shambles p.i.: the 'georgetown dish' edition

Wouldn't it be convenient if criminals started telling the cops when and where they'd be committing crimes? I mean, really, you'd have no excuse to let even one mugging happen. It'd be all Minority Report up in this bitch but even better because instead of relying on Tom Cruise and a floating version of Microsoft Windows (seriously, really?), would-be criminals would just call up and basically ask to go to jail. What a brilliant world that would be, you know, with everyone in prison. (Like you've never been cited for jaywalking...)

All right, so maybe that's implausible. It's like asking the nerd to tape his own "Kick me" sign on the unreachable part of his back and then kick himself. We still need assholes to do that. And, likewise, we also still need other assholes to catch and punish those assholes. See, it's all a part of the delicately balanced Asshole Equilibrium that we've created for ourselves here in America. Being able to do what we want, when we want without taking into account how our actions might affect others is the backbone of our nation. Especially if our goal is to sell sh*t. Just look what that chalkboard lover Glenn Beck has done for dubious gold investments! Really, it's patriotism in action.

But capitalizing on fear is one thing. Some might even say that level of manipulation is a sign of immense talent. But what if you don't have those crying-on-cue skills? What if you don't have a chalkboard and a wild imagination? What if you objectively have no talent? I guess then you'd have to rely on even baser methods of earning your keep -- you'd have to steal. And if you're not ballsy enough just to go out and start heisting banks, the next best thing is stealing information, like the douches at the Georgetown Dish Beta blog did when they hijacked an e-list of other area bloggers' email addresses and started sending them their unsolicited newsletter each morning.

And here I thought my worst enemy was trying to seek revenge on me by signing me up to receive this wet fart of newsletters without my knowledge. But phew! That's probably not it, says TBD e-guru Jeff Sonderman, who told a bunch of area bloggers in a mass email yesterday that the Georgetown Dish had possibly signed me (and over 100 other people) up themselves. Sonderman wrote:

Several of you have told us today that you suddenly are receiving e-mail newsletters from The Georgetown Dish, which you did not sign up for. Some of you asked us if TBD provided those e-mails to the Dish. We want to let everyone know that we did not, at least not directly.

We looked back at some of the early informational e-mails we sent to all the network members, including the Dish, and realized that some of those inadvertently listed your e-mail addresses in the "To" field, which would be visible to the other recipients. It's possible that the Dish repurposed those addresses from the e-mail they received, but I don't know for sure. I have asked the publisher and managing editor about this and asked them to undo it, but have not received a response yet.

First of all, the "publisher"? The "managing editor"? I'm sorry, but aren't we talking about a blog here? How many helper animals does the Georgetown Dish keep? But that's besides the point. The point is that this is not a smart move on the Dish's part because sending their stupid, irrelevant newsletter to me each morning is basically like begging for a good haranguing. Really, the Dish is basically the idiot criminal calling up the cops and asking to be imprisoned. They're going directly to jail and, instead of passing "Go" and collecting $200, they're opting instead to collect a Kenny Powers quote -- "You're f*ckin' out!"

In fact, the Dish is so f*cking out that they're still apparently living in 2006 -- the year the rest of the world realized that Uggs made their legs look like they were a bear with gout. But no, according to the very important newsletter I received this morning from the Georgetown Dish, there's an Uggs store opening TODAY somewhere in that canker sore of a neighborhood:

DCers love their Uggs according to spokeswoman Barbara Martin. She says, "The region is a really strong market." Ugg chose Georgetown as a location for their fourth store in the U.S.

Seriously, who the f*ck thought it was a good idea to send me a press release like this? I am not GD's target market. I don't wear sweatpants with "JUICY" written across the ass; I don't wear more than one plaid pattern at a time; I don't wear anything made of terry-cloth that isn't worn in the bathroom (or the liquor store; hey, we all have emergencies); and no, I don't wear oversized sheaths of sheep hide on my podia. See, I like to keep myself off of my own worst-dressed list, my own Shambles P.I. list. But you, Georgetown Dish? Well, because of your moronic missteps and stories about bad fashion, you're the first non-person, the first entity to get on that list and no, to be clear it is not an honor...


But it's your own fault, GD. Your references to Eat Pray Love, Uggs and those irritating hoes from Georgetown Cupcake all in the same screenshot made you a shoe-in (or is that Ugg-in?). And in fact, it's so dishgustingly bad (see what I did there?) that it makes me think there should be a new category for you, an über-Shambles crown to commemorate this trifecta of 'tard you've presented to me this morning unsolicited. Kingsh*t shambles? Georgetown Dishambles? This one might require some thinking. But no matter because Dish please (ha, I did it again!), when I come up with it, I'll let you know. See, there's no need for you to willingly sign up for updates either.

bullets don't look like croissants...

Sad, terrifying, yet not really that surprising news broke yesterday when I saw DCist editor Aaron Morrissey tweet:

As it turns out, @amorrissey was right. There was a shooting, which was followed by a related massive car accident on U St., NW, where one person died. And as if that weren't enough to offend those of us who prefer common decency to senseless violence and idiocy, this whole thing happened during a funeral procession and, apparently, because of the funeral procession. Indeed, just when we thought the transient dipsters who make up 47 percent of this city had tight-pantsed all the gang violence out of NW, the "1-7 crew" and its enemies decided to let everyone know they hadn't.

The man who died (or am I now old enough to call him a kid?) was 21-year-old Jamal Coates, who, according to Ward 1 YouTube darling and community organizer Bryan Weaver, was just about to turn his life around. That is, Mr. Coates was in the process of leaving his thug life behind and finding a less violent path. And while it's easy to lionize the deceased, in this case it seems at least kind of true. Weaver says Coates recently worked to get his GED, took on some internships with DC's Parks and Recreation (now that's selfless) and even went to Guatemala to teach kids how to play basketball.

But not anymore. Now he's dead and the life of another kid, 21-year-old Brandon Miller, is completely ruined, as he's just been arrested and charged with the first degree murder of Coates.

I'm not even sure where to go with this. This is supposed to be a humor blog, but the only thing funny about this is that the story broke on Twitter, the same place where I learned cats look like croissants.



HAHAHAHAHA! OMG! Cats really DO look like croissants! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

*sigh*

What were we talking about again?

Oh yeah, someone died in a fire. Wait, what? Someone else died a horribly violent death yesterday?!? Yes, and just one Metro stop and a few blocks away from the shooting incident.

Great. Now, this blog is really in a proverbial pickle. Two horrible incidents in less than 24 hours and only one video about cats looking like croissants? What the f*ck do we do now?! HELP ME OUT, TWITTER!

