From "No Snow Day for You Edition"

Morning Roundup: No Snow Day for You Edition

I thought obscenely expensive real estate was supposed to be a good thing? Y'know, an indicator of increased market demand for a finite resource? The only problem is when you end up with block after block of sterile office high rises that go empty after 7pm with zero ground-floor retail and even less foot traffic. But the name of the game is generating maximum tax revenue per square foot, not creating livable, walkable, mixed-use environments. Gotta fill those tax coffers so the Council can spend money on... on... whatever it is they're spending money on. I forget. Something about rainbow-farting unicorns and gold-plated bidets.

Almost 600 staff and teaching positions would be cut, general education summer school wouldn't be an option, and students at 32 elementary schools no longer would participate in a program that verses them in languages from Arabic to Chinese and Latin.

No, not Latin! We're running out of dead languages to study! All that's left are Mayan, Cretin Linear B, Esperanto, Klingon, and 1337. There is no emoticon for what I'm feeling!

In another hit to athletics, participants would pay a $100 fee per sport next year.

Why not make it $200 per sport, but throw in all the Latin geeks they can beat up? This would generate more revenue for Jockey McJock's precious alpha male monkey programs and discourage geeks from learning obscure latinate phrases. Maybe if they'd had these programs in the 1950s, George Will wouldn't be choking the papers with his "casus bellis" and "Honi soit qui mal y pense" and "Well."

From "Georgetown Traffic Mess Edition"

Morning Roundup: Georgetown Traffic Mess Edition

If they were to close every bridge that just happened to have a dead body under it, they'd have to shut down most of downtown DC which, come to think of it, isn't a bad idea. Just so long as they keep the bike lanes open and put out the occasional out-of-control hobo fire.

In a statement, the WHS said "most of the allegations" in the report were investigated and "proven completely without merit."

Translation: We hired a former investigator and full-time hobo arsonist and paid him three dead gasoline-soaked dogs so we could whitewash the story, only to have him confirm that 49% of the allegations were true.

The Director of the Washington Humane Society moved to have the hobo's investigator's license pulled. However, the Migrant Investigators Union (Pyromaniacs Local #187) filed a protest. During negotiations with the union, the hobo in question was re-hired at double the gasoline-soaked-dog rate. The Director's office was subsequently destroyed in a mysterious dog-related fire that investigators blamed on faulty wiring. PEPCO Electricians Union (Bunch of Guys Just Standing Around Local #187) moved to have the results of the investigation stricken from the record and replaced by "force majeure."

From "Perfect (Seasons) From Now On Edition"

Morning Roundup: Perfect (Seasons) From Now On Edition

Catalytic converter and R-22 freon theft are going to be growth industries. It cost me close to $1,000 to recharge the AC on my '62 Lincoln Continental Convertible. And no, I'm not going to trade it in because it's the only place I can have sex while re-enacting the Kennedy assassination.

The car crash is a fertilizing rather than destructive event. Ask anyone who's pooped their pants after t-boning a policecar.

Best. Date Movie. EVAR.

After "Emperor of the North" and "Nekromantik?" Maybe! Still, "Blue Velvet" holds a special, cherished place IN MY PANTS. Nothing compares to cuddling up with that special someone and slugging them in the jaw while screaming, "DON'T YOU F**KING LOOK AT ME!"

The Post reports the latest on the case of Reginald Jones, the MPD officer accused of participating in robbery and murder.

I can vouch for Reginald Jones being alone in his squad car. I was with him in the backseat and I'm a witness. It's also sad to see that the Council moves to penalize sidewalk smoking, yet the punishment for sidewalk defecation remains a guaranteed Ward 8 Council membership seat. But that's communism for you.

Also, that is without a doubt the sexiest iron lung [pictured] I've seen in at least a week. I'd definitely put my peter in it.

It's an old movie projector. (Not a great place to put your peter. The bulb inside is very hot and bright and there are a lot of gears.)

Meh. I've done E-stim that could handle higher voltage than that. Although I am intrigued by process of fornication with outdated technology. How does sex with this projector compare to doing it with, say, a Nixie clock? Maillardet's automaton? Is any special technique involved, or can you just slip it a roofie? Most importantly, where is the g-spot? Because I don't want to spend half an hour fondling a rivet.

From "Out with the Aughts Edition"

Morning Roundup: Out with the Aughts Edition

So garnishing that $7.50 an hour to pay back the people they robbed would be "cruel and unusual punishment," right? What do you call guys in wheelchairs robbing people at shotgun point then rolling slowly away from the cops? "Monday night on H Street." Maybe we can retrofit this guy's wheelchair with a plow so he can shovel off H Street. Maybe we can put Poopy the Magic Hobo on an all Taco Bell Volcano Taco diet and turn his soilage into muy caliente de-icing fluid. They had a choice, all of them. They could have followed in the footsteps of good men like my father or President Truman. Decent men who believed in a day's work for a day's pay. Instead they followed the droppings of lechers and communists and didn't realize that the trail led over a precipice until it was too late. Don't tell me they didn't have a choice. Now the whole world stands on the brink, staring down into bloody Hell, all those liberals and intellectuals and smooth-talkers... and all of a sudden nobody can think of anything to say.

My New Year's resolution? To put on a Molly® mask, Rorschach Underoos, and a diaper and drive around in a van with a talking dog and a stoner and solve mysteries.

