But we still need to keep this mailing list growing, so keep recruiting friends, family, random panhandlers on the street, etc. Remember, it's only with your hard work and sacrifice that this list can grow and I can become a hip and famous celebrity and then I can snub all of you on the street if you try to talk to me.
Uh... that line of reasoning made a lot more sense before I put it in writing. Well anyway, on with this week's column...
I have to apologize to everyone for being so late with this issue. It turns out my girlfriend was in the hospital all last week. I explained to her several times that if she's going to get violently ill, she can't do it when I have an article to write. But did she listen? Nooooo.... Sometimes she can be really inconsiderate that way.
Anyway, she's doing much better now, but I ended up putting off the issue I was writing about the election. And now that it's over, I imagine nobody really cares much about it anymore. In fact, probably the only people who do care about the outcome of any of the elections are all the teenagers in California who, now that marijuana is legal for medicinal purposes, are trying really hard to contract cases of glaucoma.
In any case, this is sort of a blessing in disguise, since, right after the debate about whether you're supposed to hang the toilet paper in the "overhand" or "down behind" position1, there's nothing that gets people all set up to write letters of protest, organize consumer boycotts, manufacture homemade explosives, and in rare extreme cases, incite people to go out and vote, then politics.
So offering political commentary is usually just an invitation for hate mail. Observe this recent Email I received:
Dear Todd: The other day I overheard you in the supermarket referring to Dole as "sweet" and "juicy". How dare you refer to that evil man in such complimentary terms. In retaliation, I am going to mail you naked pictures of Newt Gingrich.The fact of the matter was that I was really talking about Dole brand pineapples. (And, of course, the real irony is that Dole pineapples beat Ross Perot by about 15 points in the election.)
Actually, my only piece of commentary is that Bob Dole really should not have brought up his World War II injury so much during the campaign. I suppose maybe he thought this would get him votes following the logic that anybody who was a soldier would make a good president. But all I could really think whenever he brought it up was, "Wow. You're old."
Yes, most of you are probably aware by now that I have a less than flattering image of old people. I know this is wrong, and that our seniors are full of knowledge and wisdom that many of our troubled youth need today. Like how to fake a good case of glaucoma. I think the problem is most of my exposure to old people comes from visiting my Grandmother's retirement community (official motto: "Cocoon screenings every Thursday!") where every week there is some sort of scandal because somebody... if you can imagine the nerve... took somebody else's parking space! I don't really understand what the big deal is, seeing as how nobody actually drives anywhere. Mostly because they're afraid of giving up their parking space. And I guess I'm afraid that's what would have happened if Dole had become president:
Aide: President Dole! I need you to come quickly! Aliens have landed and we're having an emergency meeting at the Pentagon right now!!And finally, I would like to take a moment to say how happy I am that Chelsea Clinton is looking good. No, Secret Service people, you don't have to worry about my stalking her in the bushes, (I'm too busy following the lead singer of Velocity Girl for that sort of thing.) but I think that we as a country were a little worried about Chelsea last election, when she was going through what we tactfully refer to as "that awkward stage." (As in "Quasimodo never really grew out of that awkward stage, did he?") I know I went through that awkward stage, when certain parts of my body were growing disproportionately faster than others. I spent most of the time tripping over my hands and smashing my face on the ground, which didn't really have much of an effect since I was wearing braces and my mouth had already swelled to the size of a life raft.
Dole: Oh, gosh... I'd really like to go, but I've got a really good parking space. Just tell them to nuke the suckers, okay?
So I think we're all happy that Chelsea is looking pretty cute now. I hear she's started dating, which is great except for the problem of having to go on a date with five Secret Service Agents protecting her constantly.
Chelsea: Gosh, Evan. I had a really nice time.So I guess all-in-all, everything turned out okay. We've got a Republican congress and a Democratic president, so that everybody has someone to blame when nothing gets accomplished (and then we as voters can get all angry and fed-up and run out to the polls and re-elect them). More importantly, I no longer have to go visit anybody at the hospital. I find hospitals too depressing; there's too many sick people around.
Evan: Yeah... me too... (smooch.)
Secret Service Agents: Gasp! Get him!
Evan: Ow! Hey... quit it!
Secret Service Agents:Is that a weapon? Get rid of it!
Evan: Stop it! Arrrchcchgh!
Secret service agent: C'mon, miss... let's get you out of here.
Evan: My tongue! They cut out my frikkin' tongue...
Chelsea: G'night, Evan! Call me!
Especially those kids with glaucoma.