Articles about Improper uses for this blog

Randy Travis: Common Bat or Buffy Vampire?

Randy Travis is the guy in the middle, in case you didn't know.

Randy Travis is the guy in the middle, in case you didn't know.

Reuse Jeans sent out an email today to share pictures from the Jan. 21 grand opening of its new store at the Shops at Park Lane. In the email, they were sure to note how grateful they were that country singer Randy Travis had been able to stop by (see photo above.)

This new photo, and Mr. Travis’ recent Denton County Sheriff’s Department mugshot, have sparked an intra-office disagreement.

Settle the argument: Does he look more like a vampire bat or a vampire from the TV shows Buffy and Angel?

It’s 3:26 p.m. on Friday…

and…

OU Still Sucks

BOOMER!

upside_down_horns

Brett Shipp Assaulted by John Wiley Price, Ctd.

A mole at Channel 8 sent us the video of the alleged and so-called quote-unquote assault perpetrated on Brett Shipp by John Wiley Price. We can’t show you the video. It’s protected by copyright. So we created this reenactment of the confrontation, wherein Price “uses his arm and the heel of his hand to physically remove Shipp from his office” while threatening to “split his throat.” Standing in for Brett Shipp is Rangers radio broadcaster Eric Nadel.

I Just Took This Pic on the Corner of Main and Ervay

lava

Tuesday Hypothetical: Save Our Summer

You are approached by a man — for expediency and clarity, I shall hereafter refer to this man as LaMetrius — who says that he can promise you that the temperature outside will never be greater than 75 degrees and will never be lower than 42. LaMetrius further stipulates that there will only be a few scattered (but mostly unobtrusive) clouds, and the humidity will similarly be negligible. Plus, LaMetrius says, there will always be a light breeze.

Of course, LaMetrius smiles, there are some conditions. Three conditions.

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Which Mayoral Candidate Would Be the Most Likely Choice If I Told You One of Them Was Secretly a Batman Super Villain?

a. David Kunkle (pros: former job as police chief makes for interesting backstory, is in great shape; cons: probably couldn’t deliver a good catchphrase, gives off more of a “henchman” vibe — or at least a “decent guy who let it get too far so he turns in entire gang then gets hunted down in witness protection” feel)
b. Ron Natinsky (pros: no one would ever suspect it, seriously NO ONE would suspect it; cons: if anything, he’s more the mob accountant type, there can only be one guy in Batman’s rogues gallery who looks like The Riddler)
c. Edward Okpa (pros: most interesting name — could easily be changed to fit super hero/villain naming conventions, unknown and thus secretive; cons: always forgotten which doesn’t make for a good match against Batman, probably too nice)
d. Mike Rawlings (pros: has the odd oversized body type of your typical Mr. Big crime boss, grows a mustache you could set your watch by; cons: would fight Batman with BUSINESS and I think none of us want that, feels more like a bad guy from a Steven Seagal movie)

Staring Contest. One, Two, Three…

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My Attempt To Prevent A Man From Having To Shave Off Body Hair

I get a lot of e-mails that have nothing to do with my day-to-day job. Most of these e-mails are saying that I’ve been given a crazy amount of money and all they need is my bank info in order for me to get it. But the other day, I got an even stranger e-mail. Instead of summarizing, I thought I’d post it here. And in doing so, I truly hope I am helping the sender (you’ll understand in a minute).

Krista,

First off, this is going to be a strange request, and I’ll admit that on the front end.  But, as you will see from the email chain below … [I'm trying to get] a (very brief) article published in local magazine/paper in order for me to meet a prerequisite for entry into an adventure race called the Death Race.  The race is held in Pittsfield, Vermont – it is crazy.

Anyway, the racers have been told that if we don’t get an article published about our entry into the race, we will face a “penalty” at the race in June – either shaving all of my body hair off or taking hay bales from the bottom of the mountain to the top of the mountain…neither of which sound too appealing to me.

I’m not sure if you can help me out or if you have any suggestions on where I should turn, but please let me know if you have any thoughts.  Thanks in advance for your help.

Hope this helps!

Senator Tom Leppert Would Be Much Worse Than Mayor Tom Leppert

When he was mayor, Tom Leppert’s Twitter account was just crazy boring, filled with safe non-opinions like “Dallas is great” and “Don’t you just love the Beatles?” and “Who else thinks breathing air ROCKS?” (may be slightly paraphrasing). Now that he’s running for senator*, his Twitter feed has switched gears and is now all about GENERIC RIGHT-WING TALKING POINT OF THE DAY (see?). Why does that work me up?

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Food Nerd News: Ancient Beer Found in Shipwreck! Let’s Name It!

Five bottles of dark, foamy beer were found by divers searching a 19th century shipwreck near Finland’s Aland Islands. Scientists are breaking it down to determine the recipe so they can brew it again.  We want YOU to name it.

To the Gentleman Doing Doughnuts

Nothing like doing a few doughnuts in the snow before going to work.

Nothing like doing a few doughnuts in the snow before going to work.

I was impressed with your ability to maneuver around the lightposts. However, you lost 10 points for knocking over an orange cone.

(And, yes, this is my post to prove that I was at work this morning so there’s no denying how dedicated I am to my job.)

Quick Questions For Thursday

1. Is there ever an excuse to whistle to techno music in an office setting?

2. If not, what’s a suitable punishment?

3. What’s your favorite No Doubt song? And do you want to hear it more? If so, click here.

4. Are you going to the Granada tonight?

5. Lemon, lime, orange or plain La Croix?

OK – go. And don’t disappoint me, people.

Chapter 2: The Mayor Stops For a Snickers Bar or Something

Tom realized, suddenly, that he was hungry. More like starving. His stomach felt showroom-quality, brand new, 100-percent devoid of food. He turned into the first 7-Eleven he saw without even tapping the brakes, without even realizing he was going to do it. Screeching into the parking lot like that was dumb and he knew it. He sat in the car for a full minute, long enough so that anyone interested in who was making such a scene would have gotten bored and went back to their Big Gulps or whatever.

He looked in the rearview mirror and smoothed out his hair; there was some dried blood on the back of his hand. He scratched at it — not his. Tom laughed softly to himself, but not softly enough. His ribs stabbed at him under his jacket. His hand found the grip of the baseball bat reflexively, and tightened around it. GD Schutze. He let go of the bat, and braced himself against the armrest to get out.

Even with his head ducked down as he entered, the clerk recognized him, doing a not-subtle-but-trying double-take. The Mayor didn’t meet his gaze. He walked down the middle aisle and pawed at a few candy bars. He was so hungry, nothing sounded good. And then, there was the clerk, right next to him. Tom noticed just in time — the clerk was about to poke him in the side, the bad side, to get his attention.

“You’re him, right?” Tom did his best to look confused at the question. “Mayor Leppert, yes? You came to our church, remember — before the election? Yes, yes! Mr. Mayor! How are you?”

He knew Carol would hate him for what he was about to do, but right now, he didn’t really care about the election. There was time to glad hand later, to fake interest in this guy’s story.

“Yeah,” he said, not smiling. “It’s me. And you know what? I’ve had a long day. And I’m about to start on a long night. So why don’t you go back to doing your job and I’ll go back to doing mine, which now includes making sure your church gets as many code violations as I think we can get away with without people questioning my relationship with Christ.”

The clerk stared at him. Tom stuffed a dollar in the clerk’s shirt pocket and unwrapped a Snickers.