2003-12-06 - 11:49 a.m.
December is here now, which means it's the end of the year -- time to grow sanguine and nostalgic for the great months of 2003 and begin making plans for 2004. In keeping with standard year-end convention, I make the following savvy celebrity predictions for the upcoming year:1. Michael Jackson will go to jail, but it will be the best thing that ever happened to him, as he will emerge victorious later, his flagging pop career resurrected by his hoosegow-transformation into a hardened rap star. He will be released late in 2004, adorned in all manner of bling-bling, his withered plastic frame unrecognizable beneath endless knots of bulging muscle after months of resentful, caged-fury prison iron-pumping. You watch.
2. Paris Hilton will get a job working at Kinkos by April. This TV gig is sitting at around 14 minutes and counting.
There you have it. Now, go read this.
Some people, after I posted this, actually believed I was away fishing. I found this fascinating, not least for the fact that I'm in Saskatchewan in December, and far from a body of water at that. I wasn't actually fishing, everyone. It was a "coded message" meant to "put" all of "you" off the "trail." The time has come now to reveal what I was actually doing...
I was working, getting material ready for the upcoming issue of The National Pist, and tackling some thesis work. Now then, gather round for your memory-wipes, folks -- we can't have you going around disseminating classified information, now can we? Don't worry -- you won't feel a thing, and only in very rare cases does the procedure result in loss of basic functions. I swear. For real.
This process of constant toil has created such a dearth of interesting anecdotes and fascinating tales in my recent existence that I may be forced to begin fabricating nonsense.
In the interim, while I make up good stories, you should be off somewhere reading The Daily Journal, but you should be turning down your speakers before you visit so that the grating MIDI-fest that greets you won't send you stalking through the wilds thirsting for my blood for having linked you there. And you should be swiftly killing that annoying popup that comes up for, well, much the same reasons.
