I hope you are slowly and painfully devoured by puppies and kittens

**ATTENTION Dear Readers. It has been brought to my attention that - mercifully - the website described below is a hoax. Well, thank Camus for that. I am going to leave this commentary up, though, for 2 reasons. First, check out any animal shelter/Craigslist post/urban alleyway and you will find ample proof that plenty of people have the mindset captured in this site - that pets are disposable commodities that can be abandoned when they're no longer "cute" or convenient. The second reason I'm leaving the link to this site up is that its intent was to generate both visibility and debate surrounding this issue, and this is a fantastic way to do so.**

It takes a lot to really upset me, but this website is doing it in spades. In fact, I am so disgusted that I almost don't think I can be witty. Ladies and gents, this is the epitome of everything I hate - ignorance, dishonesty, carelessness, greed, lack of empathy, apathy, and an utter absence of principle.

Now, I'm an animal lover. I have a dog, a horse, and a cat. I grew up with cats, horses, goldfish, hamsters, gerbils, a rockin' Norwegian Elkhound, and even a pet ladybug named Amadeus. So this bastard really hits home for me. But I don't care if you hate pet fur, barking, litter boxes, leashes, and all things warm and fuzzy. This is just plain wrong, and sickening. Where to even begin?

From their homepage:

Animal research has played a vital role in virtually every major medical advance of the last century and now YOU can be a part of that proud tradition and make money at the same time!

...be a saint, do a good deed. And LINE YOUR POCKETS TOO. Gee, I wonder what the real motivation here is?

From "Who Sells?":

Are you an individual who regularly finds himself with too many cats and dogs on hand or maybe you're just in need of cash? Whether you've got a whole unwanted litter of mutts or just one cat that doesn't get along with the rest, Email me and do a good deed. Keep it up and you can earn bonus money for quantity.

Uh...if you have a whole litter of unwanted mutts, it's because YOU didn't spay/neuter your dog or take the necessary precautions if your animal was left intact (able to breed). That means the puppies/kittens are YOUR responsibility. But apparently you should chuck 'em out like trash and do a "good deed" in the process. I'll nominate you for a Nobel Peace Prize! And more money for quantity! So in other words....keep churning them out!

Also from "who sells?":

WARNING: Anyone found stealing dogs or cats or capturing them in an untoward manner will immediately be suspended from selling to our service.
(However, once purchased and within our system, our strictly enforced policy is that we absolutely can not return product under any circumstance).

Wow, that disclaimer really makes me feel better. SURE you don't steal animals....but once you have your grubby little paws (so to speak) on them, there's no possible way to get Fido or Fluffy back. What kind of sick bastard are you?

This is the part that gets me the most..."Why sell?":

There are many reasons one may wish to no longer be a pet owner.
-Say you're moving and can't take tabby with you.
-Say your expensive hound just had a litter of mutts.
-Say your pooch isn't friendly, won't potty train, destroys your possessions, etc., etc., etc.

Um....if you're moving and can't bring your beloved pet, it's your responsibility to find a good home for it. If you own an "expensive hound", you should be able to afford the spay/neuter surgery that will ensure no "unwanted" puppies arrive. And for the love of Christ, it's not your pet's fault if it won't potty train/learn household rules/isn't socialized - it's YOURS!!! Animals don't train themselves, asshat. Learn some basic training skills, take your dog to obedience class, whatever - it's not exactly rocket science. But no - instead you should KILL YOUR DOG because it's being, um, a dog, and you're too lazy to do something about it.

This is the most repugnant part of all, I think:

You can enjoy their wonderful puppy / kitten stage and then reap a cash reward for having grown such a fine specimen. Start over with a new kitten every six months! Win, Win, and Win!

I don't think I even have words for how morally wrong this is. These are living creatures. They feel pain and fear, they form bonds with others (like, um, their owners!). They're not toys to be used and discarded as soon as you lose interest. If you absolutely HAVE TO get rid of a pet - find a good home for it, take it to a rescue organization, or at absolute worst, take it to a shelter where it has a chance at finding a good home or, if for some reason that isn't possible, a humane end. Don't SELL IT to some scumbag to make a quick buck. What kind of person can do that - raise an animal from infancy, love it, care for it, form a relationship with it ... and then ship it off to a lab to be killed? For some extra cash? Seriously?

