CHICAGO, IL - In a press conference held yesterday afternoon, The Fool issued a plea for Mr. T to stop pitying him.
"Yes, I am indeed The Fool," said The Fool. "But I neither need, nor want, Mr. T's pity."
When asked for comment, Mr. T replied, "How can I not pity The Fool? My momma taught me to pity the less fortunate. Who less fortunate than The Fool?"

WAYNE CHINSANG HADN'T HEARD OF CANADIAN ILLUSTRATOR GRAHAM ROUMIEU UNTIL JUST A FEW MONTHS AGO WHEN HE BOUGHT HIS BOOK IN ME OWN WORDS: THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF BIGFOOT. AS SOON AS WAYNE READ IT, HE KNEW HE HAD TO CONTACT GRAHAM FOR AN INTERVIEW. IF YOU'RE WISE, YOU'LL DO THE SAME. BUY GRAHAM'S BOOK, THAT IS. NOT INTERVIEW HIM.

IN 1994 THE CRYSTAL METHOD WAS BORN. MADE UP OF SCOTT KIRKLAND AND KEN JORDAN, THEY STARTED THEIR MUSICAL MISSION IN THE CLUBS. IN 1997 THEY RELEASED THEIR DEBUT FULL-LENGTH, VEGAS, TO MUCH CRITICAL ACCLAIM. RECENTLY, THEY RELEASED THEIR THIRD LP, LEGION OF BOOM, WHICH IS PROOF POSITIVE THAT-- AT TEN YEARS YOUNG-- THE CRYSTAL METHOD IS STILL VERY MUCH ALIVE AND WELL. SCOTT TALKED WITH WAYNE CHINSANG ABOUT THEIR NEW ALBUM, THEIR PROGRESSION AS A BAND, AND PACIFIERS.

My apologies. Evidently, the State Department was a little upset with my taking credit for capturing Saddam. (Suddenly these guys are worried about the truth?) So upset, in fact, that they stiffed me on the $25 million reward. When I complained, however, they offered to make it up to me with a two-week, all-expenses paid trip to what Donald Rumsfeld once described as a "tropical paradise". Of course, I figure if it's good enough for Rummy, it's good enough for me, so I immediately accepted their offer.

So there I was, wearing a sweatsuit with my hair pulled back, sitting in City Bakery's cozy setting, noshing on a mini-cylindrical-croquembouche, a cylinder of profiteroles, and drinking a steamy cup of Tazo Green Tea. It was a perfectly delightful Thursday evening.

The box was made out of oak, which is really quite incredible if you think about it. One hundred years ago, Harry’s box would have been made of knotty, pitch-covered pine; that is, if they had even bothered with one. It had brass trim and a hand-stitched white velvet lining; Harry fit in it quite nicely. The men carried it across the lawn, and waited as the three car caravan solemnly pulled up. The passengers were of little importance to Harry, save for one Sandra Locklear. Sandra was to be Harry’s bride, his wife, his 'til death do they part. Today was to be their wedding day.

Every smile. Every laugh. Every pleasantry. He hopes they're buying it. He hopes his facade is fooling everyone into thinking he's still capable of joy. He needs to fool them. If he keeps up the act-- if they believe-- maybe one day he'll get so used to acting it'll become the truth.

Dear XXXX,
"People don’t change." She used to say that to you, didn't she? But when you later confronted her with the absurdity of their actions, she replied, without any hint of irony or self-awareness, "People change."
She was wrong the first time. Everyone changes. Everything changes. Nothing lasts. Not really. Not without some change or evolution, anyway. It’s life. You can lament all you want. Rally against it. Let it bring you down. Let it ruin you. (Because it will. You can’t fight it and win.) Or, and I know you don’t want to hear this now, you can accept it. And move on.

Pursuing The Liberal Penis
What are the needs of today's contemporary Democrat? What type of extracurricular female makes him rise to the occasion? And how can you approach him in a way that discreetly communicates your desire to satiate him? In this chapter, I will discuss this at length. Take notes!