NOT HELPING, INTERNET! Which means, I think I have to turn to what I fear most to feel better. Going outside. Here's to hoping everyone has a bullet-free, fire-free, and chemical-burn free rest of the day; may we all see cats looking like croissants instead.

web regurgitation: some mildly interesting sh*t

While Malcolm Gladwell was busy trying not to Twitter about his article about Twitter, I was all over the Internetz scouring all sorts of social media and blogs for this very special run-of-the-mill edition of The Anti DC's Web Regurgitation, in which we highlight some of the past day's most mildly interesting sh*t. But don't fret, for good measure, I threw in some very interesting sh*t too. But that comes later. Anyway, let's get this sh*tshow over with. Onward!

Don't let the name fool you -- this is not the Congressional Chorus. This is. And while I'm still hoping to see Karl Rove make a "musical comeback" (and I'm using those terms loosely), I'm guessing that jagoff won't be showing up for the upcoming auditions.

Speaking of performances and representatards of American politics, gotcha media sweetheart Sarah Palin showed up at Dancing with the Stars Wait...Who Are These People? last night to support her granddaughter's baby mama and guess what?! Americans finally seemed to have freed their brains from the formaldehyde-filled 9/11 jars that Glenn Beck pickled them in and started using them again! Well, maybe. See, Sarah Palin possibly got booed last night. It's hilarious until you see the audience applaud for her during her very shrill Q&A. Thank God for mute buttons.

Now in less dumb news, David Simon is reluctant to accept his MacArthur genius grant because he was hoping for Honey Nut but all they had was regular. (NSFW if your work sucks.)

Finally, THIS MAN, who doesn't look a day past 94! No, really. This sprightly 114-year-old is looking amazingly good. And his stories? Incredible.



Seriously. I love Walter. Every day is a good day...even in DC. Awww...

you can't handle the truthiness!

Humor is the best medicine...for curing lameness. No, really. Had the crowd of interns, aides, representatives and other Hill people (that sounds like a horror movie), deigned even to crack a smirk at Stephen Colbert's in-character appearance in the halls of Congress, I'd be proud. I'd also question whether I was in DC or not. See, DC is a rather humorless town. See for yourself here, where you'll hear and see some of Colbert's objectively hilarious one-liners fall on seemingly deaf ears. Either people are seriously *that* humorless in this town or they're simply scared to laugh. Supreme Douche Gods of Congress forbid that they appear even the slightest bit un-lame and, therefore, lose any chance they ever thought they had of running for office on an anti-diddling platform. Seriously, what the f*ck has America come to?

And what has this blog come to? I'm not a very politically minded person (I still vote for Pedro), but when I see sh*t as dumb as people not laughing at/with the objectively hilarious Stephen Colbert it sets off something in the cold, dark, crevice where my heart should be. It not only reveals what's wrong with Washington, but it shines a disco-ball of d-bag on what's wrong with this entire nation.

How is it not clear how beneficial it was that Stephen Colbert came to the Hill? Invited by House Judiciary subcommittee chairwoman Zoe Lofgren (D-Calif.), he was not a guest because of the information he could provide (which is why it's not a big deal that Mr. Colbert decided to give his testimony in character, as I'm sure he's smart enough to recognize the absurdity of his invitation), but because of the attention he could draw to the issue via his celebrity. In an odd moment for any member of Congress, that's smart! I mean, really, had she not invited him and instead stuck to Congress's usual methods of inviting cherry-picked (pun intended) "experts," how many people do you think would've thought twice (or even once, actually) about the plight of migrant workers? I'm willing to guess most people don't look at their lettuce and think, "How did it get here on my plate?" If anything, as Mr. Colbert suggested, they're looking at their Whoppers® more likely wondering what that green leaf on it even is. Maybe now that will change.

But really, as I sit here dipping my morning microwave-friendly processed sausage links pre-wrapped in a pancake made of monodextrin into maple-flavored corn syrup (I'm as American as they get!) I can't help but think of the delicious deep-fried irony we've created for ourselves in this nation. When straying from the status quo of being boring, overly politically correct, and humorless, Congress gets frazzled, outraged, or in House Majority Leader Steny Hoyer's (D-Md.) case, embarrassed. Republicans, too, sat through the hearing stone-faced, some (Peter King, R-Iowa) asking for Mr. Colbert to leave (he refused). And let's not forget about so many of America's illogically relevant political tastemakers. Foxnews.com (SURPRISE!) published an opinion piece calling Colbert's appearance a "disgrace," among other things.

Oh, yes. Colbert's appearance on the committee as part of a well thought out, calculated publicity stunt is simply outrageous! Yet somehow, continuing to complain about migrant workers whilst making no steps to change a system that has become dependent on them is perfectly acceptable. As is continuing to not allow homosexuals to serve in the military and freaking out about a proposal to build a "mosque," which isn't really a mosque, apparently anywhere on the island of Manhattan. These and other truly embarrassing policies/issues have become the status quo. These are the policies that allow hypocritical "family values" assholes to go from would-be cat ladies to viable Senatorial candidates. Seriously, what the f*ck has happened?

And while I expect Glenn Beck's butt-buddies to dislike the Colbert appearance (haters gonna hate), the fact that Rep. Hoyer has his head so far up the stodgy anus of political correctness that he doesn't seem to understand the greater good of exploiting celebrity and humor to attract attention to a cause makes it hard to believe we're headed for somewhere other than a pit of doom. I mean, the fact that one of the most reasonable voices on the Hill these days is Stephen Colbert -- in character! -- is probably a sign of the government apocalypse. The second sign was when even the audience members at the hearing seemed utterly unmoved by Colbert's razor-sharp wit (seriously, why does DC reject everything awesome?!). And the third, of course, would be the actual election of a member of a group that unknowingly named their crew after a crude sexual act because *that's* how much they care about such concepts as research and implementation, you know, things that used to be important when creating laws and policy...