But the even bigger issue here is that when you acquire a pet, it becomes your responsibility. You don't have a kid and then decide, eh, I think I'll go throttle it, once it reaches the terrible twos. (And if you do, you end up in jail for the rest of your life, and rightly so.) So what kind of sick fuck would think about a pet that way?

And there's more:

The sad truth is that once Fido or FiFi outgrow their cute age, many pet owners simply no longer feel the love.

Yes, that is sad. It's an indictment of the sad, morally deranged character who runs this website - and of anyone who seriously views their pet that way. Excuse me while I go vomit on my loafers.

"Who buys them?":

A very wide variety of companies and individuals require a large number of animals. All share the common goal of testing and learning to make perfect. [huh?] However, we are strongly against the unethical fur industry and refuse all business from that sector.

Hypocrisy, anyone? The fur industry is unethical but encouraging people to dispose of their pets like a used tissue is somehow okay? And let's not kid ourselves, most of the companies that do animal testing aren't trying to find a cure for cancer. They're trying to test a new shade of lipsitck - and while I am, by any measure, a fashionista, I am so far from thinking that's cool that it may as well be in another galaxy.

More:

Veterinarian schools use a lot of live 'practice' dogs and cats before trying their hands on the patron's beloved pets.

Beloved pets? You mean, the ones they sell to your company when they get bored of caring for them??!!

I think I am going to go apoplectic. Is there anyone out there who thinks this sort of attitude is acceptable?? I am truly aghast - what the hella? doesn't even begin to cover my reaction. Seriously, I hope this person burns in hell. Eternity isn't long enough.

Hate Mail, Vol. I

Now we're going to turn to a topic near & dear to my heart - hate mail that I've received over the years. I seem to inspire a strong reaction in people, one way or the other. Kind of like curry powder or modern art, people seem to have strong opinions about me - love me or hate me, but ambivalence is rare. This topic is particularly salient to me today in light of the scrap I'm currently in at my condo building, aka Yuppie Central. I've been working tirelessly for the Obama campaign over the past few weeks - which is in part why my posts are not as frequent as they'd normally be - and, like any good supporter, I have a campaign sign on my door and on my balcony. According to some asshole in my building, this is definitely not kosher, and I got a call from property management telling me to take 'em down. After some creative questioning, I learned that signs are technically not allowed - but art projects are, which means my plans for the evening include making a Barack Obama collage and putting it on my door instead, and writing "Obama" on my balcony in Christmas lights. They picked the wrong person to trifle with....but I digress.

My point is that, instead of upsetting me, I quite enjoy hate mail and its ensuing bouts of idiocy. It's good for a laugh pretty much 100% of the time. I came to this conclusion quite early in life - second grade, in fact. There was a girl in my class, Nicole H., that just did not like me. As little bratty girls are wont to do, one day she decided to write me a note telling me exactly what she thought of me.

"Your dum"

This amused me to a great degree, and I wrote back...."if you want to insult me, learn to spell first." To which she replied - "your dumm."

Folks, how can you argue with that!? The irony is on so many levels that I can't even begin to process it.

Anyhow, thus was born my love affair with hate mail. Good rule of thumb: if you want to insult me, be my guest. Try, however, to spell things correctly, follow basic rules of grammar, and generally have eloquent and incisive things to say - or else you will be subject to open ridicule and scorn instead of mere disdain.

Today's example of hate mail followed none of those rules, which is unfortunate for its author but a true joy for me - and, I hope, for all of you. Gentle readers, sit back and enjoy this amazing piece of polemic. If it doesn't move you, I don't know what will. Move you to laughter, that is... [My comments in bold; all typos in the original document are as written.]

Megan L-----
10:48am October 27th

I am upset w/ you because I feel like youre behavior while H----- was here was very selfish.

A small piece of advice: if you are writing an 'insulting' letter to someone that you know is smarter than you, extra caution should be taken to ensure proper grammar and a modicum of intelligence in phrasing. Or maybe, in this case, that's too much to ask....which is why I find the next comment oh-so-amusing...

