Daily Briefs: Post-nuclear winter of the soul

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By CHRIS PACKHAM

Cold-front whatever: It’s colder than a bucket of penguin shit, you guys. I spent the morning printing out random pages on the office laser jet and shoving printer-warm sheets of copy under my shirt. That’s how we roll during the econocalypse, y’all, insulating ourselves with piping-hot 20 lb. 8 1/2″ x 11″ ultra-bright paper like white-collar hoboes. In order to continue living in the fly style to which I have become accustomed, I had to take on a second job, so I applied at Victoria’s Secret on the sexxxy twin theories that you should work near what you love (the panties) and that I’d be warmly welcomed, the way chicks are greeted as conquering heroes when they enter the men’s room. Long story short, my application was rejected as quickly as my applications to join Midwest Voices and the Curves fitness center, where I’m pretty sure Yael T. Abouhalkah and E. Thomas McClanahan have memberships, HONK! After the jump, some news about a famous Missouri asshole, and some thoughts about forming original thoughts out of words. Click here or on your boyfriend’s success story: