I'm Sorry, But I Only Date Men My Friends Are Afraid Might Kill Me

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Vol 39 Issue 30

Gary Busey Nearly Drowns Recovering Pork Chop From Swimming Pool

LOS ANGELES—Actor Gary Busey was flown from his Malibu home to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center after he nearly drowned trying to retrieve a pork chop from the bottom of his swimming pool Tuesday. "We're eating on the patio, and Gary suddenly shouts, 'Let's have dinner in the pool!' and starts throwing baby red potatoes and hunks of meat into the water," said Lupo Risinger, Busey's friend and next-door neighbor. "Well, the pork chop he threw sank like a stone, and—you know Gary—he wouldn't come up for air until he had that sucker in his teeth." Busey is currently listed in "marginally stable" condition.

Drug Deal Goes Great

MIAMI—An exchange of five grams of cocaine for an undisclosed amount of cash "went off without a hitch" in Bayfront Park Monday night. "When I went to the park to buy some blow, I never expected anything bad to happen," said a 30-year-old drug buyer who identifed himself as John. "It didn't. I got some really good stuff, the guy didn't gyp me, and the whole thing only took, like, three minutes." Kold Kim, an area dealer, agreed with John, adding that the entire exchange was "cool."

Vice President Of Making Your Job Harder Given Raise

NEW YORK—According to the buzz around the office, Hank, the Vice-President Of Making Your Job Harder, received a sizable raise Tuesday. "Goddamn it," you said to yourself. "All Hank does around here is screw things up so bad that I have to stay late and fix them. Then he shows up in the morning and rides my ass when things aren't done." At this rate, you decided, you'll never get promoted from the position of Assistant Vice-President Of Cleaning Up Other People's Messes And Never Getting Any Goddamn Credit.

Half-Asleep Man Pauses 20 Minutes Between Socks

SANDPOINT, ID—Seated on the edge of his bed, Carl Thompson, 38, paused for 20 minutes with one sock on his foot and the other in his hand Tuesday. "Ugh, tired," said Thompson, who was otherwise silent from 6:30 to 6:50 a.m. During that period, Thompson stared at the wall and teetered perilously close to a reclining position six times.

Milkshake Almost Ruined By Breakup

MINNEAPOLIS, MN—Local woman Janice Garnecki's blueberry milkshake was nearly ruined Tuesday when boyfriend Timothy Stover announced he was ending their relationship. "Six months together, and now he says he wants to see other people," a distraught Garnecki said immediately after the breakup, but before taking a long sip of her mouth-watering shake. "How could he do this to me? Doesn't he care? This is made with premium ice cream, isn't it?" Garnecki said she plans to spend the day crying on her best friend's shoulder and licking her fingers.

Embattled Liberia

The Bush administration is still unsure what role the U.S. military should play in war-ravaged Liberia. What do you think?
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TV Listings
Just Like Everything Else!: Fox 8 p.m. EDT/7 p.m. ABC Pete's wife is still on him about building that darn shed, these kids are going to be the death of Sheila and Dave, and the hot next-door neighbor is up in EVERYBODY'S business! Sunday nights on ABC couldn't be any more familiar!

Special Coverage

Family

Kids Love When Mom Sad Enough To Just Order Pizza

FORT WORTH, TX—Saying they get their hopes up anytime they notice her looking particularly downhearted, siblings Paulo and Marisa Hernandez told reporters Wednesday they love it when their mother is sad enough to just order pizza.

Comedy

I'm Sorry, But I Only Date Men My Friends Are Afraid Might Kill Me

Listen, Doug, you seem like a really nice guy. You're even kind of cute, in a well-adjusted sort of way. All in all, you seem really harmless, and that's the problem. I'm looking for someone with that special something that makes my friends worry I might suddenly disappear without a trace and never be heard from again.

You were nice to ask me out, but I have to say that the way you did it was a little weird. You said, "There's a movie I really want to see. Would you like to come with me?" Huh? How can you be assured you're going to have sex with me if the evening's plans do not specifically include drugs or alcohol?

Then you were all, "Let's go to dinner afterward." Whoa. What was that? Are we married now or something? Slow down! What is this, the '50s? Women aren't impressed by that "normal person" stuff anymore. I like to know there's at least a chance that a suitor will stuff my body into a car trunk and then toss it into a KFC Dumpster two towns over.

I'm sorry, but you're just not my type. I'm into guys who wear leather jackets, dirt-caked fatigues, or jumpsuits. I don't see any tattoos, piercings, scars, cigarette burns, missing eyebrows, open sores, self-inflicted wounds, blackened teeth, or incorrectly set bones. You don't even have an excessive number of fillings. You make eye contact when you speak to me and don't have any off-putting tics or compulsive, repetitive tendencies. You've never been to jail, and you don't have any addictions—not alcohol, heroin, cocaine, or even gambling or pornography.

God, I could take you home to meet my parents. You would never sneak off for three hours, leaving everyone to nervously glance at each other as we waited to open my sister's birthday presents. I'll bet you never once got up to go to the bathroom in a restaurant, then called half an hour later to say you "ran into some problems" and that you'd call the next day. No, I didn't think so.

I'm standing right next to you, and I can't smell a trace of body odor. Your hair appears to have been washed recently, probably just today. There's absolutely nothing feral about you. Your clothes are even unwrinkled. I'm sorry, but there's absolutely nothing to indicate that I might end up a statistic in the police ledger of some backwoods Oregon logging town, my family never giving up hope for my return until the day they die themselves.

Don't get me wrong, Doug. You'd be great for my sister, or maybe one of my coworkers. You're just not for me. You've got respectability coming off you in waves. If there's no chance one of my friends will pull me aside and ask me how I can stand you, I'm just not interested.

You're nice, though, so let me help you out. Try something like this next time: "Hey, my friend's band is playing at the Red Shed this Friday. They're called Meatmagnet. They totally suck, but I get to hang out in the back and drink from the cooler, and those dudes always have weed. If you're at the bar, maybe I'll get you backstage." Now that's what I call a date.

See, all that dinner and wine stuff doesn't do anything for me. The kind of guy I'm into is big on going out to get eggs. Usually at Denny's, at 4 a.m., and I end up paying for the eggs. Here're some other things I like to do with the men I date: hang out on their friend's couch, rent porn, drive around looking for drugs, or sit at a kitchen table and drink.

I noticed you're in pretty good shape, but that doesn't impress me. It doesn't take a lot of muscle to drag a woman's corpse to the river's edge. It just takes that special inclination. Anyway, with all those muscles, my friends might respond when you proposition them. Oh, but you'd never do that.

Doug, you're very sweet, and I'm flattered by your attention, but unless you do something in the next minute that lets me know you might put me in the morgue, or at least the intensive-care unit, I think we need to end this.

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