And I feel like you look down on me and think you are better than me and who wants a friend like that?

Newsflash: I don't just "think" I'm better. I know it.

So, thats why we haven't been speaking. I don't want people in my life who won't truly be there for me, I would rather be alone than have people in my life who don't treat me the way I deserve to be treated.

The erratic punctuation is a special touch. And, wow, the self-empowerment rhetoric is compelling, too. Was it picked up from Oprah? Self-help tapes? Preaching to me about comporting one's self with dignity...I only wish it was being done with irony.

I didnt come and tell you this because I feel like you are very good at manipulating situations, and I don't want to be manipulated by you.

Oops. Too late for that, my friend.

If you could maybe acknowledge that that your behavior in the past has been selfish and disrespectful, and work on curbing that a bit, I might be open to being your friend.

Gee, really? What an honour. If I bow and scrape, will you really do me the favour of letting me back into your life? I am truly humbled.

Let it suffice to say, Milton she ain't, but for someone who wants to be a lawyer someday, you'd think she'd be able to muster up some basic logical reasoning skills...not to mention, you know, grammar, spelling, punctuation, eloquence, et al. I'm glad that those were absent, though, because it sure makes for good snark! And it's especially funny since the individual in question was around for the phrase what the hella's inception....which means it is indeed the perfect rejoinder to such mindless drivel.

The power of Christ compells me

Now, as one might guess, I am not exactly of the religious persuasion. Nonetheless, I generally respect other people's right to believe as they wish, so long as they don't try to force their faith on me or do lunatic things in the name of their God/gods/ancestor spirits/tree demons/et al. Note the caveat. People who misuse their faith will get to, er, bear witness to the full force of my wrath and epic mockery. With that in mind....

Let me introduce to Jack Van Impe Ministries. JVIM is a virtual geyser of WTH material; in fact, they could credibly change their name to WTH Ministries and be none the worse for the wear. They offer their own churches, a tv show (broadcast at midnight on network tv! this stuff is priceless...), a magazine, movies and books, and - best of all - endless hours of amusement. JVIM is run by Dr. Jack van Impe. I am not sure where exactly he earned his doctorate - I suspect an august institution such as Bob Jones "University" - but the good doctor sports his credentials just as handily as his rockin' toupee. Taking a page from God's book (ha! literally!), you be the judge...



Jack is frequently joined by his amazing wife Rexella, who bears a stunning resemblance to a French poodle. She, like any good woman, is better seen than heard, so she rarely comments on scripture - although she does like to lead sing-alongs every then and now, including a memorable singing session between Israeli and Palestinian children that ended in a fighting match.





Dr. Jack and Sexy Rexy have many interesting ideas on religion, which one would probably suspect, given the whole ministries business (and yes, I did say business). They also have lots of thoughts on world news. But it's when they combine the two subjects that things really get to be fun. Some of their finer arguments:

-the European Union is the instrument of Satan
-Kofi Annan is the Antichrist (I wonder if he relinquished the gig after stepping down from the UN Gen-Sec position...)

Here are Dr. Jack's cogent, well-reasoned thoughts on nuclear war:

We will not have an atomic war until the middle part of the tribulation hour and believers have already been with the Lord for 42 months, but we could have some minor things. I say minor, it’s not really minor, but I’m talking about nuclear suitcases – I’m talking about the electromagnetic pulse which can darken America from coast to coast and Iran already has the Shahab 3 missile to create that thing over America in the future. God, help us! So there’s some minor things, but when it comes to atomic warfare, you see Russia says: I’m going to march against Israel when they’re at peace. So there has to be a peace contract when it’s broken after 42 months in Daniel 9:27, then all hell breaks loose on earth with nuclear weaponry.

