Baby Got Back
Not that there's anything the matter with any other columns, OK? I have consumed no Haterade to spit at any of the other columns, and I'm not qualified to render an opinion on them anyway, because, after all, look what I do every other week, eh? If I dropped my bomb weekly, it might be a different story, but look, for real, I would do any other column in this fine newspaper a disservice even if I rendered a positive opinion about any one or all of them, so I'm keeping my trap shut, because if any other column in this here paper got, like, an endorsement or something from the Mr. Wrong column, they would probably be pissed off, because, really, who the fuck am I with my every-other-week column to give those weekly columns a grade, hah? So it's all love to all other columns in this paper, umkay?
It's just too stuffy up front. Not that any of those other columns are stuffy, OK? It's just the Up Front part that was gettin' to me. It's just like school, you know? I like it Back Here, see? Back Here I can slouch down in my seat and put my feets up on my desk. Back Here nobody can sneak up on me. Back Here I can relax. More. I can relax more than anyone ever thought it was possible I could relax more than. I'm pretty sure I'm near the Comics and the Astrology and the Dirty Stuff, such as the Savage column, which is loaded with all kinds of questions about Tab A going into Slot B. But I'm not gonna say if I find it to be entertaining and informative, because then that Savage guy will be pissed at me, and I don't need that.
It's All Love All the Time for all the other stuff in this paper, even the ads. And I'm not saying shit about the ads, either, OK? They're ads, and some of them run every week, unlike a Certain Column that, at its own request, just got moved to the back of Baltimore's Most Weekly Newspaper Alternative. I know you gentle readers who look at the Mr. Wrong column on the Internet probably can't see any difference, but, man, it's like the pressure's off to have to produce a Quality Product every other week, see? Har! Like there was ever a Quality Product. What did I write about last week, huh? Pizza dough.
Man, I gotta stop talking about my column in the past tense.
So like I said, I like being Back Here. I'm not on punishment, and my column doesn't suck any more than it could in the front because it couldn't suck more, OK, haters? That would be an infinite paradox or something. Anyway, that's about 570 words on me moving my column to the back of the paper. What a racket, huh? Bwahahaa!
Speaking of rackets, I see that the slot machine thing is moving right along and, man, am I qualified to render a qualitative opinion on that, since I am an avid supporter of all forms of wagering in this country. I piss money away at the track, I piss money away on trying to predict the outcome of sporting events, and I piss too-beaucoups money away on the lottery and the numbers and the scratch-offs.
I bought one of those goddamn $10 scratch-offs the other day because they have a "second chance" drawing for a million dollars. All you gotta do to get in on it is send in a losing $10 scratch-off--I forget what it's called, all I know is the card is real sparkly and glittery. Anyway, what I'm saying is I bought a $10 scratch-off because I wanted to buy a losing ticket and then mail it in for a shot at a million bucks. So of course the fucking ticket was a winner--25 bucks--and I needed money to buy Chinese food, so I had to cash in the fucking ticket, and I couldn't buy another one because I forgot my wallet and needed 20 bucks for wonton soup and yat gaw mein and shit. So there goes my big plan to win a million bucks.
But like I was saying, I support All Forms of Gambling, animal, vegetable, or mineral. They want slots? I say bring on slots, but in the way I proposed a long time ago in this very space, i.e., to wit, ergo, cut the African-Americans in on the casinos in a manner similar to that which is currently enjoyed by the Native Americans. Everybody's all het up about reparations to the descendants of slaves, right? Problem solved, thank you very much: Cut 'em in. That way nobody can whine about how they never owned any slaves and it's coming out of their taxes, see? I proposed this plan several years ago when my column was up in the front of the paper. Those were the days, man. I only needed to turn a few pages to get to my own column.
812 Park Ave.
Baltimore, MD 21201