So here’s the history of Earth Day, tinklepuss. Back in 1988, two fatties from Wisconsin opened a restaurant in Eau Claire. They made a bunch of sandwiches and gave them stupid names so everyone who orders would have to wait in line for 20 minutes while some old hag with cataracts tries to figure out what the hell a Bornk is, and whether or not she accidentally wandered into the adult bookstore again by mistake.

Oops, sorry. That’s the story of Erbert and Gerbert’s. Sometimes I get those two mixed up. The story of Earth Day goes like this, barf pie: Way back in 1962, some gaylord thought we didn’t have enough holidays to ignore, so he started farting around town, talking all like, “Hey man, there’s all this shit all over the place. Cut it out, or I’ll make not doing stuff a holiday that you don’t get off from work.”

The people who heard him were all like, “Hey duder, where am I supposed to put this Big Mac wrapper, in my wang?” And gaylord was all like, “Hey bro, why don’t you stop being a dick and bury it in your backyard so worms can eat it?” And the people were like, “Hey jerk tits, worms don’t eat wrappers. Do you even know what composting is?” And gaylord was all like, “Yeah okay, you’re probably right, but quit flushing the toilet so much and don’t leave the faucet on when you’re brushing your teeth, because this green stuff is taking off like gangbusters, yo.”

People thought he was stupid, so they didn’t make Earth Day official for almost eight years. Then on April 22, 1970 they did, and that guy was like, “I’m a gaylord, and styrofoam is for dinks! Stop pissing off Native Americans with litter!”

What. What? I wasn’t insulting him. He was a gaylord. His name was Gaylord Nelson, and he was a senator from Wisconsin. People from Wisconsin love the Earth. There’s no hot chicks there, so they don’t have anything else to look at. By the way, Gaylord Nelson died in 2005 after jumping into a pile of leaves and suffocating. True story. Some people think he was trying to compost the leaves with his mouth, while others say I made this story up because I’m a loser who doesn’t have any friends.

Another true story: Gaylord Nelson was initiated into a fraternity in 1971 (at the age of 55). Nobody knows if he got laid or not, or whether they hazed him by making him strip nude and run ten laps around the girls dormitory while carrying a duck.

Speaking of Earth Day, remember that 1970s commercial where there was a bunch of litter by the highway, and the Native American guy gets all teary-eyed and they have to call a waaahmbulance? Khloe Kardashian is starring in a remake of that. It’s going to be both a public service message and an ad for perfume.

If you want to know more about Earth Day, you can watch an actual newscast from 1970 marking the occasion, but it’s only available on Hulu, which means you have to watch a seven minute McDonald’s commercial before it starts playing. This is somewhat ironic.

Not as ironic as the part of the newscast where a Republican senator complains that people are focusing too much on Earth Day and not enough on passing legislation to help impoverished people, but ironic still.

I hope you learned something about Earth Day today, dingleberry. I didn’t, but that’s because I already know everything. I’m a total gaylord for Earth Day. Here’s hoping you become a total gaylord too. If nothing else, saving the Earth is important because this is where Steve Guttenberg lives, and where Mr. Belvedere died while trying to kiss an octopus. It’s a place worth preserving.

This is actually Anderson’s seventeenth hairpiece. The cat hair used to form his toupees is very soft and fragile, and each one only lasts a few years. Nearly 17 dwarfs die in a factory in Cloquet every time a new hairpiece is made for Anderson. The underside of each toupee is made of 24-karat gold, making each hairpiece cost nearly $12,000. Anderson shrugs off criticism of his spending.

“Women want to be with my hairpiece, and men talk smack because they’re jealous of it,” said Anderson, running a tiny golden comb through his mustache. “This sweet baby is my personal aerial lift bridge. It’s an icon that defines our community, and when I bring out the Scotch tape to secure it in place, it’s like a peacock displaying his feathers.”

The only time Anderson removes his hairpiece is while showering, when he’s intoxicated at office holiday parties, and on Halloween and April Fools Day when he hides behind the couch and scares his wife as she walks past. Much like a real cat, the pretend cat on Anderson’s head doesn’t like taking a bath. He cleans the hairpiece himself, by licking it multiple times per day.

Luckily, viewers will still have a friendly face greeting them after Anderson departs. Anderson’s mustache and ear hair will stay on to do the 6pm nightly newscast, while his glasses placed on his bald head will anchor the popular 10pm airing. Anderson himself won’t be completely gone from the broadcast. He’ll do the nightly weather report in a bikini, just like he used to in the 1960s when he first started at the news station.

Viewers are excited about the change – mainly because actual, legitimate news only happens in the Northland every six months or so, and they’re tired of reading stories about squirrels damaging power stations in Ely – but they’re also worried the new newscast won’t be as good as the classic version.

“I like Dennis in a bikini and all, but does he know how to read a hygrometer?” said Superior, WI retiree Julius Erlenbach. “I don’t mind chilly walks, but I don’t want to get tinkled on while I’m scooting around town.”

It is unknown whether “scooting” refers to walking in an elderly fashion, riding a moped scooter, or dragging one’s butt across a carpeted area like dogs sometimes do. Our reporter was too bored to ask.

Anderson’s toupee plans to stay busy during retirement. Rumors are circulating that Anderson’s hairpiece will be made the Don of Illgen City’s feared Finnish street gang, “Se Rakastavaisets.” Other rumors claim Anderson’s toupee plans to open an underwater bourbon distillery in the middle of Lake Superior.

“I met Denny at a journalism conference once,” said KBJR cameraman Ned Pharts. “He had been drinking for seven or eight hours, and kept going on and on about how you could make bourbon in an underwater sea lab, and no one could stop you because the police wouldn’t be able to hold their breath long enough.”

One thing is for certain: When Anderson’s hairpiece leaves in May, it will be the end of an era. It will mark the first, and possibly the last time a hairpiece will spend so much time giving legitimate contributions to television. The wacky bloopers shows with toupees flying off in the wind, and insulting sitcoms with tacky hairpiece-wearing elderly neighbors have nothing on Anderson’s rug. His was the first to get a legitimate job at a real news station.

People have respect for Anderson’s hairpiece, and its opinion holds a lot of water in this town. Catastrophes have been averted because of it, riots have been prevented, and babies have been born just from young ladies gazing at it a little too deeply. Kids look up to it and dream that one day, they too could cover Anderson’s shiny head. It is a legend, a hero, and an icon. Dennis Anderson’s toupee is the heart and soul of the Northland.

And I have it for sale on Ebay. The starting bid is $14.