A personal favourite of mine, given my numerous connections to Russia, here are Dr. J's thoughts on WWIII with the Motherland. Better dead than Red!:

I believe we are in the final windup just before Christ returns to snatch us away in the twinkling of an eye before the world war begins. Now you say, why do you say that? Well, first of all Ezekiel 38 and 39 mentions Gog, Magog, Meshach, Tubal and Rosh as leading the war of the latter years and latter days. This didn’t happen a thousand years ago, it’s the final war, the latter years and latter days. All these cities are now in Russia [WTH editor's note: I have spent plenty of time in Russia and never paid a visit to any city called Gog, Magog, or any such thing...and I suspect Radishchev never swung by any of those locales on his famed journey either] and Putin has gone berserk and he is backing Iran and of course you know as I said already, last weeks program, the American Air Force is training the Saudi Arabians and the United Arab Emirates to combat them – that’s Russia and Iran and they’ll be on the side of the European Union and America and everything is coming to a head right now. I have never seen anything like it. For 50 years I’ve preached the coming war with Russia and now every single sign is in place. Yes, we’re headed for it.

Now, I went to Wharton, but this guy clearly understands the stock market better than I do. In fact, so does Rexella!:

RVI: Let’s look at some headlines here: World Economy in Flux As America Downshifts; again, from the Associated Press: British bank runs into trouble. It’s around the world. From USA Today: U. S. credit crunch ensnares Britain; and then from the McAlvany Intelligence Advisor, The Real Estate Implosion and the Emerging U.S. Recession (or Depression). We are facing some troublesome times I think. All of us recognize it Jack.

JVI: We already are having some real problems. This could be the prelude, the lead-in to the tribulation hour because we don’t know the day and hour, Matthew 24:36, but the big thing happens during the tribulation hour because chapters 6-18 is that 7-year period and chapter 18:10 says: In one hour is thy judgment come. Verse 17 says: In one hour so great riches is come to naught. The rich men are weeping in James 5:1-4 because their gold and silver is cankered and rusted. Then of course in Ezekiel 7:16 it says: …they shall cast their silver into the streets and their gold shall be removed. Their gold and silver shall not be able to save them in the Day of the Lord. That’s the tribulation hour.

Drivers licenses = the Mark of the Beast!:

I read about this National ID Card. Without it you can’t drive a car, you can’t have a bank account, you can’t get a job, you can’t do a lot of things. How does this connect with the Mark of the Beast?
Wayne Womack
Kyle, TX

Well, that is the preparatory thing because it’s not just going to be an ID card when the Antichrist, this world dictator out of the European Union comes to power. But this is the beginning, it’s getting people acclimated to this idea.

Where will it really happen? During the 7 year period of the tribulation after the church is gone so that we will not have to worry about taking the mark. But there will be millions converted (Revelation 7:9 & 14) during that time and they will have to battle this idea.

And it’s found in Revelation 13:16-18 ”And he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads: And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name. Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.” We all know what that number is according to rock groups that ridicule it and all the rest. But it’s coming and it’s coming soon.

Ze Rooooskies are coming, and they'll turn us into robots with their electromagnetic/nuclear powers!:

Have you heard about the electromagnetic pulse that Russia is about to send over the United States?
Marjorie DeMunck
Sacramento, CA

I’ve had the article ready for the last four programs but I have had to bump it because we did not have time to deal with it. It’s not just Russia, Russia has it, China has it, and they think that Iran may have it.

And the way it works is that they could be out to sea, 10 miles out and shoot it and if they shot it above Nebraska for instance, and its high up into space, and this atomic weaponry explodes up there it will knock out every electrical system from coast to coast. There will not be a single house in America where they can get light, heat in the winter or air conditioning in the summer. It’s a horrible horrendous thing to think about. And yet, these are the kind of weapons of mass destruction that the world has and I believe that America has it as well.

But just think if it were to happen, and they can get within 10 miles of our shores, that’s is the law, and blow it up, and they use Nebraska as the main point, high in space this could cause what you are worried about, and I’m worried about it too.

OK, I need to stop now. But you get the drift - I could go on all day. Now, I don't know about y'all, but I sure as hell (hella?) find Jack inspiring. In fact, he inspired me so much when I was 14 years old that I thought I'd write him a little letter. The fact that the letter dripped with sarcasm didn't seem to phase him, because a few weeks later I got a reply telling me that they wanted to publish my article in their monthly magazine, Perhaps Today. Being the saucy little wench that I was (and still am), I thought I'd send in a highly appropriate photo to accompany the article - me in a short leopard print dress with a black feather boa and an insouciant smirk. In other words, the Whore of Babylon would be proud.

