Love Is For Suckers

In This Section

Vol 31 Issue 21

Model Railroading A Harsh Mistress

UTICA, NY—Tom Collins, a 49-year-old data technician and father of seven, announced Monday that model railroading is a harsh mistress. "Model railroading, like the Sea, can be a kind lady, but make no mistake, she can also be a cold and angry harpy," Collins said. "In times of yore, men tested their mettle against the Sea, but in these modern times, a man proves his virility one way only: building, maintaining and running a model-railroad set-up in his garage or den." Collins advised using Testor's-brand epoxy glue for miniature trees and letting them dry for at least 24 hours.

Area Teens Find Once-In-A-Lifetime Love

VALDOSTA, GA—Despite living in a harsh, unaccepting world in which their dads won't let them have the car past 11 p.m. on Fridays, area teens Brianna Fahey and Kurt Mulroney have found true, once-in-a-lifetime love in each other. "We have something that many never find, no matter how long they look: our soulmates," the teens, who have been officially 'going out' since May, said Thursday. "No other love could ever be as special as ours." When asked what was so special about their relationship, Fahey said, "I totally love Karl. He wants to have sex all the time, and I even want to let him. That kind of connection only happens when it's true love." The couple expects their first baby in approximately eight months.

Rat Fancy Magazine Fails To Catch On

NEW YORK—Despite massive market-saturation and advance promotion, the first three issues of Rat Fancy, a new monthly magazine devoted to rats and the people who love them, has failed to generate the level of consumer interest necessary to continue publishing, editor Frankie DelGabrio said Monday. "Despite being packed with rat photos, true-life stories about rats, and helpful rat-care tips, it somehow hasn't found its audience," DelGabrio said. "The June issue, which features a precious, full-color centerfold of a hungry rat family approaching a sleeping baby in its crib, will sadly be the magazine's last." Added DelGabrio, "I love sweet, cuddly rats with all my heart."

Rupert Murdoch Acquires Cable

LOS ANGELES—Media-industry giant Rupert Murdoch made perhaps his most significant move ever Monday, acquiring cable for his L.A.-area mansion for an estimated $35 a month. "This puts me in strong TV-watching position well into the next century," said Murdoch, who, according to a Wall Street Journal report, also paid a $50 hook-up fee as part of the deal. "With some 50 channels now in my possession, my vast media empire cannot be rivaled." Murdoch acquired the stations by using his vast holdings and market influence as leverage against his local cable provider, who, sources say, approved the deal within four to five seconds. Murdoch promised that the cable acquisition will pave the way for "a historic ass-couch merger."

U.S. Anachronism At 'All Time High,' Says Truman

INDEPENDENCE, MO—At a press conference Monday, former president Harry S Truman declared that U.S. anachronism levels are at "an all-time high." Responding to the recent rash of jitterbugging, British taxation without representation, and talk of the Teapot Dome scandal, the deceased leader called on all citizens to "join me and Bess in saving up scrap iron for the war so our boys over there can drive the Spanish back." Truman also urged citizens to use caution when using whale-blubber-burning oil lamps.

Bill Gates Grants Self 18 Dexterity, 20 Charisma

REDMOND, WA—Microsoft head Bill Gates, already considered by many to be among the most powerful men in the world, further increased his powers Monday, augmenting several of his key statistics to near-immortal levels.
End Of Section
  • More News
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



Scientists Posit Theoretical ‘Productive Weekend’

CAMBRIDGE, MA—Challenging long-accepted scientific convention, a group of leading MIT scientists published a report Thursday positing that, under certain rare and specific conditions, a so-called “productive weekend” is theoretically pos...

Love Is For Suckers

Hola amigos. What's goin' down in your part of town? I know it's been a long time since I've rapped at ya, but I've been busier than a rooster in a henhouse.

First off, I got a new job as a valet parker at some restaurant that's trying to put on the ritz, but it's more like an Arby's with tablecloths. They have all these plaster statues of Romans with their peckers out, but that doesn't help matters any. I've got maybe three cars to park most nights, which means I get a whopping two bucks in tips plus my $4.50 an hour. The fact that it's slow doesn't keep my boss from riding my ass, though. I gotta stand alert the whole damn shift, even if there isn't a car in sight, and I gotta take a leak.

On top of that, I had to replace my muffler, since it was causing cops to give me the eye, and you know how it is with me and the cops. I tell you, if every cop was to suddenly vanish from earth, that would be just fine with me. But anyway, I didn't quite replace the muffler—"patch" is more the word. I got some aluminum tape and some old beer cans, cut 'em up, slapped 'em in place, and now it runs good as gold. I'm not cheap or anything, but why spend a mint trying to shine shit when I got my eye on that Mustang convertible?

I know, I know, you're thinking, "With all this going on, when does Jim have time for fun?" Well, I manage to squeeze it in every now and then.

Last weekend, for example, my friends Josh and Heather got hitched. Now, I want to make one thing clear right now: Love is for suckers. You'll never see me strapping on the old ball and chain. Sorry to disappoint, ladies, but that's the way it's gotta be. Jim Anchower's a free spirit, and he can't have any woman dragging him down.

Now, all this doesn't mean that I won't go to weddings. I mean, who could pass up a free meal with plenty of beer to boot? Not me, that's for sure. Hell, at John and Cindy's wedding, I practically polished off a pony keg and a plate of sliced ham all by myself.

