bang

Congratulations, Virginia! You finally have something to be proud of. But of course I'm joking. I mean, just look at that sentence construction! It ends in a preposition! HILARIOUS! (Laugh, dammit.)

However, even if I did write, "Congratulations, Virginia! You finally have something of which to be proud," it'd still be funny. Not only because that second sentence sounds like it should be read by someone in a monocle and a top hat, but because of the joke I embedded in it -- that the only thing Virginia has to be proud of is the fact that the woman who can hold the most hotdogs in her stomach is from there.

And while, yes, that is quite an accomplishment, it is, in fact, a joke. Obviously, it's not the only thing Virginia has going for it. See, in addendum to being the breeding ground for women who can stuff their faces with five grills full of barbecued meats, Virginia is also noteworthy because it's a great place to explode things. And so, yes, I spent America's Birthday not in America's Capital, but across the river, in America's Weiner-Eaters Birthplace Capital setting off colorful explosives.

Except I nearly regurgitated my sausage when one firework I had purchased from a teenager on the side of a Pennsylvania highway shot not straight into the open air but at a diagonal directly into the power line. OOPS! Clearly, I should've purchased my explosives from Bang-Bang and Boom-Boom (and you're gonna wanna click on that link).

But this wasn't a normal, run-of-the-mill firework that just shoots up and explodes; it was a Sky Banger, which does exactly what it boasts. It sort of thrusts up and down for a bit before finally exploding in a shiny sea of ejaculating sparks. (Ew.) Under perfect conditions, the Sky Banger would do this all at about 30-to-50 feet. But here's the thing about power lines: they kind of f*ck up trajectories, meaning the whole sky-bang process ended up being more like 15-to-who-the-hell-knows-how-many-feet-because-we-were-all-flat-on-the-ground-hoping-we-weren't-'bout-to-die.

But I'm alive! The power lines remained intact and no one even sustained even minor burns. Full success. Kind of. And, hey, I see you're all alive, too, if you're able to read this blog right now, so USA! USA! USA! And most importantly, I'm happy to be back in the District where the power lines are underground.

repeater

Either not everyone got the memo Snooki ball that it's now 2011, or some DC publications simply like reporting last year's news. And by "some publications," I unfortunately mean The Washington Post, which for whatever reason, people still seem to think is useful for more than just lining the pooping corner of your helper animal's living quarters. (Although, in my experience, Anti DC Creative Director Terry the Tourette's Turtle prefers to defecate on higher quality publications, like US Weekly and Highlights.)

But let's be fair. Maybe I'm being a bit too harsh. Maybe if I wasn't so busy aggregating my #suitablepublicationstopoopon thread on Twitter, I'd have more time to write about those (few) things the Post does well, such as...

*crickets*

Wow. That's way too much effort. Not to mention, that would be both boring to write about and excruciatingly mundane to read, as I wouldn't have been able to so seamlessly weave the words "ass apples," "bum fudge" and "doodly squat" into my intro, like I just did now. (You're welcome.)

And so we shall talk about the dumbest, most untimely sh*t -- excuse me, I mean "fecal brownies" -- I found in the Post this week.

1) Talk of the mysterious numbers from Hot Tub Time Machine Lost on the Post's "Hot Topics" bar (whatever the hell that is) at the top of the homepage.


First of all, yawn. Who cares? Second of all, didn't this stupid clusterf*ck of a show end months ago? Why is it only now a Washington Post "hot topic?" And while we're at it, why hasn't The Washington Post replaced the word "hot" with "trending?" Who are they? Starr Jones Rosie O'Donnell Barbara Walters on The View in 2002? KEEP UP.

But that's nothing compared to this next scat-worthy error:

2) Reporting on an art exhibit set to CLOSE next week. Uh, now maybe it's just me, but I like to read articles about art exhibits that are opening, rather than shutting down and moving on. And while I understand with art writer Blake Gopnik's departure the art editors might now be struggling to fill space while they look for a suitable replacement, reporting on something that's literally last year's news is just f*cking dopey. The New York Times first reported on the Arcimboldo exhibit at the National Gallery in September; I wrote about it in October, the Wall Street Journal even got to it, along with The Washington Post. Wait, what? The Post wrote about it in September 2010 (when appropriate, I might add) then proceeded to re-report on it in January 2011? Really?


