Afishionados,

The sequel to the 2006 Summer Blockbuster! And an Grammy-winning soundtrack by Morgovudka!

And seriously, Joey: Where art thou?

Afishionados,

It seems that not a day goes by without more “news” on the New York Post’s “scandalous” political cartoon making the headlines again. If you’re an out-of-the-country reader who has no idea what I am talking about, or you’re an American living under a rock, here is the cartoon that is causing all the fuss:

Lotsa folks are pissed about this, claiming the chimp represents Obama and how dare he be portrayed as such, let alone getting shot. I didn’t think of this when I read it, but I guess many people did. *I* thought it just meant that even a monkey could write a stimulus package, and that perhaps the cartoonist got the idea from the recent chimpanzee attack, which happened around the same time the cartoon was printed. And come on, Obama is way taller than a chimpanzee.

It seems that not everyone agrees with me (or the New York Post’s official statement for that matter). No, unfortunately, the world is full of assholes. And one of the biggest ones is leading the charge against the cartoonist (Sean Delonas).

The Fish is pleased to present this exclusive, never-before-seen photo of Al Sharpton changing his underpants after first hearing about the editorial cartoon. A representative close to Al Sharpton claims he was so furious that he literally shit his pants. And then giggled about it afterward. Tee hee hee!

Now the NAACP is calling for the firing of Sean Delonas. It will be a sad day for the “freedom of the press” if the NAACP gets its way. With all the problems in the world, I can’t believe so many people are arguing about a fuckin’ chimp cartoon that isn’t even racist.

Mr. Delonas, if you are reading this, may I suggest next time you put Al Sharpton in your cartoon instead of the chimp?

Afishionados,

It’s never surprising when a religious whack job (get it? ha!) goes out of their way to take a stand against something that doesn’t deserve taking a stand against, but I think this is beyond ridiculous. The only thing more ridiculous than this shirt is the fact that these people are actually proud to wear it.

Seriously. There is just no way I would ever print a big “EX” on one of my favorite shirts.

Afishionados,

More balloons than I’ve ever gotten before. Who wants to suck in helium and talk in funny voices with me? Anyone? Hello…???

Afishionados,

Rest in peace, Mr. Whitmore. You will be missed.

Afishionados,

Went out to dinner with mom tonight and it turns out she didn’t get her mail this evening. And yesterday the postman wrote her a note on a piece of her mail stating “Please clear approach to your mailbox. Thanks!!”

For those of you not in the know, the midwest got its ass handed to it last week with the biggest snowstorm of the season. My particular region of Ohio got 4 inches one day, followed by another 14 the very next. Needless to say, much of it is still around, though the roads and streets are all clear.

That is, except mom’s I guess. She lives in a cul de sac in a township that doesn’t seem to want to thoroughly plow the street around the mailbox. So now, a week later, that snow has turned to a very small pile of ice.

As you can see, the sidewalk is completely clear, and you can see part of the actual street in the photo as well. It’s a very small patch of ice, not a friggin’ glacier by any means. In fact, the ice doesn’t even go much past the bottom of the photo. It’s not like the whole street is frozen or anything. Unfortunately, the post office has decided to stop delivering mom’s mail because of it.

The truth of the matter is that the postman simply doesn’t want to get out of his little wagon. It’s too difficult for the driver to get out of his “truck” and walk 3 steps to the mailbox. As you can see from the photo, someone has walked up to the mailbox a few times because there are footprints in the snow. So why can’t the driver do the same?

Mom is no stranger to dealing with the United States Post Office. Years ago, in a different city, the post office decided to stop mom’s mail once before. The mailbox was attached to the side of the house, not on a post at the edge of the driveway. The postman had no problems or issues with getting out of his truck and walking to the house to deliver the mail (again, a rather small driveway, not a trek to Mordor). But his boss didn’t like the idea, and so the mail was stopped. Mom tried to work with the postal officials, but they refused to budge on their decision. So, mom went above all their heads and called John Glenn (who was senator at the time) and explained the situation to him. The man made a few calls, and mom’s mail was delivered that very afternoon. Face it, you just don’t argue with one of the Friendship 7 about mail.

Fast forward to today, where mom learned her mail is being held because a new ice age is dawning in her cul de sac. I went with her down to the post office, where we waited in line for about 15 minutes. Then, we were advised to wait in a conference where a supervisor would be with us shortly.

“Shortly” is apparently a loose term when it comes to the post office, as it took well over 15 minutes (and three attempts at calling) to get a supervisor to try and resolve her issue. Finally, the supervisor showed up, and I took a photo of him.

Okay, so I lied. I didn’t photograph him. But I wanted to. And he really did look like this. Well, except for his head. That looked like Mikhail Gorbachev’s. The supervisor had the same type of birthmark on his head, except his was shaped in the exact same shape as an eagle, just like the post office’s mascot! Okay, I lied again. It was ovular, but still distracting.

Mom tried to plead her case to Supervisor Sam, but he wasn’t keen on listening. “How can you just stop my mail without giving me an official notice or warning? And you only give me 24 hours to chisel away the ‘chunk’ of ice after delivering my mail after dark?” (The mail is delivered around 5 or 6p.m., at which point it’s dark in the winter here.)

Supervisor Sam replied, “Do we get 24 hours notice when it’s going to snow?”

Now, I was completely silent during mom’s whole conversation. I was too transfixed on Supervisor Sam’s head. I couldn’t tell, but I think it was either a map of Atlantis or that I could see my future in it if I stared at his pinkish mark long enough. But his last statement snapped me out of my daze.

24 hours before we get snow? Was this guy serious? Of course we get 24 hours notice before it snows. It’s called the fucking Weather Channel, Sammy Boy! Hell, some news stations even give folks in these parts ten days notice!

More arguing continued, though to mom’s credit she did not cuss or lose her temper once. I was surprised, as I thought she was going to make a eunuch out of Supervisor Sam before the evening was over.

The situation ended with mom requesting Supervisor Sam’s supervisor’s number because he wouldn’t even give her mail to her after she had shown up for it. So, tomorrow at 8 A.M., Supervisor Sam’s supervisor is going to get a phone call. With everyone’s tempers flaring, I’m surprised the ice hasn’t melted yet.

To Be Continued…