Really, the only cure for this madness is laughter and I really hope there comes a time (and it comes soon) when we can look back at this hopefully short era of extreme douchiness and laugh hard at it. Unfortunately, right now, it's not that funny...

the art of pub trivia

One day I'm going to make like a happiness terrorist and surprise you by dropping a bomb of double rainbows and baby sloths on this blog. But for now, we're going to stick to our regularly scheduled slapdash programming, make like a slightly more senile Andy Rooney and just complain. And yes, I definitely mean slightly more senile because I'm about to complain about something that, by definition, should always be fun -- pub trivia. Really, complaining about an activity that combines two of the most awesome activities around (drinking and knowing sh*t) is like complaining about the undeniable deliciousness of combinations like peanut butter and chocolate, peanut butter and jelly, peanut butter and bananas, or peanut butter and more peanut butter (the most delicious combination of them all). So lest you have a peanut allergy or, in the case of pub trivia, some sort of prohibitionist vendetta against knowledge, you probably should just shut the fudge (and peanut butter) up. And I would, but...this experience I had last night was extreme. See, just like anything, there are differing degrees of awesome. Jif is better than Peter Pan, Skippy is better than Jif, etc. The same goes for trivia. There are good ones, not so good ones and then there's the occasional rotten one -- the hippie organic Whole Foods peanut butter of trivias that no matter how hard you stir will never get a consistency better than, "Wait, I don't think this is supposed to be chunky." Indeed, just like a peanut-based condiment, there are ingredients that are necessary to making an awesome pub trivia night: a decent host, interesting questions and convenient beer availability. Unfortunately, however, unlike Skippy (it's not their fault partially hydrogenated vegetable oil is delicious), the pub trivia at Biergarten Haus out on H Street failed miserably in all three. It's basically the equivalent of stale crushed up Planters® and water. It lacks everything good. Category 1: A decent host. I'm not sure if the host was drunk (or maybe not drunk enough), but the woman in charge of reading the questions was a mess on the mic. She slurred through her words, had no air of humor about her and, really, just seemed to have no idea what was going on half the time. Even when reading the answers to the questions (which she apparently "researched" in the first place, but we'll get to that next), she couldn't quite get all the information out. For example, when reading the answer to this question, "What are the six flags that have flown over Texas?" she said, "France, Spain, U.S., the Texas State flag, Mexico and, um, what is this? Something called the C...S..." Finally, to end this self-inflicted idiocy, the audience informed her that CSA stood for the Confederate States of America. DUH. Really, I'll let the slurred speech slide, but not knowing the answer to one of the questions you researched? That's an unforgivable PTT -- Pub Trivia Transgression. Category 2: An interesting set of questions. This is probably the most important category. If you don't ask an interesting, fun set of questions that a reasonably smart person has at least a chance of getting correct, then you should probably think about not being a pub trivia emcee. Or, at the very least, learn how to Google more efficiently because calling a category "Sports" then asking 10 questions about baseball and football is a misnomer. You should've just called the category "Baseball and Football." For the record, there are other sport games with information on the Web, and sometimes even womenfolk are athletes too. Don't be afraid to think of sports other than the ones preferred by most frat houses. Besides basebat and footgame, there's tennis, soccer, basketball, hockey, swimming, skeet shooting, thumb wrestling, and many more to choose from. And really, had it not been for the other half of my trivia team, "Cash Money Dozenaires," who at least had the football category on lock, I would've put the pen down and walked out. Which is exactly what about five or so of the original 15 or so teams did. It was THAT BAD. And of course it didn't improve. The next category was "Anatomy" where this question was slurred: "Whaakinda bone is a patella?" The answer, apparently, is not "knee cap," but a "sesamoid," the scientific name for the classification of the patella, which indeed is the knee cap. Seriously, if you're going to ask a question like that (because anyone who's not actively in medical school will definitely find that interesting), at least word it correctly: "What anatomical bone category does the patella fall under?" In that case, I may not know it, but at least I would have understood what question was being asked. More appropriately, don't ask a question so specific that it begs for the lead-in, "Thiiiis prolly something only a doctor would know." Category 3: Beer availability. The service at Biergarten Haus was almost as bad as the trivia. Of course, that may be because there was only one person working the entire upstairs (including waiting tables, busing empty plates and glasses, drawing brews, and handling the cash). If I didn't see the kitchen staff at one point, I'd think she was probably cooking the food, as well, which was the only high point of the night. They have a $6 bratwurst and fries special on trivia nights. Add peanut butter as a dip and we'd be in heaven. Maybe. Anyway, long story less long, DO NOT go to Biergarten Haus for pub trivia night. It's HORRIBLE -- a negative bazillion on the awesome scale. I don't know what the first place prize was (CMD inexplicably came in third after all the walk-outs) because the woman in charge of this terrible trivia never bothered to mention it, but I'm certain nothing would be worth it to waste another three hours there. Biergarten Haus made me sad. So sad, in fact, that the only thing that can alleviate this sorrow from my soul is to douse it in an economy-sized jar of peanut butter. Hooray! My dumb metaphor made it all the way to the end! Well, almost. It would've had I not just dipped my patellas in Skippy...

a bikeshare cynic poops reason all over your enthusiasm

UPDATES BELOW, INCLUDING DDOT's RESPONSE TO MY INITIAL ESSAY AND MY RESPONSE TO DDOT. THE ANSWER TO WHO'S ON FIRST, HOWEVER, REMAINS ELUSIVE.

If Anti DC creative director Terry the Tourette's Turtle didn't mark every minute of every day with an expletive, I might not know what time or even what day it is. And judging from his last outburst, I now know it's "Buttplug!" Sept. 21, and I'm typing this at "Suck my balls!" o'clock, which just so happens to be the perfect moment to whip out this oldie-but-goodie -- a photo I haven't seen since four score and seven "Douche taints!" ago. (Terry really is a blackhole of wisdom.)


Yes, all you haters suck my balls. And indeed, how fitting because that's basically what every area blogger has said about the new Capital Bikeshare junks that officially launched yesterday, except with nicer, more grammatically correct words. Here are some of the most enthusiastic:

"Bikesharing is going to be awesome," wrote Beyond DC's Dan Malouff in the Post.

"[T]hings will never be the same again...Capital Bikeshare will change everything," said Greater Greater Washington.

Washington City Paper calls Capital Bikeshare another sign of "our nation's inexorable march to western European-style social democracy."

And the Bike-Sharing Blog wrote, "I guess dreams do come true."

While I'm all about dreams coming true (I'm still crossing my fingers that one day we'll see a shirtless Vladimir Putin bungee jump through a loop of fire to save a litter of baby lions stranded on an island made entirely of Big League Chew -- my dreams rule), I'm not so sure Capital Bikeshare (at least in its current iteration) has ever been one of them. In fact, all the blog hype has made this public transit project sound more like just another topic for Stuff White People Like (think dog parks), rather than a legitimate idea that will transform the transportation landscape of DC. And this argument is seemingly augmented by taking a look at Capital Bikeshare's official Bikeshare map that shows where most of their more than 1,000 bikes will be located so far the bikes have been installed (according to DDOT, there are more to come): they're overwhelmingly in the paler areas of Northwest DC and Arlington, Va. There are two within about a block of each other near the Whole Foods here in Logan Circle alone.