Really. Jesus Christ (clearly said, with the accent of South Park's Big Gay Al)... A different writer and slight variations in the introduction and conceit are no excuse for this rookie mistake. Actually, scratch that. Even rookies don't make errors in judgement this egregious, especially in the era of electronic archiving. If you're unsure, Google it to make sure it hasn't been done. More so, just know that reporting on an art exhibit five days before it closes is just a stupid idea in the first place, you f*cking morons.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go put on the soundtrack to Inception and dream up more synonyms for the word "sh*t." I suspect that since the Post is in the habit of repeating itself, it's highly likely that I'll have to write about this again, and toilet pickles forbid, I make a similar mistake and use the phrase "rectal feedback" more than once...

tsk, tsk, mike wise

Being the sporadic sporting games fan that I am (I only really pay attention if our country's reputation is at stake, like in the World Cup or the Olympics), it should come as no surprise that I'd never heard of Mike Wise until yesterday. Apparently, he's a sports columnist for the Washington Post, or at least he was until his editors decided to suspend him yesterday for a month after he reported false information on Twitter. And while perhaps his editors would've forgiven him if it was an honest mistake (i.e., his multiple sources happened to be wrong), Wise admitted he didn't have any sources to blame. That's right, he basically just made some sh*t up. However, he immediately claimed to have done so on purpose to experiment with the idea that false news posted on social media can spread like chicken pox in a kindergarten classroom.

Well, duh. Twitter is like the herpes of the Web, an echo-chamber of rumors rarely to be trusted. After all, it takes just seconds to retweet whatever bullsh*t someone posts, literally, just the push of one button. Didn't we all learn our lesson earlier this year when Twitter was all atitter with rumors of pop sensation Justin Bieber's death? However, of course it's important to keep in mind that when that was going around, the main spreaders were people with usernames like @Buttscratcher69 or @AnotherAnonymousDickWhoOnlyTweetsAboutStupidSh*tHeShouldKeepToHimselfOrHandleOnGchat. Clearly, there are many "sources" on Twitter that are not to be trusted. And just for the record:


However, turning away from high-pitched pop stars back to lowly reporters, here's the deal: Someone like Mike Wise a.k.a. @mike_wiseguy (ha, clever), who describes himself on Twitter as a "Washington Post sports columnist," should probably realize that whatever he says is going to be taken more seriously than the @Buttscratcher69s of the world. That is, whatever, @mike_wiseguy journalist, posts on his Twitter is going to be taken as news reporting -- as in he didn't just pull some information out of his ass and post it, but is reporting it via a reliable source that he checked to confirm, then checked again to confirm the confirmation.

See, there's this unspoken contract between the people and the Fourth Estate. This silent agreement gives reporters more credibility than the rest of us, so whatever Wise says under the label of journalism -- no matter if it's in print, radio, television or ether -- is going to be taken as true because we all implicitly trust that he's doing his f*cking job rather than f*cking with us. I mean, really, Mr. Wise, were you smoking the good sh*t? Because you pretty much thought of the worst idea ever.

And really, let's talk about the piece of false information that he decided to post.


Uh, really? That's it? That's the big juicy rumor he decided to spread? Jesus. If he was going to lose his credibility, at least he could've done so with pizzazz. Make up something better, something more jaw-droppingly shocking, like "Haynesworth set to apologize publicly for being a huge asshole, I'm told." Or "Johnny Weir will cut a bitch with his fierce triple sow-cow, I'm told." Or, "Ovechkin to meet Putin and engage in a shirtless tag-team, tiger-wrestling match, I'm told." Honestly, ANYTHING would've been more exciting that lying about some rapist getting suspended for one less game than he was originally supposed to. I mean, yawn-to-the-max. Which is probably why only seven people took the bait and retweeted it. Besides people like me who could blog about it, no one really even cared! To give you a comparison, @AndrewWK's tweet, "PARTY TIP: Light something on fire!" was retweeted more than 100 times, including once by me. Now that's social media at work!