Imagine my surprise when a month later, I get a copy of the magazine...with my letter and photo smack dab in the middle of it! Now, I am a professional writer, but of all the work I've ever published, this is surely the best. "Saving Power: Finding Salvation through Jesus Christ". Wow. Praise Jay-sus, indeed. So, for your reading & viewing pleasure, I humbly present the moving and oh-so-sincere account of my divine transformation...





Now, if only we can find a way to nuke the Russians out of existence, we can sit around and wait for the Rapture - hopefully in leopard-print dresses! If Jesus is indeed the Lord and Savior, somewhere He surely weeps...or maybe he just says, what the hella?

Fashion disaster in Aisle Ten

Today's story hits a little closer to home - a few blocks away, to be exact. Right in my own neighborhood, not 5 minutes from where I work, lies a veritable fountain of WTH moments. Many, as you are about to discover, are quite creepy - creepier even, because they involve Yours Truly.

During my lunch breaks, I often waltz into the local overpriced high end grocery store for some sushi and a bottle of my much-beloved Vanilla Coke Zero. The people at the cashiers more or less know me by now, as do the bagboys. One of these unique specimens is the subject of today's WTH-inspiring thrills.

This particular fellow looks normal enough - middle aged, healthy looking, appears in full possession of his mental faculties. He also, it seems, fancies himself the next Anna Wintour. Not a visit goes by without his running commentary on my wardrobe. Now, I get it. I'm sharp-dressed. I put some thought into my wardrobe. But this guy takes it to a new level....and a new level of awkwardness. What follows are real conversations between moi and Creepy BagBoy (henceforth, CBB) - as well as photos of the actual outfits that inspired his commentary. Read it and weep...

Outfit 1: The Houndstooth Jacket

CBB: That's an interesting jacket. It looks old.
moi: [puzzled, slightly pissed off look on my face] Uh...
CBB: Kids these days love to wear old things. It's the latest fashion. Stuff from my generation, you know?
moi: Yeah....my jacket isn't old....I bought it last season.
CBB: Stuff from the 80's! It looks old. [pause] It's cool, it's cool, you know.
moi: [thinking to myself] Does he mean vintage?



Outfit 2: Brown fishnets

CBB: Those are some great fishnets. I love it when a woman wears fishnets.
moi: ...yeah. They're pretty cool.
CBB: Tights are good, but when a woman puts on fishnets...! Now I'm not trying to say anything here, but man, they're just so sexy. So sexy. I can't stop looking at them.
moi: ....
CBB: Love your fishnets. Have a great day.



Sure, now I'm going to have a great day. Now that you've scarred me for life. Paper or plastic? Insults or sexual harassment? Every day is a virtual grab bag of potentially awkward outcomes.

No, really, my girlfriend is a total bitch!

Continuing with the across-the-pond antics, today's WTH moment of brilliance takes us from the frozen tundra of Russia to the United Kingdom. Allegations of discrimination and hate crime abound amid the nation's latest scandal - barring a young couple from public transport based on their choice of clothing and, er, lifestyle. (Ah, public transport rears its ugly head yet again!)

The protagonist of this lovely little tale, Tasha Maltby, 19, is - it's safe to say - a bitch. Her doting fiancee, Dani Graves, 25, is likely to agree. See, Miss Maltby is....how do I put it?...convinced she is of canine origin. "I'm a human pet," she explains. "I generally act animal like and lead a really easy life." For Miss Maltby, this means not leaving the house without her owner/master/fiancee/better half, who proceeds to walk her on a leash. One only hopes that she takes her bathroom breaks far, far away from fire hydrants and the public eye, although I know for a fact that my dog is not so considerate.



She continues to describe the perks of her lifestyle thus: "I don't cook or clean." Stop the presses and sign me up! Er, wait....that's already a decent description of my life. In fact, I too have been called a bitch. But I draw the line at eating out of a dog bowl, or getting my checkups at the vet's office. Indeed, the very fact that Miss Maltby is able to give such an....eloquent....interview begs some questions, beginning with, where did you get Dr. Doolittle's number and can he please come and interpret what my horse is trying to tell me?