But pshhaw!, said DC's Congressional delegate and voting rights expert Eleanor Holmes-Norton to TBD.com: "African-Americans have dog parks, too. They ride bikes." And common sense agrees. It's just too bad then that Capital Bikeshare didn't scatter choose to install (although DDOT assures me there our plans to install) more of its solar-powered bike depots in majority black neighborhoods in Northeast, Southwest and Southeast. There are more places people need/want to go in Anacostia, I think, than the Metro and the Big Chair.

And really, racial lines aside (like Eleanor Holmes-Norton, I think those arguments are usually overblown and also I don't think the Bikeshare people are racist), this is more about logistics. I fear there's going to be a whole bunch of disappointed bloggers when people start to realize that the current iteration, a rather lopsided layout, won't fulfill its Blog-given destiny to revolutionize transportation in this city. I mean, really, I don't think it's a mistake to assume that most people living in the sections of Northwest below U Street and West of 11th probably don't make up the bulk of the motorized traffic that snarls city streets, not because lots of them are white (myself included; I live in Logan), but because we live close to work, museums, restaurants, shopping, etc. We already have a lot of transportation options, one of them being walking reasonable distances.

And even if every bikeshare bike in Logan Circle, Dupont, and U Street was used, I think the impact on the overall transportation landscape in this city would be minimal. In fact, it might even worsen. Not only would traffic patterns remain the same, but now a bunch of smug assholes, who normally would've been on the sidewalk or underground on the Metro, will be wobbling up the street trying to remember how to ride. Now, not only will motorists now have to deal with a snarlier commute, but so will I, a bike-commuter already, as I'll now have to dodge additional 'tards in the bike lanes. (Although, I guess given the choice, I'd personally rather have smug assholes on bikes who don't know what they're doing mucking up the bike lanes than smug assholes in cars who *do* know what they're doing mucking up the bike lanes. A bike lane is not a parking space.)

But of course, these are the words of a cynic. I'm the type of person who sees sunshine and thinks of cancer. But I assure you, I'm not a pessimist. I actually like sunshine and I like bikeshare initiatives. I just also like sunscreen and smarter implementation methods.

To really test the power of bicycle commuting, Capital Bikeshare should now be targeting areas outside of the city center -- places where people need to trek a mile or more to get to the Metro. Hell, target the suburbs. Those are the areas in and around the city from where most of the motorized road traffic originates, which means those are the areas of the city that could really revolutionize the transit situation in DC. I say let's not wait until October when it's cold and gross out, let's put more operable bike depots now in Eckington, Anacostia, Brentwood, Riggs Park, Trinidad, Truxton Circle, Deanwood, Hillcrest, Congress Heights, etc. Get the Maryland suburbs involved! These are the areas which make up a huge bulk of the regions population and they need more than just a handful of stations if Capital Bikeshare is to be a true success.

Moreover, if the city (and surrounding suburbs) is serious about making this program a success, it should think about making the fees for the bikes tax deductible. Nothing encourages people to go green more than proverbial green, unless of course, we're talking about going gangrene, which just doesn't sound worth it.

But alas, we'll see. Perhaps this is just the beta test. After all, this kind of bikeshare program worked for Paris...uh, and since DC is so much like Paris in every other aspect (especially the fashion), I'm sure this will prove totally successful. Hmm, sarcasm. Of course, on the other hand DC was designed by a French person, so...

We'll give it a fair shot, wait with our fingers crossed and check back on Capital Bikeshare's progress in a "Fart knocker!" or two. However, before I stop commanding your undivided attention today, I have one more suggestion for Capital Bikeshare. This would be a nice prototype for the Phase 2 vélo, oui?


UPDATE: Testament to the power of Twitter, @DDOTDC sent me a direct message: "A good read, but just to clarify there will be @Bikehare [sic -- no one's perfect in 140 characters or less] stations all over the city. The map shows station currently installed." Duly noted and thanks for the reply and, yes, compliment. I will try again to figure out how many stations are outside of the NW quadrant. However, still, it seems rather backward to install stations residential areas so close to downtown before installing them in the outskirts where, like I said, should have the biggest benefit for all.

dc fashion week -- a probably pretty accurate pre-review

Get ready, everyone, it's the most mediocre time of year again! That's right, it's time to pull your most fancy ill-fitting pants suit out of the closet and dust off your square-toe, box-heel shoes because it's DC Fashion Week! And this year the event is serving up just as many oxymorons as ever.

Before moving onto the "fashion," though, let's start with the sponsors. Move over, New York! Get out of the way, Paris! Suck on this, Milan! The only Fashion Week being sponsored by AARP this year is DC's!

No, really. AARP is a sponsor. Some of the others, who are equally as hip and fashion-forward, are über-hipster publication The Washington Times, an apartment complex in NE, and Roomorama, which Google tells me is some kind of Craigslist for finding short-term rentals. So yeah, New York, you can keep your sh*tty sponsors like Maybelline and Mercedes in your pocket! WE'RE DOING JUST FINE HERE! (For a city whose idea of haute couture is Brooks Brothers.)

And also, who needs the tents in Bryant Park when you have various embassies and the Doubletree Hotel (um, seriously) in Crystal City to host your events? In fact, since most of DC Fashion Week isn't even technically in DC, we should probably just change the name to World Fashion Week! TAKE THAT, EARTH!

But enough about the stale bread of this puke sandwich, let's take a look at the head cheese, Fluff® and rat droppings that make up the meat! Unfortunately, most DC Fashion Week designers are smart enough not to post their work on the Web (I imagine because it makes it a lot harder for assholes like me and legitimate fashion critics to critique), so short descriptions will have to suffice:

• Ukraine will once again grace us with its top tastemaker, Aleksey.
• Awkward acronym-lovers APOSOL (Aspiring People Overcoming Situations of Life) and Descai (Distinctive, Elegant, Style, Class, Attitude and Intrigue) will show their very sophisticated collections of sweatshirts and booty shorts.
  
• Compound noun makers Divanista (Diva + Fashionista, duh!) and Glamfurs will do whatever it is they do -- they could not be Googled.
  
• Alliteration specialist Glamorous Gowns by Glynn will show Glynn's glamorous gowns.
• Brazillian swimwear designer Carioca will show a lot of speedos with words on the crotch.
• Heydari will bring her best C-game (the "C" stands for "curtain") to DC.
• Leona Edmiston will come all the way from New Zealand to show her RTWTAT (Ready To Wear to Ann Taylor) collection.
  
• L-Shandi will bring all the things she's sewn from McCalls patterns to the runway.
• Chicos called Samira Atash. They want their designs back. However, what's good enough for Chicos is good enough for DC!
• Silva Designs will make their models look like clown hookers.
• And Victor Hou will make his models look like regular hookers.

