for 26 March 2001. Updated every WEEKDAY.
The Sky Is Falling
Given you claim to be a camel and might not even be female is it wrong to love you?
More Suck columns, please.
Unfortunately, I must inform you that I am NOT female. In fact, I'm not female to the degree of a Ron Jeremy or a Peter North.
But be that as it may, it is NOT wrong to love me. Believe me, baby, nothing that feels that right could ever be wrong.
I'm glad you enjoyed the piece.
Why, oh why are you called Alice the Camel.... Do you smoke a lot? High capacity for drinking liquids? What would it take to get your stuff in the NY Times...or invade the WSJ? Can your readers help?
We must accept some things without ever knowing a reason. Knowing why I'm called Alice the Camel would be like knowing why a raindrop is called a raindrop, or why my girlfriend is called The Town Bicycle. Wait just a damn minute ... Bambi!
Believe me, I'd love any help getting into the Times, but I have a feeling it's out of the question. Let's just say you can only send so many threatening letters to William Safire before you're labeled a "Security Risk," and told by some high-and-mighty Judge not to come within 100ft. of Mr. Safire or any other Times employee. Go figure.
Thanks for reading,
Great story on the wailing banshees in the financial media. I work in the financial media, and I laughed out loud.
Thanks for the note. It's always good to hear that you've got some cred with those on the inside.
Incidentally, I saw the Wailing Banshees in London in '77, before they went all "commercial," and that show fucking rocked!!
The Irish Curse
Thanks O'Magau. You brightened what was otherwise, a rather annoying day. If one more person invites me to the Druid, O'Byrne's or Keiley's for St. Patties I swear I am going to go Dowdy on the lot-of-em.
Green with nausea,
Sure, Milligan, it's the want of a drink that ails you.
Mr. Magua, Sir.
I am outraged, nay, vilified, that Suck would take the absurd and untenable position of calling the fine and noteworthy NY Times columnist, Ms. Maureen Dowd, some sort of serial killer.
What a ridiculous, unsubstantiated and irresponsible piece of dribble to print.
Why, it would almost be funny if... wait a sec.
It is, of course, Ms. Dowd's rapier wit and sly irreverence that slays readers by the baker's dozen.
LIEUTENANT CASSIUS ROCHAMBEAU (M/3, 7 12, late-50s):
The NYPD's top criminal profiler, CASSIUS is a legend on the force, having brought in the notorious Silicon Alley Stalker, but he's burned out and ready for retirement.
There should be blotchy, shaky flashback scenes of when he cornered the Silicon Alley Stalker in the New Guggenheim only to lose him in the throng of tourists in SOHO when a bike messenger cuts off his pursuit. The killer goes on to kill 5 women working for Razorfish and haunt Lieutenant Cassius forever. Turns out to be the same killer. Happy ending and shit.
Perhaps Razorfish has done web development for U2 and made a botch of it. Or, perhaps the killer started the Decline of the Dot-conomy by taking out Razorfish to protest Bush not taking a stand against the Brits in Belfast.
Or whatever. Do we get to see O'Fergus' girlfriend naked?
Blotchy shaky footage is kind of a must in this film, as it tends to be in all such cinema. Maybe the script doctors can work in a subplot where a young cop has to go to the SA Stalker in his maximum security cage to receive perverse insights into the criminal mind. Only we'll have to hire Michael Rooker or somebody because we can't afford Anthony Hopkins.
All of which raises an important question: Why hasn't Hollywood given us an anti-gentrification serial killer?
Actually, St. Patrick was a Brit. He was born in modern-day Scotland, and lived most of his life in Britain or France.
It's also worth remembering that St. Paddy primarily saved Ireland, not from paganism, but in fact from Christianity. True, it was a heretical branch of Christianity known as Pelagianism (a horrible sect that believed that human beings were essentially good, dignified, and strong, rather than wretched, sinful, and useless per Catholic dogma). But still.
The Catholic Encyclopedia can say what it wants, but during a visit to the Wax Museum of Tours, this reporter saw a display of St. Pat suiting for a crusade in the Emerald Isle suiting up in Tours, that is, where he (the placard claimed) had spent most of his life. Wax figures = hard evidence. As the Vatican has no wax figures of its own (unless you count the Pope), I'm sticking with my story. Besides, on Saint Patrick's day everybody's French.