Wednesday, December 10, 2003

Last of the Election Crap
OK, so after some last-minute hemming and hawing, WULAD ended up voting for Gonzalez, who lost, and Harris, who won. But I’m pretty sure Mecklin of the Weekly is correct in saying that either candidate would make a good mayor, even is one of them is a courageous crusader for the voiceless and the other is a soulless lackey for the plutocrats, as the Eternal Protest crowd would have you believe. (Which I don’t, incidentally.) After casting my weighty vote, I headed to the Laundromat for another civic duty, and was greeted at the door by a homeless guy who proceeded to smoke crack in the corner while the patrons loaded their washers. I didn’t bother asking him if he was acting in his capacity as a symbol or if this was just his normal routine.

Last of the Pledge Drive Crap
Today is officially the last-ass-last day to pledge to the PHCSF—which is too bad, since the flow of crotch-seeking visitors is holding steady—and may even be getting stronger since “the lovely and talented Paris Hilton” (as one Googler sought) seems to become more of a cultural phenomenon each day. And the Afghanis could really use the dough, I would think. But I can’t milk the six poor souls I roped into pledging forever, and I promised that December 10 would be The Last Day. So drop me a line at the e-mail to your right and chip in a little holiday Hilton hope for those less fortunate. Hell, you could even skip my sorry go-between ass altogether and just donate to them directly. Tomorrow: the final tally, when we learn just how obsessed with celebrity crotches our nation really is.

Last of the Recycled Crap
I’ll close this abbreviated filler-post with a little piece I threw into the e-mail flotsam a few years back. And let it never be said that all Wrapped and no Up makes Like a dull Douche…

Hey guys! I know it sounds far-fetched, but I tried this and it worked!

Microsoft, as part of a promotional e-mail tracking test, is sending out squads of beautiful supermodels with huge bags of free money and shiny sports cars to anyone who forwards their tracking message. The supermodels are instructed to become the personal sex slaves of anyone who helps with the tracking test, to help clean up around the home, and to pay off the mortgages of their new masters; in fact, Microsoft is offering to set up a personal stipend of one million dollars per day for each respondent—so great is their need to test this new system.

Here's how it works: simply forward this to thirty-seven of your friends, family, etc., and in one week your choice of either a) a Victoria's Secret runway model in a bitch-red Mercedes coupe, b) a Soul Train dancer in a black Lexus SUV, or c) a member of the New York Jets Dance Squad in a '67 Charger will pull up in front of your house, adorn you witha solid-gold diamond encrusted tuxedo, and your days of struggle and disappointment will be over! You will have joined the ranks of the immortals! I know what you're thinking—too good to be true!—but this has been independently verified by Dr. Werner Wittgenheimer at the University of Munich (WWittgenheimer@UMunich.Ger). See you on the Riviera!