But alas, not every designer of the week seems to have been inspired by some combination of Forever 21, Talbots and a basement full of taffeta scraps. Andrew Nowell, Konstantina Mittas, Liliya Poustovit and Knaf Couture all have a point of view that, while perhaps not totally my taste (although some of it is actually very nice), at least shows something interesting and new. I guess the bigger question for them is, why are they here?

An even bigger question, though, is where do you think the DCFW after party will go down? I'm guessing either the Pentagon City Mall or the Motel 6 in Alexandria. They'll leave the light on for you. Although you might want to turn it off if you're dressed in most of the clothes from Fashion Week...

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sit back and wait for my VIP invite to roll in.

nuts to love, nuts to hate, and nuts to...

It's gonna be a short one today because I'm pretty busy. See, my pub trivia team, "Hide Your Kids; Hide Your Wife" won a SlapChop last night and I've been dicing everything in sight -- napkins, coasters, frozen peas, baked beans, warm butter (the one thing it seems to actually successfully chop) and, of course, nuts. You're gonna love my nuts. And you're also gonna love this Web regurgitation. Onward!

Great. There's a new funny female blogger in town, whose dead baby jokes are probably more relevant than mine since hers are all about rich white people and abortion. Mine, on the other hand, are for the pure, simple enjoyment. Why did the dead baby cross the road? (Answer at the bottom of this sh*tty post.)

Great. There's a new mayor in town and his election has underlined the racial divide in Washington. However, I see an easy solution here -- a change in motto! How about: "You can't get Gray without mixing Black and White!" GET IT?! I'm a genius.

And in other genius-y ideas news, I'd like to invite Mr. Vincent Gray to ride on a tandem bicycle with me sometime soon. Like WashCycle, I also hope he understands the importance of encouraging cycling in this city. I also hope he understands how fun it would be to ride on a bicycle made for two with me.

And equally as important (and fun!) to DC is masturbation. (*ding ding ding* TRANSITION OF THE WEEK!) I mean, really, let's think about it. People are mean and uptight here. I've heard some say that perhaps people here just need to have more sex. But, whoops, there's that hugely significant problem of a 3-5 percent HIV/AIDS rate in this city. Indeed, a little Han Solo might be the answer to all of our problems. A happier, more productive Washington, DC, equals a happier more productive USA. So please, Delaware, if you truly care about this country, don't send Christine O'Donnell here. I don't love her nuts. And, really, she doesn't love yours. In fact, she doesn't even want you to love your own.

And actually, she'll probably just end up in a sex scandal anyway and then her whole life will have been just one big sham...like these other hypocritical "family-values" right-wingers.

Lastly, let's end with what everyone's wondering about here -- will Oprah ask them if there's gonna be a sequel to Ultimate Air Jaws?!

***

Wait! Don't go! I have the answer to that dead baby joke, "Why did the dead baby cross the road?" "To eat what's one the other side! IT'S A ZOMBIE BABY!" Yup. Still got it.

shattered glass = local tv news showdown!

For the first time in many forknights fortnights, I decided to tune into the local news last night. It was local election return night, and I needed to see if Kang would become mayor. He didn't and neither did Fenty. Anyway, after flipping through all the networks, I decided to settle on FOX5, mostly because it was the only station not on commercial break. And thank goodness I did because this happened:



This reporter's reaction to the dude who fell through the window at Fenty's headquarters is truly priceless (about 0:37). She later said she initially thought it was gunfire, which, unfortunately isn't a totally radical assumption to make here. (Sidebar: How f*cked up this place is that we automatically assume the worst?) But overall, I think FOX5 handled this story pretty well. A-

Others, however, did not. For a lesson in what not to do, let's turn to CBS9:



So, that guy's kind of a dick, right? Right. Because, I'm sorry, but the "I was here first" argument becomes invalid when you surpass the age of seven. Also, talking sh*t to witnesses on the scene is probably not the most professional way to go about getting the story. C-

And CBS9 can thank NBC4 for the grade inflation, because they set the bar really, really low. Was it an all-staff potty break?

hopefully this bridge is made of something nonflammable

According to the dictionary, a critic is "one who expresses a reasoned opinion on any matter especially involving a judgment of its value, truth, righteousness, beauty or technique." The dictionary also says a critic is "one given to harsh or captious judgment." While I usually adhere only to the latter definition (because it's way more fun), today I'm going to try to channel some of the former, as well. Why? Because the outlet on which I'm about to express my reasoned, albeit harsh opinion has been very kind to me since it launched earlier this summer. Yes, I'm talking about TBD.com, and more specifically, some of its coverage of the mayoral election. I just don't like it. I think some of it's been largely irrelevant and, most excruciatingly for me, some of it's just been a little too precious.

Oh man...I really hope they're not mad at me. See, I'm a member of TBD's community network of blogs, and really, this blog has benefited a great deal from that. Not only have the people at TBD been lovely enough to spotlight several Anti DC posts, thus boosting its overall traffic, but I suspect I have TBD to thank for allowing this blog to expose itself (full frontal) to some of the subjects about which it writes. Both the Washington Post's Gene Weingarten and notorious Tea Party Safe Zone mapper Bruce Majors have left comments here. And then, of course, there were all those race-baiting Glenn Beck cult members who came over thanks to TBD's links, providing me with endless laughs and hilariously misworded death threats. (Grammatically incorrect hate comments are like Pulitzer prizes for bloggers.) In short, TBD has been a boon for this blog.

Yet, still I choose now to bite (although I think it's more of a nibble) the e-hand that RSS feeds. And sure, while this is probably not the smartest move I could make, I have to do what's right -- I must critique. I'm sorry, TBD, but really, what do you expect to happen when you post 1,300 words on Fenty's future employment opportunities or, apparemtly, lack thereof? A captious critique is really the only reasonable judgment here. TBD wonders:

"It’s been a while since Fenty, who has never lost an elected office he has sought, was a private citizen in need of a job. So, who will hire Adrian Fenty -- the man who became the youngest mayor of D.C. ever at 35 and would leave office at 40?"

Uh...really? Is TBD really concerned that Fenty, a man who's provided millions of dollars to several influential friends and people who own private sector companies, a man who has a law degree, a man who (nevermind if he wins or loses today) managed to become mayor at age 35 of what may be the weirdest, most challenging city in all of America, won't be able to make a living? I really hope I'm misinterpreting the purpose of this article and that there's some larger diabolically genius plan behind it's posting, like, it's filled with subliminal messages or something that make me want to vote for a certain candidate. In fact, I'll rescind my entire critique if TBD can just tell me right now that the whole thing was the work of Kang.