But remember, when it comes to clothes, although you may want to slap on any old thing for your night of drinking, you gotta make it look like you care. Wearing a nice shirt says, "I'm happy for you, and I wish you the best," whether you do or not. If you go too fancy, though, that says, "I'm a big-head idiot who's gonna get his ass kicked by Jim Anchower if I don't watch out." So, for Josh and Heather's wedding, I decided to go with a pair of black denims and a nice, white T-shirt. Only problem was, I wore my two best white tees the weekend before while I was working on my car. If either one didn't reek so bad of oil and gas, I would've worn one, for sure. As it was, though, I had to go with one of my last clean tees, my black Led Zep shirt with the winged dude on it.

Sure, the old Houses Of The Holy look wasn't exactly ideal for a wedding, but it didn't matter much: Josh and Heather were friends, but not great friends. The way I had it planned, I could show up right after the ceremony, just in time to decorate the car, so I wouldn't have to endure any of that, "Do you so solemnly swear to tell the truth" and "With this ring" stuff. Plus, I've been saving a ratty old pair of boots for just such an occasion.

Anyway, I got to the church, but I didn't see anyone dolling up the car with the "Just Married" signs and cans and what-not. I decided I should get going on it myself, but I couldn't figure out which car it was.

I decided it was better to wait until the guests started coming out, but after 10 minutes of waiting, no one came. So I figured that rather than keep looking like a class-A chumpo, I would sneak into the church and what the holdup was.

Not eager to be seen, I slipped into a side door that was unlocked. Somehow, though, I wound up in a basement with about a million doors leading out of it. I figured it would be best to head for this one door where the voices were loudest, 'cause I didn't want to wind up in some confessional booth or anything.

Problem was, it was a squeaky door right up front where everyone rubbernecked to see who was coming in late. I was stuck. I slid into the first available seat, which was right up front, and tried to pay attention.

At that point, I realized that it wasn't Josh and Heather getting married; it was some other couple I'd never seen before! Man, was I pissed! I had made such a scene going in, there was no way I could make a graceful exit. But after about five minutes of that "I do" business, I didn't give a crap. I made like I hadda use the bathroom, grabbing my sack and running toward the exit.

Once I made it outside, I looked at the invitation and realized that I was definitely at the wrong church, so I raced to my car to try to make it to the right one in time.

Well, I got there just in time to see the bride and groom drive off to the reception. Their car was already all messed with by then, sorely lacking the finishing touch of Jim Anchower's bootprint. Oh, well, I figured: I could always slap it on at the reception.

I headed over to the Black Bear Supper Club, site of the reception and home of the Original Friday Night Fish Fry, and waited at the bar for everyone to show up. Ron, the deadbeat who still owes me 10 bucks, was the first guest there, and I was actually glad to see him after such a waste of an afternoon.

I told Ron what had happened, and he said, "Well, let's make up for it by getting a jump on the rest of the party." He then ordered a bucket of Millers, only he was short on cash, so I had to pay for most of it.

We made short work of them, being thirsty guys and all, and by then the party was starting. Good thing it wasn't a cash bar, 'cause I woulda blown all of my money getting Ron drunk, the way it was going. The DJ started things off right by playing "I Knew The Bride (When She Used To Rock And Roll)," and believe it or not, I was actually out on the dance floor giving it a whirl. (But don't tell anyone, or I swear I'll kick your ass.)

After the song was over, the DJ started playing "The Chicken Dance" and "The Electric Slide" and bunch of other weak shit for the olds, so I went back by Ron to get another beer. We stayed by the bar for a while, shootin' the breeze and occasionally giving out regards to people.

By about the seventh beer, I remembered the boots out in my car. It seemed like the time to do the wedding car up right. I went out to my car and got 'em. I had to pay the bride and groom my respects, and what better way than with my boots?

As I fished them out of the trunk, I noticed some motor oil had spilled on them, and the fumes were really starting to make me woozy. Dazed, I took a few deep breaths, and went back into the Black Bear.

On the way in, I accidentally bumped into the door and knocked over some old bag. Then I weaved my way over to the wedding table and said, "Here are some boots for this happy occasion." Or at least, that's what I tried to say. Instead, according to Ron, I said, "Fuckin' boots for you. Raaaah!" and I threw them at Heather, the blushing bride. She jumped up, screaming about the oil on her dress. Josh, who had had a bit too much to drink as well, got up like he was going to kick my ass.

Everyone was getting all pissed off at me when I was just trying to do something nice, so I started to get all pissed off back and took off my Zep shirt to kick Josh's ass. I don't believe in fighting, but sometimes, you gotta stand up for what you believe in. Unfortunately, I was drunk enough to believe in everything. Good thing Ron was there to drag me off, or I would have spoiled the wedding by stomping all over the groom's face.

I never thought I'd owe Ron one, but I guess I do. He got me out of there, and we spent the rest of the night at my place smoking weed and playing Nintendo. That was 10 times more fun than the stupid reception. Plus, I got a new high score on Primal Rage that night, 'cause Ron sucks at it so bad. He always plays with the Tyrannosaurus Rex, but the farting, puking ape rocks ass over everything else. I swear, it cracks me up.

Next Story

Onion Video

Watch More