News & Views & Jews & Gnus

I know what you're thinking. WULAD sucks is what you're thinking. And you're right. However, no criticism you could dish out could be worse than the tons of self-flagellation the intrepid WULAD staff dumps upon its own head on a daily basis. (I know, "dumps flagellation"? Pick a metaphor, right? This is exactly what I'm talking about, people.) So save your critiques for someone who'll really respond and adapt, like the president.

Meanwhile, another one bites the dust. Those of us who have been standing on the edge of the digital precipice really should've gotten organized, and we could've put together some sort of impressive group-blog-suicide, and you all would've been really sorry that you didn't treat us better when you had the chance. Instead, I'm left to soldier on ever more intermittently, whilst young whippersnappers who post ten times a day about hip indie bands like Foreigner and the contents of Bob Saget's stomach drown in easy money and women and snort lines off of Donal Logue's hairy chest. (Cocaine or chest-hair dandruff? You tell me.) Well that's not for me, suckers.

So on to new business. The Bible sequel. Well, I guess that's old business. Anyway, I've been putting it off, even though I got some outstanding submissions, because I was hoping to fill it out with some WULAD-spun brilliance. But the longer I wait, the better I feel it has to be, and before you know it we'll all be underwater, and you'll all be calling me on your brain-phones wondering where the Bible sequel and the dry land are. And I won't have any answers for you. Unless you're willing to barter with ammunition, beef jerky, life preservers, or rumors about the whereabouts of Paris Hilton's Ark, that is. (And don't think I'm afraid of your little floating armored Prius, either.)

In any case, what's really important is that the Mets took two of three from the Yankees this weekend, which tells me that God has finally stopped smiling down on the Bronx Bombers, and is instead preparing to unleash His wrath upon the tower of Babylonian hubris that is New York's American League franchise. And I will enjoy watching it fall, and the subsequent sight of Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera and Hideki Matsui trying to speak to each other in their now-incomprehensible languages. Wait--I think it's started already.

So that's all for now, but just remember: I never said that Karl Rove was going to be indicted.