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Archives: Feb 2012

I love black people. I’m going to marry six of them

The only thing Duluth ever gets is hand-me-downs. Popular bands don’t play here until they’re 10 years past their prime. Artistic, Oscar-worthy movies aren’t seen in the region until they’re released on DVD. All our high-quality gay weathermen leave for Minneapolis after a year. Newspaper readers in the cities get James Lileks, while we’re stuck with crappy writers like . . . well, like me.

Then last week I heard that a group of white supremacists are planning a rally in Duluth to protest the anti-racism billboards in town. I said, “Oh my God, the Ku Klux Klan is coming? That’s terrible!” Nope. It’s some group of nobodies called The Supreme White Alliance. C’mon, man. We can’t even get big name racists in this town? We’re stuck with second-tier white supremacists? This is like buying tickets for a Chris Rock show and then finding out Andy Dick is performing instead. The Supreme White Alliance is the Andy Dick of racist groups.

I mean, look at their name. If they have to add the word “supreme” to the title themselves, then they’re probably not that supreme at all. If they were truly the most supreme group, they’d just call themselves The White Alliance, and everyone else would add the word “supreme” to it. In fact, if they were as grand and phenomenal as they suggest, they’d call themselves The Alliance of Inbred Twats and allow their supremacy to transcend their name.

Also, when I think of the word “supreme”, I mainly think of Taco Bell.

Proposed Minnesota Twins opening day lineup

1. Denard Span – CF
Span will have a fire in his belly this year, as youngster Ben Revere nips at his heels for the center field job. Span will bat .560 with 320 hits, breaking both major league records. Unfortunately, the Twins will also break the major league record for men left on base, stranding Span on first base 315 of those 320 times. Announcer Bert Blyleven will take to cursing regularly on the air, instead of just by accident.

2. Jamey Carroll – SS
The age of 38 isn’t old by my standards, but professional sports is measured in dog years, making Carroll roughly 266 years old this season. He will be assisted onto the field each inning by a golf cart driven by one of those concierges who regularly harass me for buying “standing room only” tickets and then stealing other people’s seats. Yet Carroll will still be an improvement over Tsuyoshi Nishioka, who will end the season batting .057 in single-A. Assuming, of course, that he remains healthy.

The ultimate holiday for lovers

It’s that time again, reader. That special day when lovers make a point to show they care. A once per year chance for those with a secret crush to reveal their affections and not come off as a creepy stalker. A kind, heartfelt day when parents of single women send them chocolates or flowers at work, so their co-workers won’t make jokes about seeing their vagina offered as a dusty antique on Pawn Stars.

“Chumlee wouldn’t buy it,” said Rick, your annoyingly over-confident co-worker. “He said it takes up too much space, and would sit on his shelf for a year before anyone wanted it.”

It’s a day of love and romantic dinners. A day of long walks in the moonlight and grand gestures. A day of suddenly panicking, telling your wife you’re going outside for a smoke and then sprinting to the gas station to pay $100 for a tiny box of chocolates so you don’t get in trouble. A day for counting tiles on the ceiling as your drunk, obese husband grunts and drips sweat all over you, desperately trying to last more than 15 seconds, failing, and passing out on top of you.

This special day of love I’m talking about is, of course, Presidents Day. It’s the sexiest day of the year. Unlike Valentine’s Day, you actually get the day off, so you can bang your significant other all day long. Unlike Valentine’s Day, dinner at a mediocre restaurant won’t cost you $80 and require a reservation three months in advance. Unlike Valentine’s Day, Presidents Day has no pressure and no expectations, so it’s the perfect time to surprise someone with something romantic, like a dildo of Abe Lincoln’s Beard from Spencer’s Gifts, on sale now for the low, low price of $59.99.

I’m not racist that much

The other day I saw a story in the Duluth News-Tribune about anti-racism billboards being put up in the city. They read, “It’s hard to see racism when you’re white.” I just have one question: Are those billboards aimed at me? I’m white. There’s a woman on the billboards who looks very similar to how I think I’d look if I were a woman. Are those billboards giving me the business?

They are, aren’t they? They’re aimed at me! When they say “white”, they mean Paul! Paul Ryan, the shitty racist columnist! Well listen up, dicks. I know you’re talking about me. Take responsibility for your slander. Don’t poop on the floor and then run to the other side of the room like I’m not going to see you. The dog tried that, and now he sleeps outside.

I demand that you take down those billboards. I’m not racist. I mean sure, when I was six years old I shouted the n-word at some guy out of a car window, but I was six. I heard the word in some movie on cable TV and I didn’t even know what it meant. I yelled it at a white guy, for Christ’s sake! I didn’t even do it right! And besides, 12 years later I made matters right by apologizing for it to some random black guy at a party. I was drunk and I just pointed at some guy at a frat party and said, “Hey, sorry about the n-word thing when I was six.” He was very confused. I felt the need to leave the party rather quickly.