The most fascinating story I read all week, without question, was this New York Times story about Rev. Ed Young in Grapevine, Tx. encouraging his parishioners to have sex with each other. Life's gotta be pretty dull for a preacher sometimes — "Lord, forgive me, but if I have to give another endless homily about the sacred eucharist, I'm gonna set this church on fire. Hey, cool, arson totally isn't a commandment!" — so this had to have been a fun sermon to give.
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Of all the Guns 'N Roses stories, the "Rocket Queen" one is my favorite. When "Appetite For Destruction" was recorded, the moaning sounds on the album's closer (which might be my favorite G'N'R song, actually), were captured while Adriana Smith, a 19-year-old stripper who had been dating drummer Steven Adler, was having sex with Axl Rose.More »
Most discussed Cherokee Parks Was Misunderstood: Most homoerotic GNR line:
What you pissed off cuz your dad gets more pussy than you? Fuck you Suck my fuckin' more »
I don't remember where I saw it, but about a year-and-a-half ago, in one of those "Hey, there's a cool black guy running for President!" stories, the writer posited that Barack Obama, if he were to somehow win (crazy!), would have something immediately in common with John F. Kennedy: He could destroy a famed aspect of men's formal sartorial culture. That is to say: They thought he was going to kill the tie.
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Most discussed RagingRomones: I was watching "Morning Joe" at the gym on Monday when host Joe Scarborough accidentally unleashed his "Fuck you" on more »
Well, it's here. When I was a kid, Election Night was one of the few nights of the year I was allowed to stay up past 8:30. (Seriously, my bedtime was 8:30 until I was a freshman in high school. And you wonder why I still wet the bed.) I never knew who any of the candidates were, or even what the "D" and the "R" next to their names meant — sometimes I'm not sure I know now — but it was like having 100 different sporting events going on at once, with updates coming every 20 minutes. We didn't have cable. This was as close as I had to March Madness. I loved it.
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All right, so the world is imploding. You know this. I know this too, though only because the Wassup Guys told me. Surely, these are the last days, before the global apocalypse rids the planet of humans and leaves only some cockroaches, a few stray strands of hair and, of course, Kermit, because Kermit is an indestructible force of shocking malevolence. This is not the way I thought it would go down. I assumed, like the rest of you, it would be the robots.
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So over the weekend, the two candidates for President — Sen. Barack Obama, head of a Muslim sleeper cell, and Sen. John McCain, organizer of the first Hanoi chapter of the Ku Klux Klan — spoke at the Al Smith Dinner, a big Catholic charity event held in Manhattan right before the elections every year. Each of them made a bunch of jokes, and, all told, they were both pretty funny. (Not surprisingly, the best jokes were about the Clintons.) This was covered in the political press as a curiosity, like, "Hey, look, they don't really hate each other! When they think no one is looking, they talk like normal people!" And then everyone went back to talking about William Ayers and being "erratic" and everything that made everyone want to turn off the debates. Like the Al Smith thing never happened.
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I turned 33 over the weekend. There's something inherently sad about a single 33-year-old man hosting his own birthday party. I remember when my father turned 33; I was 11. It was my parents, my sister and myself eating tacos and watching the Cardinals game. That was pretty fun. I've had birthday bashes pretty much every year since high school, and each year brings diminishing returns. At a certain point, you look around and realize, "Man, this is just a bunch of old people drinking because there's nothing else to do." That was probably true before; I guess I just never noticed.
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The second Presidential debate is tonight, coinciding, quite helpfully, with the first night off of the baseball postseason. I spend about 45 percent of my workday reading political blogs from all sides of the spectrum, some conservative, some (OK, more) liberal, and absolutely none written by that theoretical and mythical bird of the "impartial." This is warping my worldview; right now, more than the main two candidates, I'm ready to elect Chuck Todd and Nate Silver president. I'll be watching the debate tonight with considerable nostalgia. I long for the days, like in the clip above, when the first question at a presidential debate was some sort of variant of "So, what would you do if your spouse were raped and murdered?"
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Before we get started, a few words on America's financial crisis. (Because hey, who knows more about our economy than a sports blogger from Nowhere, Illinois?) I am going to apply my years of insight as reporter for Registered Rep. magazine, as well as my minutes upon minutes of CNBC viewing, to explain to you exactly what it all means. Ready?
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I spent last weekend at Wrigley Field, watching the stupid Cubs clinch their stupid division and drink some stupid champagne in front of their stupid fans. It was the first time my father had ever been to Wrigley Field, and I have to think it'll be his last. Poor guy. He makes it nearly 60 years without visiting the place despite living in the same state, and the day he shows up, the Cubs celebrate a division championship by beating his Cardinals in front of him. Baseball sucks sometimes.
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