Jimmy the Fetus
Hey, kids, Jimmy the Fetus here, your guide to moral values in the Midwest, helping everybody see that what we learned in Sunday school really matters.

Dear Jimmy:

Do you know yet if you’re straight or gay?


Overland Park

Dear Samantha:

Just about all of my chromosomes are splitting like atoms at Chernobyl, but I can’t say yet whether the gay gene has showed up in my rapidly recombining nucleic strands. That’s not to say that I’m not in touch with my X chromosome, like any budding metrosexual. And you can rest assured that if I do develop an unexplained obsession with Andy Roddick’s sweaty thighs, I won’t be disappointed at all. Remember, Samantha, how the apostle Paul describes God endorsing homosexuality by turning on all sorts of freaky people: “God gave them up to degrading passions. Their women exchanged natural intercourse for unnatural, and in the same way also the men, giving up natural intercourse with women, were consumed with passion for one another. Men committed shameless acts with men and received in their own persons the due penalty for their error.” Now, I know it sounds like Paul is actually condemning all that same-sex fun that God put everyone up to, but you have to remember that biblical scholars generally believe that Paul was batshit crazy — hearing voices in the middle of road trips, anyone? — and we can assume that the truth was the exact opposite of whatever Paul perceived it to be. So, to answer your question, Jimmy’s ready for whichever team the big guy puts him on.

Got a moral quandary? E-mail Jimmy at

Classic Lit, Sort Of

OK, so maybe Moby’s concert at the Uptown Theater last week wasn’t a sellout, and it was disappointing that his percussion-playing vocal partner, Laura Dawn Murphy, was out sick. But the diminutive bald dude from New York still did a decent job rocking the house, alternating cuts from his new album, Hotel, with highlights from Play, the 1999 electronica juggernaut that sold more songs to television commercials than any other album we can remember.

Not that Moby’s a tool of the capitalist system. He’s pretty outspoken about his ultralib views, and just in case anyone had forgotten it, he was wearing a PETA T-shirt in tasteful black.

But the guy had a decent sense of humor, too.

At one point between songs, Moby, having paused to deliver the standard “how great it is to be back here” speech, appeared to commit the ultimate Kansas City gaffe. “I’m always happy to be back here in Kansas,” he said, seemingly oblivious that he was a good nine-tenths of a mile into Missouri territory.

Naturally, the place erupted in a chorus of loud boos, which only elicited a sly smile from the Mobster.

He chuckled and told the crowd he knew full well which side of the state line he was standing on and said he’d just given us all a good ribbing.

In fact, he continued, he’d always wondered about our peculiar arrangement. “Is it a friendly rivalry, like between Canada and the United States, or a bitter one, like between Palestine and Israel? Do Missourians strap bombs to themselves and go blow up Kansans?”

That loosened up the crowd considerably, which exchanged its razzing for laughter. And then Moby launched into a story.

Being in the area, he said, always reminded him of a show he did years ago. “I think it was 1995 or 1996. I was in Lawrence at a rave. And a woman at the edge of the stage grabbed my thighs and pulled me to her, and then she bit my penis.”

Well, we certainly appreciated hearing about that.

A rocking good show. Jokes about our silly state line.

And we even got to hear about Moby’s dick.

Now that’s a good night.

Monkey See

We are so jazzed that Kansas has made itself the laughingstock of the scientific world yet again that we’re celebrating this week’s bogus evolution “trial” not only with a cover story but with a whole issue devoted to the primates on the state school board. We let the apes in our art department run amok all over this week’s newspaper, and we didn’t want to leave readers out of the hilarity. So use your intelligent design to count up all the monkeys in this week’s print issue of the Pitch and e-mail your total to with your name, address and telephone number. If more than one person submits a correct answer, we’ll break the tie by drawing a winner out of a hat. To the victor and a few of his closest Homo sapien friends goes … naturally, a free trip to the Kansas City Zoo!

Net Prophet
Notes from KC’s blogosphere.

About ten years ago I was dating a girl who was pretty nice, had all the right things in all the right places, cute as a button. I found out that she was a cousin of my friend Mike. Mike is a cool guy, funny as hell, but will do and say some of the most jacked up things. One night I went to a party where I wound up hanging out by the keg with Mike and we bullshitted about numerous things.

Mike: So you’re dating my cousin, huh?

Me: Yep.

Mike: She’s a really good girl.

Me: Yeah, she’s pretty nice. I like her.

Mike: She’s got some big tits, huh?

Ever had beer come out your nose? Indeed, she was well stacked, but is that something that you want to talk about with the girl’s cousin?

Me: Uh, yeah Mike, they’re pretty big.

He then went on to tell me a story about how he had to stay at her place one night and how he saw her the next morning in an ultra skimpy top. I should point out that Mike is happily married to a woman who is not related to him. From “Planet Rusty,” the online diary of Rusty Jones

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