And while I wish that were true (Kang 2010!), judging from some of TBD's other mayoral coverage, I'm guessing they posted that article not for Kang, but because they thought it would generate a lot of traffic to their site. If that, indeed, was their goal, then I guess they deserve more kudos than slams because I'm sure it worked. Hell, not only did I click on it, but I'm now linking to it and devoting almost an entire blog post to it. Congratulations?

But notice how I said "almost an entire blog post." See, there's one more article I must mention in my hesitant, albeit necessary critique of TBD's election coverage: todays article, "Fenty, Kwame Brown win big in blogger straw poll." Oh boy... TBD writes:

"It all started with an informal discussion on Twitter: what if a bunch of bloggers got together for an informal straw poll for the upcoming primary election in D.C.?

We decided to do it. With Community Network bloggers in all eight wards and other likely participants spread across the city, it was unlikely that we'd be able to get everyone to the same place to facilitate a live vote. So the solution to all distance issues, the Internet, stepped in to lend a hand."

All right, I'm going to try to be nice here since I'm hoping not to burn a bridge today, as much as I hope simply to warm it up a little. Honestly, I just don't see the point of this poll. First of all, anything really worth discussing would not go down on Twitter. Really, let's take a step back from this circle jerk some area bloggers have apparently informally created on Twitter and compare it to the real world: Unless you're a blogger like Andrew Sullivan (i.e., someone people have actually heard of) no one really cares what you think. Trust me, I know this from personal experience and, until I snag that elusive book deal for my hilarious David Sedaris-esque bundle of personal memoirs (I have a really good story about that time I inspected enema tips, while working in the plastics factory when I was 18), I'll probably remain in the fringe. Hell, sometimes I still have to convince myself to care about what I think. (For example, to this day, I still don't care about what I think about the girth and length of enema tips.)

And then there's the issue of relevance. Even if people cared about what local bloggers thought about politics, conducting the poll with only about 20 respondents (full disclosure: I was not one of them) is decidedly just ridiculous.

Listen, I've had ideas that didn't work out as I had imagined, too. In fact, not so long ago, I put together a video that had me traipsing around town "in character" trying to "act." I put those words in quotation marks because when it came time to edit the project, I realized I had failed to do either legitimately under the constraints I was within. While I knew I had the ability to make something great, the time and equipment I had to work with just didn't allow it. The finished product was not anything like the original idea I had conceived and I'm glad I decided to shelve it.

And that's probably what should've happened with this straw poll. It just didn't work out. It comes off as underdeveloped, a little laughable and just a little too goddamn precious. The only people really interested in it are probably the 20 participants.

Look, I don't mean to be a hater. I mean to be a helper. I think TBD has a lot to offer and I wouldn't have voluntarily decided to associate this blog with the site if I didn't believe it served a purpose. Sure, one of the purposes for me personally is because it boosts this blog's traffic, but I also see a greater purpose. TBD.com has the opportunity to fill a really big gap in local reporting in a truly innovative way. For instance, their election problem map is pretty damn awesome. So is this video timeline of the election so far. I want to see more features like that.

Which means TBD's in-house staff should probably stick within the framework of information rather than quirky, cutesy polls and irrelevant non-stories (seriously, I don't think Fenty will be lining up for unemployment anytime soon). Leave the fluffy, entertainment-only blog stuff to your Community Network. Hell, I post dumb sh*t all the time! You can link to me! In fact, here's some now. Look at these attractive people hand-dancing (via Whatevs.net)!

rough ruff

Remember last Thursday (that's 80 years ago in blog years, I know, but try to remember), when I accused drivers in DC of being killers because of their dickish tendencies? I said something like, because they routinely cut off emergency vehicles in intersections, they value their commuting time more than basic human life.

Well, indeed, after seeing this occur two more times this weekend, I am still frustrated by that. I think it's self-centered and truly demonstrative of what's really wrong with America today (besides the fact that Glenn Beck has become a badly dressed spiritual leader). Our society just doesn't seem to think about the proverbial big picture anymore.

I mean, it's fine to be a jerk, don't get this jerk wrong, but it's not fine to allow your jerkiness to infringe on someone else's basic right to breath. That, e-friends, is the non-negotiable line. That line is where all subjectivity ends. And specifically, from the viewpoint of a humor writer, that line, when crossed, is when being a jerk isn't funny anymore. Let's face it: It's one thing to Shambles P.I. a bitch. It's quite another to kill one.

Which is why when the police shot and killed a bitch in Adams Morgan yesterday, no one was laughing. Parrot was a cute dog and I hope she's he's (so, I guess he's not a bitch, after all...) been able to accompany all dogs and go to heaven. Seriously, I think I speak for everyone when I ask, "WTF?!"

Not only does this screw up my entire Thursday assumption that police and other emergency vehicles are rushing to scenes to save lives instead of end them, but this also makes me question my other assumption that drivers in DC are just a bunch of dicks. Why weren't these assholes blocking the intersection yesterday?? I mean, really, WHAT THE F*CK IS GOING ON?! And please, don't take this the wrong way, but, um, WHERE'S A DICK WHEN YOU NEED ONE?!

Unfortunately, according to news sources (remember, you heard it here last), there are no answers -- not to my questions and not to any of your probably more reasonable questions like, "How did this transpire?" The police are saying one thing (the dog attacked), the owner is saying another (the dog was subdued) and witnesses don't seem to know what the hell happened. For that reason, it's nearly impossible to say who was right and who was wrong in this situation, although I'm leaning toward the owner being right because, well, let's face it, DC cops have basically begged me to question their authority over the years.

The only fact that remains is that someone's dog was put down via a firearm on one of the busiest streets in DC during one of the most popular city activities of the year. It's really amazing that more kids don't grow up with PTSD around here...

And while I vow to keep my eye (maybe even both eyes) on this story as others do all the legwork reporting it, I wish now to turn to brighter news -- and I certainly do mean that literally. After having to endure The Anti DC's creative director, Terry the Tourette's Turtle, yap on for countless hours about the Redskins' new golden pants, I finally got to see them in all their technicolor glory. Here they are standing around with the other team...what was their name again?

Oh yeah, now I remember -- they're called the Dallas Losers.