Apparently unaware that city laws prohibit domestic animals on public transport, the couple ran into trouble when trying to board a bus last month in West Yorkshire. The bus driver, refusing to deviate from the bus line's stated policy, refused to let the leashed Miss Maltby board the vehicle. "He said, 'We don't let freaks and dogs like you on.'" The affronted young pup continues, "It's definitely discrimination, almost like a hate crime."

Let me see. You are, or profess to be, a dog. Freak is pretty much non-negotiable at this point. So what part of the accusation seems unfair to you? As a good, law-abiding Fido, you must understand why you can't have free run of the bus. You might bite someone, and if your rabies shots aren't up to date, we could have a real Cujo situation on our hands. You might even have fleas - and God forbid what scandal might break out if you decide to mark your territory on poor old Mrs. Baxter's handbag! Clearly someone needs to return to obedience school, stat.

Not one to be, er, barked at, the bus driver was served a witty rejoinder. "I got a bit angry and called him a fascist pig." Bad dog! Although if the driver indeed was a pig, I am sure he takes his duties seriously enough to bar himself from entering the bus, too.

The couple, who lives on welfare - presumably because hiring a dog would violate some sort of animal cruelty law and bring the full wrath of PETA down on the employer's unsuspecting head - says they someday plan to start a family. Leaving aside the obvious genetic difficulties in breeding man to dog (the legend of the loup garrou notwithstanding), I find this a bit hard to fathom. Would the ensuing offspring be puppies, children, or some strange Island of Dr. Moreau hybrid? And, although it's clear that this dynamic duo has little regard for the legal code, I am pretty sure that bestiality is illegal in the UK...yuck, yuck, yuck.

Bark along with me: what the hella?

Why ze Russians lost ze Cold War

There is to this day much speculation among academic types as to why the USSR lost the Cold War. Today, I intend to put that debate to rest, once and for all. In this case, I think a picture is truly worth a thousand words.



But if you hanker for greater understanding, I can help you there. Sergei Akopov. Affectionately known as, alternately, Whackapov, Smackapov, Nu-i-kak-apov, Kalashnakapov, Are-You-on-Crack-apov, etc etc ad nauseum, the revered Dr. Akopov is a History Professor at one of Russia's leading universities. Don't let his resume fool you, though, for Whacky (as he's affectionately known) is more than just a resident historian. Whacky's loves include mysticism, not wearing deodorant, really passe sweaters, and - best of all - composing poetry. Here's the master at work...


For those of you Gentle Readers who don't speak Russian (alas, alas!), let me translate for you one of his finer creations, which surely merits instant WTH legend status.
КИТАЙСКИЙ ЗОНТИК
Я – небольшой китайский зонтик,
Оставленный у водопада
Какой-то розовой принцессой
Спешившей опустить вуаль.
Меня забыли – очень жаль.

И словно бабочка вдоль сада
Теперь зовёт меня ограда
Летящая на крыльях лет.
Я бесконечность. Меня нет. (март 2004)

translation ....

Chinese Umbrella

I am a small Chinese umbrella,
left by the waterfall
by some rose princess
who hurried to lower her veil.
They forgot me - it's too bad.

And like a butterfly along the garden
now the fence is calling me
flying on the wings of years.
I am eternity. I am no more. (March 2004)

...man, Rhianna's got nothing on this, eh, eh, eh...

In addition to being one of Russia's aspiring poets, Dr. Akopov is a trendsetter. Look at the panache of this sweater vest, complete with Titanic logo. Don't let go, Jack!!



He is also renowned with the ladies, receding hairline and eau de Acky (Icky?) notwithstanding. Except from actual text message from Whacky, sent to a fearless and irreverent young woman (...) who invited him out to the bar late one frosty December evening.

"I would join you but my wife is here. But I am with you spiritually."

Really gets my blood pumping, that's for sure.



Hey, he could be on the next episode of The Bachelor. With moves like that, he'll have the ladies at each other's throats during the rose ceremony. Yessir.