And so I guess that just leaves us here, a sports columnist short and a lesson to be learned by us all: Next time you decide to "experiment" on-the-job, don't do it with your credibility. Instead, light something on fire!

the anti dc's 3-Step guide to craigslist etiquette

I know I'm probably not the first one to write about proper Craigslist etiquette, but I hope to be the last, since I'm sure this blog will one day go viral and change the world. Or some sh*t like that. So, as my growing readership of probably five of you now know (only 6,697,254,036 of you left to infect with The Anti DC's unique brand of moron!), my French bike, Junior, was kidnapped not long ago by some dick. While I have vowed to punch anyone I might see riding her on the city streets (that goes for children, too, of course) and free Junior, I also realize she's probably been stripped of all her awesomeness and melted down to make Blackberry parts. We are in DC after all. And so, I have started the search for a new velocipede, which has taken me into the dark world that is Craigslist. It's a world without spell-check, without grammar and, worst of all, without manners, which brings me back to today's subject: The Anti DC's Three-Step Guide to Craigslist Etiquette. 1) Don't write in all caps. IT'S SUPER ANNOYING TO READ ENTIRE PARAGRAPHS WRITTEN IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS AND IT ALSO MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE AN ILLITERATE ASSHOLE, WHO SOMEHOW CAN TYPE LETTERS IN WORD FORMATIONS, BUT CANNOT READ THE WORDS "CAPS LOCK" ON THE BUTTON LOCATED TO THE LEFT OF YOUR LEFT PINKY FINGER WELL ENOUGH TO REALIZE THAT THAT IS ALL YOU NEED TO TAP in order to return to typing like a civilized human being. Stop letting modern technology win, moron. 2) Don't answer my response to your ad about how much I would love to make a monetary transaction to purchase your bicycle if you're already planning to conduct a monetary transaction for said bicycle with someone else. Seriously, say, for instance I answer an ad you put up about your dumbass, piece-of-sh*t Huffy by writing: "Hi there. I'm really interested in the bike you listed for sale on Craigslist. I have a flexible schedule and can come check it out whenever you have time if it's still available. Thanks, Marissa." The keywords there, of course, are "if it's still available." That is, if it's not, I don't expect -- or want -- to hear from you. Unfortunately, that doesn't stop people from answering you with things like this: "Hi Marisa [note the spelling error], I am so happy your [sic] interested in the bike. However, I have someone coming to look at it that [sic] answered the ad before you. I'll let you know what happens. Jake" Uh, what? You'll "let me know what happens?" How's about, I DON'T CARE WHAT HAPPENS! (Note the appropriate usage of all-capitals to emphasize irateness.) No really. I do not care what happens in any other transaction you are planning to make, except mine. Now, some of you may say this guy, "Jake," was simply being extra polite by keeping me abreast of all the goings-on surrounding his Huffy. However, I contend, under this second point of The Anti DC Three-Step Guide to Craigslist Etiquette, that he should've waited until the results of that first possible transaction were clear before writing me. That is, he should've only written me back if the bike was still available. I mean, what is the point of telling me I'm next? Am I supposed to stop checking out other people's ads for their sh*tty used bicycles and wait to see if maybe I'll have a chance at yours, Jake? Psshah! Anyway, with little precedent about how to handle someone who violates this CL point of etiquette, I decided to write back and simply say, "OK." Although, perhaps I should've said what I initially wanted to: "OK. Hope that deal falls through on you!" This saga of stupid ended when Jake wrote back the next day: "Great news! She took it! sorry [sic] it didn't work out for you." Jesus. 3) Don't murder people. Craigslist killers are the worst. *** And there you have it! I hope we can all follow these three easy steps and make CL a land of easy, non-stick (ew) and murder-free transactions. Now, seriously, who has a bike for me?