“Pet Emu Dies In Struggle With Police”

Judging by that September 29th headline from the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, we have an emu problem. Fuck. I just moved here from Seattle like two years ago. Nobody warned me that the terrified residents of Wisconsin lock themselves in at night, while packs of snarling emus roam the streets and jump police officers. You can hear the emus outside after dusk. Singing bawdy songs. Urinating in your Weber grill. Forming vast emu pyramids on your front lawn, then toppling to the ground amid curses and shrieks and thumps.

I don't even know what an emu looks like. Shows my ignorance, huh? My understanding is, they are like a llama crossed with a sasquatch, but two feet tall, and they're birds. They've got beady little eyes, and they steal children's clothes so they can disguise themselves as midgets to move about the city at night. That's why you never accept candy from a midget in Milwaukee, at least after dark. It's probably an emu, luring you close, so it can push you down an abandoned well. Or it might really be a midget. Which is equally bad, because everybody knows YOU SHOULD NEVER EAT MIDGET CANDY.

Speaking of midgets:
There's also a good newspaper story titled British Dwarf's Penis Gets Stuck To Hoover. I won't summarize the article, just to say that it contains the phrases "dwarf performer", "penis", "stuck to a vacuum cleaner", and "gone horribly awry".

I like every story that contains the phrase "gone horribly awry". I plan to have that carved on my tombstone.

Smacked By A Chicken Bucket

Remember, we always do my birthday party at the Waukesha County Demolition Derby, so highlight your calendar. Last year's birthday party was marred by that knife fight between carnival workers at 4:00 a.m. in front of the Llama Tent. So you should tape license plates to your chest, under your shirt, before you come to my party. More to the point: Why is there a llama tent? What on earth was the Waukesha County Fair thinking when they stuffed a canvas tent full of llamas? My birthday parties always degenerate into a grain-alcohol fueled bacchanal of stupid cowboy hats, inappropriate indoor urination, shopping carts, and people getting smacked with a chicken bucket. My friends are people who don't need to stumble face-to-face up to group of llamas in the wee hours of the morning. Frickin' disorienting that is. You're wobbling about, blinking hard to squint away the double vision, pants soaked by that can of warm Strohs I just upended over you while I laughed like a prehistoric flying beast, and some llama licks your nose. I know that "pinwheeling your arms backwards in fright" is how all my birthday parties end, but sweet suffering baby jesus getting unexpectedly mobbed by llamas will make it happen NOW. Where was I going with this? Oh, bring me cake.