So, I hope you will now join me in confidently attesting - it was not Gorby and glasnost' that ended the Cold War, any more than it was Reagan and his "tear down that wall" histrionics. No, ladies and gents, it was our dear friend and WTH alum, that wily agent provocateur, that sounded the death knell for communism as we know it....and managed to look downright James Bond while doing so.

There goes the neighborhood (Ivy League style)

Now, this topic is a personal favourite of mine. It combines every element of a stellar WTH story: over-privileged white kids, alcohol, knives, the ghetto, and the Ivy Leagues. What’s not to love? I remember laughing at this story when it first made news (albeit in the Daily Pennsylvanian...calling that venerable literary institution “news” may be a bit generous, even for a Friday...) Anyway, it’s still funny, years later.

I should ‘fess up, first. I am an Ivy League dropout. I have my reasons (I should note, for my professional reputation’s sake, that grades were not one of them. I left with a 4.0, which wasn’t destroyed until Lera the Russian Grammar Nazi, so many years and continents later). In many ways, it’s a good thing I left, before my antics caught the eyes of the omniscient IvyGate (co-edited by a friend of mine, may I add), or, God forbid, a mention in Sex and the Ivy. For the record, I also got sick of my (spelling-challenged) friends telling me “hon, you put the ‘whore’ in Wharton.” (I kid, I kid. Anyway, I think The Trump already earned that dubious honor.) Anyhow, my point is, how can you trust an institution whose mascot is….wait for it….a Quaker. Like the oatmeal. It’s hard to get fired up at a football game in support of the “Fighting Quakers”….I mean, Christ, weren’t they pacifists? Then again, revisionist history is big among the Ivy folks.


But I digress. Here’s the basics of the story. Frat party on campus. Lots of liquored up kids with popped collars and cheap cigars. A typical Friday night...until a gang of local middle schoolers show up to crash the party. Now, for those among you fortunate enough not to know where Penn is located, let me give you a hint. It ain’t Mr. Roger’s neighborhood.

Now, maybe it was a fine section of town...300 years ago. But – in a related WTH moment – I remember my first date upon arriving to college, oh-so-many years ago. Prince Ali (who will someday get his very own WTH post, just you wait!) squires me to the movies and then to a bar off campus. (Problem number one: a Muslim prince and heir apparent to...quite a lot of money and guns...drinking alcohol. “It’s okay,” he would tell me, “as long as it’s in a milkshake.” Apparently piña coladas = milkshake = reprieve from Allah’s eternal wrath. I still don’t get it.) Anyhow, as we leave the bar around midnight, we begin to walk home – to the soothing noise of gunfire. Yes. Across the street, I saw a man get shot. Welcome to Penn, folks. Welcome to the jungle.



So. Middle school kids show up at a frat party and stroll right on in, thinking it’s as good a locale as any to spray some graffiti. (Modern art, anyone?) They get belligerent, Penn kids get belligerent, an altercation ensues, they call in the reinforcements (Regulators...mount up!)...and some fine Ivy League scholar ends up getting knifed. Knifed by someone not old enough to go to a liquor store and buy some Boone’s Farm. Kids, I can’t make this shit up!

On a related, and equally hilarious, note….the very same weekend, a posse of pissed off kids assaulted some Penn scholars on the way home from the bar. “A large group of juveniles” was responsible for the fracas, says Penn’s Vice President of Public Safety. I am trying to imagine this now. I guess four-square and catch ‘em and kiss ‘em just aren’t as engaging as they used to be. Luckily for us, “no weapons were used by anyone involved.” Apparently the switchblades were already in use at the frat party, and Crayola crayons just don’t make for an effective instrument of intimidation – and neither does your membership card in the Wharton Venture Capital Association. Luckily (…), no (blue) blood was shed, and all parties went their merry way.

This, folks, is what $50K a year gets you...

It's like fitting a square peg into a round hole ...

I do, in fact, have a scintillating and well-researched (thankfully my research did not as yet involve cannibalism...) post in the mix, but in the meantime... A faithful reader/WTH acolyte brought this to my attention, and I think you'll agree, it's definitely a WTH moment. It even involves public transportation (oh, my prophetic soul!), which - as promised in my inaugural post - is always good for a smirk.