And that's just about as in-depth as this blog will ever get when it comes to analyzing any footgame matches. We won from what I can only assume can be attributed to the burning of the Dallas Losers' retinas. May our sun-shiny butts continue to emit such blinding light!

a city full of killers

Perhaps it's my small town, Minnesotan upbringing, but there are certain things I learned growing up that it seems most people on the East Coast (and specifically here in DC) did not. Mainly, I learned not to murder people. And sure, I mean that in the sense that I won't come at you with a weapon (unless, of course, you try to steal my lutefisk), but I also mean that in the more passive sense. That is, if I'm riding a bike/driving/walking about and I hear a siren and/or see an ambulance/fire truck/police car, I automatically get the hell out of the way. To me, letting that wailing ambulance through the intersection so it can save a life is more important than my getting to Whole Foods to purchase ingredients to make my goddamn dinner of hot dish and jello salad. However, to what seems like the majority of people in DC, they say, "F*ck your life. Nobody comes between me and my Calvins sorely outdated references groceries." I'm telling you, I see this all the time, mostly with drivers who seem to think it's OK to chill in the intersection whilst they watch their green light turn yellow then red. Not only does this kind of action just tie up traffic for others and make it much more annoying and dangerous to be a cyclist or pedestrian, but I contend this behavior actually kills people. Take for instance a situation I peeped last week in the late afternoon. I was biking east on P Street approaching the 16th Street intersection when I heard increasingly loud sirens. I pulled to the curb and looked behind me to see an ECNALUBMA approaching. Now, despite my lack of rear-view mirror, I figured out quite easily that it was an ambulance and, most likely, either it had someone who needed medical attention already in it or it was going to give medical attention to someone who really needed it. Thus, I ceased cycling further and waited for it to safely pass. For 10 minutes. That's right, it took 10 minutes for an emergency response vehicle to pass through an intersection due to the two assholes who were blocking it because they just had to make that light. Really, it's a ridiculous practice in the first place to pull into an intersection under any circumstances when you think the light's about to change, but when you do so fully knowing an ambulance is approaching, you're not just stupid now, you're a murderer. Seriously, as far as I know those two dicks sitting in the intersection at 16th and P the other day killed someone. When people call 9-1-1 for an ambulance, it usually means they need help immediately. While it may be annoying for you to extend your commute a few minutes in your air-conditioned SUV, to the person losing consciousness down the block, it may be a matter of life and death. And to prove this wasn't just an isolated event, I saw a similar thing happen on Monday afternoon at the corner of 7th and E. There I was, enjoying a refreshing bowl of ajo blanco soup at Jaleo (sidenote: YUM), when some dick had to ruin it for me by reminding me what city I was in. Instead of an ambulance, however, this time it was a firetruck whose path was interrupted. As it was entering the intersection going east on E, some ignoramous in his GTO or whatever decided to zoom through going north on 7th. The firetruck (and this was one of the full-sized ones with a freaking ladder on the top) had to literally slam on its brakes to avoid a 90˚-angle collision, which probably would've put the driver of the GTO in such critical condition that an ambulance would've needed to arrive to the scene within minutes to save him. And while the irony of that scenario seems almost too good to pass up (inevitably the ambulance would've gotten held up by some other asshole in a narcissistic rush), since I'm not a Tea Partier murderer, I would never wish death -- let alone harm -- on anyone, no matter how stupid. But trust me, there are easier ways to learn lessons than the hardest way possible. People just need to think. Everyone's actions affect other people. Whether it's someone's gum-smacking on the Metro that's causing people to be mildly annoyed or another's complete lack of road etiquette that's causing people to literally die, all these problems can be solved if people just thought before they acted. Really, adults of DC (and those who commute in and out for work), stop it. Just stop it. And eat more lefse. It makes people friendlier.

the grade

Everyone loves a good ranking. And while I wish I was writing that with some hidden metaphorical meaning, I really just mean that literally. Starting from the day we step into grade school, we begin getting ranked: minus, check, plus. Science fairs and sporting events gave us first, second and third. Finally, high school gave us the ultimate system: letter grading.

And now, uh, because there's nothing really that substantial to write about, I'm going to rank five recent stories/things/events on the classic A-through-F scale. But before you click to close this browser because you think The Anti DC team is starting to burn out (sizzle!), I'm gonna switch the text to DOUBLE RAINBOW ALL THE WAY! to re-grab your attention. It's so beautiful! But what does it mean?! Nothing. Let's just get on with it. HA! It worked!

A: The braised shoulder of Shenandoah lamb at Againn. While I initially had no intention on ever setting foot in any restaurant that marketed itself as a "contemporary British isles bistro" (I'm of the ilk that pub food should simply be pub food, a.k.a., deep fried fish is deep fried fish is deep fried fish), The Anti DC Creative Director Terry the Tourette's Turtle insisted. He had a coupon. Anyway, let's just cut to the chase (and really this chase was so tender you could cut it with a butter knife) -- the lamb was f*cking delicious. Hands down one of the best things I've ever put in my mouth. [Insert fellatio joke here.] And Terry's assessment? "Nipple clamps!"

B: The weather. Sure, it's not perfect yet -- it won't be perfect until it matches the cold, dark temperature of my heart -- but the weather has much more fabulous than usual lately. It's nice not having to do an over/under bet on how many times you'll cross your fingers and wish the Old Spice guy would pop up and smack that excessively sweaty person, who's inevitably standing too close to you, with a bottle of Isaiah Mustafa-scented body wash.

C: The Washington Post's Date Lab. While this Sunday Post feature was never totally awesome in the classic sense of the word, at least it used to be entertaining the way sh*tshows are supposed to be. But now? I mean, I'll still read it and all (maybe hoping for a complete trainwreck is half the fun?), but the last few weeks of Date Lab have just been so dull, so average, so...normal. This week's is the culmination of all things yawn.

D: Barricading yourselves in your homes. Copycat crimes are generally for the uncreative, but copycat crimes of already uncreative crimes are just for the stupid. But seriously, why so many barricades, D.C.? THE WEATHER IS A SOLID B/B+!!!

F: John Kelly's Washington. I'm not sure how or why the Post employs some of the local columnists it does (don't even get me started on Reliable Source), but they're just not that entertaining most of the time. For proof, please to compare John Kelly's assessment of the fashion at the Maryland Renaissance Festival to mine. First of all, I scooped him by posting yesterday opposed to today. And secondly, should anyone who admits to wearing Dockers really be assessing fashion in the first place? Really, John, I'm afraid in your case, the codpiece you joke about buying would actually probably have been an improvement. Second of all, did he not spot the gimp?! Surely, I think that's more of the rule than the exception at the Festival. Try harder!

shambles p.i.: the renaissance edition

When I think of the Renaissance, I tend to think of great literature, art and scientific innovations. After all, the word in French translates to "rebirth," and indeed, the Renaissance was a reawakening of sorts after the Dark Ages, a time in which religion ruled over reason. (Glenn Beck would've loved it!) So, when I decided to venture to the Maryland Renaissance Festival this weekend, I was expecting to encounter the words of Shakespeare, the art of Michelangelo and the genius of Galileo. What I got, however, was this pudgy guy in a gimp suit:

"Bringest forth thy lamed, leathered one!"

