their way through kids to get close enough to hear." I see this as a euphemism for "C'mon guys, we didn't have much material to work with and we were bored. So, we slipped some kid on the jungle gym a twenty to use his small stature and sneak under people's legs and hold our microphones for us while we hit up the bar across the street."

After making kissy faces to the media and important sponsors for a few hours, Bush headed back to the Capitol. Yet, An unspecified meeting delayed Bush's departure from Wichita. The Eagle cites that "a rumor spread that the reason for the delay was that local dignitaries had stepped aboard Air Force One to confer" and that "the delayed departure at the airport showed that Bush had more on his mind than shaking a few hands." The reason for this ambiguity is obvious: Not being a denizen of the area, Bush, while listening to the radio and singing along to "Fergilicious" on the way back to the airport, must heard a Spangles commerical, was aghast at the prices, and immediately summoned Renee Stevens onto Air Force One to ask if she was out of her mind.

Tommorrow: A lengthy Bonnie Bing fashion feature on the President's stolen watch with pictures of the usual awkward-looking models trying to sell knock-off versions.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Other noteworthy Eagle stories:

In the Opinion Line:
"Does Sedgwick County realize that there are homeless people roaming around the area where it plans to build the arena? What is it going to do about these people when the arena is built?" A press release from the Arena Planning Committee responds: "Well, we'll probably just drop the arena on top of them, everyone knows homeless people are immobile. I mean, what's a guy to do? It's not like we have a homeless shelter or a belief in welfare around these parts."

In Faith and Values:
A rave review about "The Great Secret", a book by Rhonda Byrne. According to Byrne, you can obtain anything you want by simply sending your thoughts out into the universe and the forces of nature will drop everything and kiss your feet: "The law of attraction is giving you what you are thinking about - period!" Well, I don't think I'd spend my three wishes on getting my period more often than necessary, but I try this out immediately after reading the story. While listening to the radio, I will the cosmos to play "Fergilicious" (The single thing the Prez and I agree on) All I get is that one song where the chorus is, quote, "We were in the bed like, oh, oh." It seems like the cosmos is less like an unstoppable force and more like a lacksidasical guard sleeping on job in a security booth, a half-eaten donut resting on his belly, powdered sugar lining his mouth. As it is, I don't think I trust a cosmos with such bad music taste anyways. The story cites many other self-help books, claiming that this "secret" has been handed down for hundreds of years (So that's what the Free Masons have been hiding all these years!). The originator of this essential information remains undisclosed at this time, but rumors abound pointing to the Wizard of Oz, who could not be reached for comment. The small print on the book's copyright page notes that the only great secret of this book is what publisher was idiotic enough to put it to print and how this story is relevant journalism.Tomorrow: B.F. Skinner rises from his grave to yell "Your thoughts don't exist, you hear? They're dead to me!"

In Local and State:
This section reads like "Pleasantville"-like version of the breaking story about the family pet cat stuck in a tree. The feature is an enthusiastic tale about a pet owner reunited after a grueling six-week separation with her lost cat, both who survived the Greensburg tornado. As the Eagle has already pretty much covered every other, important aspect of the Greensburg tornado recovery with their previous story "Will the only one-pump gas station rebuild?" I can understand if they need to explore other avenues. But, really, I think a feature-length story on a woman and her cat is stretching it even in this news-starved region. Diann Rogers, the cat's owner, reported distraughtly wandered around her yard, calling out to her cat to come home the day after the storm (She has obviously read "The Great Secret.") She eventually found her cat in a nearby animal shelter. According to Rogers, throughout the duration of the separation, her cat was thinking "Where's my people? Somebody has got some explaining to do" (The story does not note how the cat acquired such bad grammar or a Lucille Ball accent). Rogers also recounts the reunion in full detail: "I looked in and Bebe said 'Hello!" a meow she misinterpreted from its real meaning: "Do not take me back to that one-horse town hellhole!"
Tomorrow's feature: Couch potato reunited with his Lazy-boy recliner!

Well, that's the news roundup for you. I can't wait until tomorrow's edition.