True story: As my aforementioned comrade was taking the bus home from work yesterday evening, he witnessed this debacle. Picture this: the bus stops to pick up a person in a wheelchair. No problemo, because the bus has a hydraulic lift system to hoist said person and his chair into the vehicle. Except this person, as we say, was slightly...waistband challenged. In other words, he looked a bit like this.

The lift pulls him up into the bus, but, due to this person's weight, gets jammed. The lift won't go back down, the doors won't shut, and the bus won't start. Furthermore, said person - because of his size - is now blocking the bus aisle in his wheelchair, so no one could get around him to try and fix the door. Add subzero temperatures and rush hour traffic in a major city brought to a standstill because the bus can't move, and we have all the makings of a WTH classic. I only wish my sleuth had brought a camera, because this would have been priceless.

In sum, the bus was evacuated via its emergency exit, and here is where my comrade's role in the saga ends. I am dying to know how they removed the wheelchair-bound individual from the bus, but perhaps I may get lucky enough to catch wind of it in local papers - in which case, gentle readers, I shall update you at once.

And for a brief WTH tidbit too surreal to ignore: projected lows on Saturday morning in my place of current residence.... -50 F. That's not a typo. I bet you can guess what words escaped my lips when I heard the weatherman's report of doom .... what the hella?

Giving a whole new meaning to "starving artist"

Personal confession: I have a lot of sympathy for writers struggling to make a living from their craft. In fact, I am one - though I, at least, am fortunate enough to be paid for what I do. (Hot pink office optional but highly recommended. See Exhibit A.)



As a writer, I am all too aware of how important it is to get your research right and really immerse yourself in the subject matter at hand (or in this case, foot, torso, liver, et al.) In fact, one could almost say that a good investigative writer should consume all possible information about their topic of choice, should imbibe it, should...you get the picture.

That being said...thanks to Jose Luis Calva of Mexico City for a stunningly delicious WTH moment.

I will try to avoid the "life imitates art / art imitates life" paradoxical debate, preferring instead to ask...what the hella? Hola, Luis, in case you didn't get the memo - subtle, you ain't. Hell, you're not even original. Isn't this what Sharon Stone did in Basic Instinct, only with an ice pick instead of a sautée pan? I mean, even the title of your proposed masterpiece, Cannibalistic Instincts, reeks of ineptitude. (Paging Dean Koontz...) Although I must say, stashing bones in a cereal box is at least inventive. I wonder if they snap, crackle, and pop... But if this was the best he could do, I feel confident that there was not going to be a Pulitzer in his future.

And on a culinary note, from a professed food snob....if you are going to dine on your significant other (giving a whole new meaning to that lovely Biblical phrase "one flesh"), at least do it with some panache. Boiled? Pan fried? Where are the fava beans and a Chianti? Hello, Clarice...what would Hannibal say?



I know exactly what he would say. Chime in with me now.... What the hella?

what the hella, indeed?

New year, new affliction, new me....the last one, not so much. This might be Really Bad Decision numero uno of anno domini 2008 (upon second thought, that honour is probably reserved for the Belvedere & Hershey's chocolate syrup concoction that ushered in the new year) .... at any rate, I have succumbed to peer pressure and here I am, at last, peddling my wares for an anonymous and probably not-so-adoring public.

Names will be changed to protect the guilty when appropriate. As very few things I say tend to be appropriate, this might not be so much of an issue. My blog will attempt to illustrate and then answer that most pressing and timeless of questions, the question that has dogged philosophers and clerics, physicists and poets, since time immemorial ... what the hella?

I stop and ask myself that question roughly once an hour - or more frequently if I am: 1) on public transportation; 2) mingling with the rich and unphotogenic at a swank benefit; or 3) listening to any of the Republican candidates try to credibly explain why they'll be good for America (something I try to avoid doing, in fact). You, too, probably find yourself struggling with this most existential of queries, and I am from this point onward making it my life's mission to boldly go where no sane person dares tred .... and answer - nay, resolve once and for all - that overwhelming question (oh, do not ask, "What is it?") ...

If you are shaking your head and thinking, what the hella?, then this is the beginning of a long and wonderful romance.