I mean, what?! Really? Nevermind the total non-sequitor to the period, think about the chafing! It was a balmy, sweaty day that Sunday in Crownesville. Seriously, Someone sprinkle this man in Gold Bond immediately...

But I confess, I did not arrive blindly. After informing people the day before of my plan to check out the Festival, I was warned: "Just beware that the Renaissance Festival is one big excuse for people to leave their houses looking like rapists and child molesters."

"Hide your kids, hide your wife, and hide your husband cuz they're rapin' errbody out here."

Indeed, nothing screams cultural rebirth (or rapist/molester) more than a bearded man in leather short-shorts. I assure you I'm joking, however. The only thing this man was blowing was glass. HA! I ZINGETH THEE! To be more precise, he was blowing glass turd swirls.

Just joking again! They're actually cats that just look like turd swirls.

But really, let's get back to the issue in question here: Are people simply ignorant to what the Renaissance period entails or is this Festival simply misnamed?

"I like turtles."

I'm guessing it's probably a mix of both. There were a few people dressed up in proper period garments (mostly those who worked there), but most of the Festival's attendees who dressed up (or are these their normal clothes?) missed the mark entirely. I can't tell you how many pirates, furries and random men in silk pajamas I saw. At the same time, I can't think of one booth or show at the Festival that exalted the discoveries of the Renaissance. Whereas I wanted to see Copernicus and a telescope, I got Sir-Munch-A-Lot and a churro. Really, the only semi-authentic attractions were the joust (no description needed), the games tent, where some pimply kid with a fake accent will teach you how to play "The Royal Game of Goose," a kind of Chutes & Ladders for adults, and a battle-axe throwing station.

I wore my lumberjack garment specifically for this event.

And despite the near-total authenticity of the above (the Medicis loved flannel), I think calling this event a Renaissance Festival is a stretch. Really, it was more like a Magic the Gathering convention.

Alas, while I may have wanted more velvet hats, pantaloons and feathers, more sonnets, telescopes and frescoes, I still managed to have a good time, that is until all the patchouli-scented hippie pirate goth fairy dust started to make me feel nauseous. Or maybe that was due to the gigantic smoked turkey legs some old man in a dracula cape was selling out of a cooler.

What's more Renaissance than ye olde food poisoning? Nothing!

Summary: If you're craving E.Coli and lots of loosely corseted old-lady boob in your face, don't miss the Maryland Renaissance Festival in Crownsville, Md., running from now until October 24.

news on speed

Is it just me, or has news around town been rather slow and boring lately? I mean, even that Discovery Channel hostage ordeal turned out to be just another footnote to the week, thanks to the gods of stupid who bestowed absolute idiocy upon the gunman. And while I'm very much glad that didn't turn into a bigger story than it did (seriously, I'm very, very relieved none of the hostages were harmed), I'm disappointed that other stories around town this week seemed to fizzle out before they even got going. I mean, honestly, the most exciting news story I read this week was about how the news media has been trying so hard this week to make something, such as Hurricane Thunderstorm Earl, seem much more important than it actually is.

But, really, can I blame the media for this late-summer blah? After all, they gotta write about something. So, I guess the blame belongs on those who are actually making the news.

For example, let's take a look at that baseball fight from Wednesday night between the Nationals and the Marlins. Perhaps, it's because I don't have a penis or maybe it's because when I think of sports I think of games that involve more than a bunch of pudgy men standing around and chewing tobacco for a couple of hours, but all I got out of that story was confirmation that a lot baseball players have 'roid rage. Surprise.

Seriously, that's not news. It's just reiteration of what we already know. It's boring! And so, today, since the actual media can't do much about it, I've decided to make the news cycle a little more interesting. That's right, taking inspiration from my 'tard of a high school history teacher, who once told my 10th grade class, "The United States decisively won the Vietnam War," I'm going to make some sh*t up.

And so without further ado, let's return to baseball and that fateful night in Florida and make it more interesting:

After dodging a wild pitch from the other team's pitcher, Nyjer Morgan threw down his bat and began snapping his fingers. As the stadium lights dimmed, leaving only a single spotlight on Mr. Morgan, the rest of his teammates joined him, glitter began to fall from the sky. The rest of the team, now snapping in sync, skulked to the mound to the sound of a single saxophone, pausing only periodically to do choreographed split leaps and jazz hands to a bongo drum beat. Meanwhile, the Marlins basemen and outfielders also began approaching the mound (in sync to the rhythm, of course), where they met their opposition. As the crowd readied for a brawl, the two teams decided to do the almost unimaginable (because the whole West Side Story mound-approach seems totally realistic...) -- they had a reasonable discussion as to what happened and why and signaled they had reached an agreement when Nyjer and Marlins pitcher Chris Volstad Milli-Vanilli chest-bumped each other.

See? Much better. Let's keep going. You know that mayoral debate that went down on Wednesday afternoon between incumbent Adrian Fenty and Vince Gray? No? Yes? Who cares? Sure. It was boring. Like always, Fenty was all, "MICHELLE RHEE!!! Oh, and also Gray looks strange and is weird." Meanwhile, Gray was like, "Come on, people. I have a prominent brow and I do what I can to get by!" Or whatever. Basically, whatever they said is what they've said 100 times before. It was hardly news. This, on the other hand, would've been news:

Mayoral candidates Adrian Fenty and Vincent Gray met on Wednesday at Washington D.C.'s Newseum for a debate. It was all super boring and predictable until a dark-horse candidate parachuted in to announce he, too, would be running. This candidate was none other than Terry the Tourette's Turtle, the plastic talking toy and master debater (har!) who moonlights as the creative director behind local blog, The Anti DC, which recently won the Nobel prize for being awesome. Minutes after his surprise announcement, Terry punched both candidates in the face and announced his three-part platform: Stage 1 -- "Anal probe;" Stage 2 -- "Nipple clamps;" and Stage 3: "D-d-d-d-d-donkey dick!" The audience responded with a roar of applause and several fist-pumps. When pressed for a closing statement, Terry simply looked at both candidates and said, "Suck my balls!" Today, Mr. Tourette's Turtle is leading the polls by a gazillion points.

And on that note, which I can only assume was the brown noise (thinking up those kinds of links is exactly why I employ Terry as the creative director), I'll leave you all to your long weekends, unless, of course, you have to work. In that case, I'll leave you to hope your boss isn't around so you can just do crossword puzzles and nap.