In what's probably one of the best stories of the year, a retarded boy tried to murder his teacher by pushing her out of a window in Ohio. When his teacher wouldn't let him get out of the third floor window where another student had tossed a pencil by placing her body in the window frame, the boy said, "Then I will throw you out the window!" and proceeded to try to push her. I have a tough time believing this story because if a retarded kid wants to move something, he'll do it. They're strong like ants. I once saw a retarded child move an entire house because he saw a kitty crawl beneath it.
The X Prize has been won by Burt Rutan and Paul Allen. This is not the famous comedy duo of the early 1900's, Rutan and Allen, known for their hilarious Vaudeville routines about the turn of the century's newest fad, necrophilia. No, these are two rich guys who wanted to fly into space. They're like that guy from 'N Sync without all the sucking so hard. They won $10 million for being privately funded and getting a manned aircraft to fly into space two times within two weeks or something like that. Truth is, I'm too lazy to actually read exactly what it's about, but I know that there was a collective achieving of erections by dorks all around the world when this news was announced. Star Wars pillowcases everywhere were ruined in unison when the aftereffects of an intellectually-induced erection-turned-pillow-humping session were "realized" all over Boba Fett's jetpack.
The Vice-Presidential debates are going to be held tomorrow night in Cleveland. I think that John Edwards could easily win the debate if he plays the September Eleventh card. All he has to do is say to Cheney:
"Somebody's coming through, his name starts with a J. He says that he died in the Twin Towers on September Eleventh and it's all Dick Cheney and George W. Bush's fault. If they're re-elected, God says that everybody who died on September Eleventh will go to Hell. "There would be nothing Cheney could say because John Edwards can totally talk to dead people. All Cheney does is smell like one. Interestingly enough, scientists have found exactly what that smell is. It's a combination of CamphoPhenique, Baby Powder, Polident, and old balls. It's mostly old balls. If they made an ingredients list, that would have to go first.
Finally, Mt. St. Helens is a big, fat liar and is never going to overflow and spill its warm, sugary goodness onto the lucky Washington residents below. People are under the misconception that the lava only kills, but, I'll tell you one thing, nobody's ever tried it on some Triple Dipple Fudge ice cream. It's like really hot fudge--that may kill you. I don't even think it's a real volcano, but, instead, somebody bought a lot of dry ice and took it to the top of a mountain in order to scare away all the townspeople so they could dig up some treasure that's supposed to be buried there. And he would have gotten away with it if it weren't for those pesky kids.
Excerpt from an old Rutan & Allen routine:
(More music and stepping sideways as the curtains close and the entire crowd begins to weep silently.)
If you're walking next to people and you're taking up the entire width of the sidewalk, chances are there are people behind you wanting to pass your slow ass--SO FUCKING MOVE.*
*This message is brought to you by me and directed toward those slow whores moseying to class in front of me this morning.