Daily Briefs: Judging Clay

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I wish I had a truck that transforms into an espresso cart, you guys, that is what I would ask for if I found a wish-granting magical fish, perhaps in a babbling brook, say, flowing out of a hidden grotto. Because when I’m bored and waiting outside the goddamn craft store for my girlfriend to get done picking out bead organizers, I could open up shop and make a few bucks. That’s my new thing in 2K9: It’s all about the spendjamins, and also? It’s all about not going into the craft store. If you ever want to start up a fetish website geared toward an audience of people who get off on candid shots of men sleeping in the drivers’ seats of their cars, all you have to do is drive out to Hobby Lobby with a camera on any given Saturday afternoon. That tip will cost you $4,000 if you use it, because again: The spendjamins have secured a rather high tier on my list of priorities.

It’s totally not all about the spendjamins for Clay Chastain; he is motivated by, whatever, by abstractions I cannot even begin to conceive. Why not push for light rail legislation in his home state of Virginia, where he lives, far, far from Kansas City? In addition to their fancy Foamhenge, their fancy grave of Stonewall Jackson’s left arm and their very fine NRA Museum, do they already have light rail in Virginia? If not, why does Clay keep calling us with a fake voice and pretending to be Mayor Funkhouser? I don’t have the answers, but Clay was in court today, arguing that the city charter should not allow the City Council to repeal measures chosen by voters. Measures such as his light rail ballot measure from 1895 or whenever that thing got voted in. With the gondolas? He is extremely mysterious, this Clay Chastain, like the Yeti of the frozen North, or other things that are mysterious.