No capes!

Now, a FRIED bologna sandwich, that's good eating. Almost as good as fried salami. It's like cylindrical bacon, all crispy and greasified. With extra mayo. Mmmm-mmm. If they served that three times a day in prison, the population would drop three-fold. Hell, just serve those deathrow last meals every day: burgers, pizzas, steaks, scotch eggs. You wouldn't need a death penalty.

From "Progressively Scarier Edition"

Morning Roundup: Progressively Scarier Edition

I miss H20 and Platinum. Where do all the cool, skanky, hair-trees go to wait in line for table service? Because I can't get past the stench of Drakkar Noir and hooker heel failure at Park at 14th. Actually, they should call the place Double-park at 14th because it's practically a Eurotrash roadblock on Friday nights. But at least it's good to know that the Aryans don't have a monopoly on LNS douchey behavior. Vive le Douché!

Who remembers jello wrestling on 14th street?

I remember the tranny hookers on 14th, but not jello wrestling. Are you talking about the strip clubs along NY Avenue? Near where the old Greyhound Station used to be? The ones a certain baby-gobbling ex-mayor used to frequent? If so, my lawyer told me not to comment on the grounds it might incriminate myself.

The history of 14th Street NW is the history of migratory disease patterns and deviant sexual practices. In the late '80s-early '90s, the hookers that worked 14th north of Massachusetts were crackheads and occasionally junkies. Further south, closer to the "gentlemen's clubs," you had a broader range that would include trannies who would proceed to isolated areas like the Old Children's Hospital Site on W to tear off a quick one.

As for jello wrestling, you are probably correct. Drove past This Is It many a time in the 1970s, but we spent most of our time in Dr. Johnson's Marital Products Emporium on 9th, where the Spy Museum is now. Staring at the dildos was something of a traditional time-waster before shows at the old 9:30, and prepared me for club life in the 1990s.

From "Marriage Made in Heaven Edition"

DCist Morning Roundup: Marriage Made in Heaven Edition

Everybody's talking about how the next Mayor of DC is either going to be Fenty or Gray. This gay marriage bill shows where the real power is on the Council. I think the turd in the punchbowl that nobody's talking about is right there in Ward 8. There you'll find a candidate with years of political experience, longstanding ties with the business community, a track record of dealing with troublesome neighbors, a history of smashing trade unions, and a hatred of homosexuals. I'm talking, of course, about Hitler. Now, I know you're thinking, "National Socialism? In this century?" But think about it. Has the particular brand of socialism the DC Government's been practicing been all that successful? I mean, look at DC's so-called gun control program. If you want a successful gun control program, you need to look to Germany in the 1930s. Unemployment? Crime? Nonexistent under National Socialism. And you can just forget about those irritating Frenchmen and Poles and dwarves and Jews and homosexuals and Jewish dwarfs and the homosexual Jewish dwarfs. Did I mention the Polish dwarfs?

Just admit that you'd like "certain" people in DC to just disappear: criminals; teenagers; people who can't drive, walk, ride a bike, or wipe their a$$; that jerk who won't put the phone down when they're ordering coffee; old f**kers who buy single sticks of butter with pennies; "those" people and their smelly cooking. Yes, I can feel the anger flowing through you. It gives you focus. The hate is swelling in you now. Take your Jedi weapon. Use it. I am unarmed. Strike me down with it. Give in to your anger. With each passing moment, you make yourself more my servant. Anyway, if Star Trek has taught us anything, it's that you can successfully use Mein Kampf to run a planet, just so long as your evil plotting henchman Melakon doesn't drug you heavily and use you as a zombie mouthpiece. And I'm sure that will never be a problem with any of the City Councilmembers, Sinclair Skinner, or certain fraternity members. Now, on your feet, Zeon pig! Keep your hands up so you don't touch anything Ekosian! And remember to vote Hilter für ein Besseres Meinhead!

From "Torrential Edition"

DCist Morning Roundup: Torrential Edition

Go ahead and laugh at the gender-bending fish, but you'll be laughing out the other side of your favorite head when eight-foot Daddy CHUD Chinatown Tiresias comes to town, And when some wild-eyed, eight-foot-tall maniac grabs your neck, taps the back of your favorite head up against the barroom wall, and he looks you crooked in the eye and he asks you if ya paid your dues, you just stare that big sucker right back in the eye, and you remember what ol' Jack Burton always says at a time like that: "Have ya paid your dues, Jack?" "Yessir, the check is in the mail!"

(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all, enacted on this same divan or bed; I who have sat by Thebes below the wall and walked among the lowest of the dead.) I have heard the gender-bending mermaids singing each to each. I do not think they will sing to me.

Oh, brothers! We have all gathered here to preserve our hallowed culture and heritage from intrusion, inclusion, and dilution of color, of creed, and of our old-timey religion.

We aim to pull evil up by the root before it chokes out the flower of our culture and heritage. And our women! Let's not forget those ladies, y'all,looking to us for protection from Darkie, from Jew, from Papey, and from all those smart-ass folks what say we come descended from monkeys. That's not my culture and heritage! Is it yours?

And so...we gonna tax us some freeloadin' churchies.

Monkey's Journal. November 12th, 2009: Spandex squirrel carcass in alley this morning, bike tire tread on burst stomach. This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face. The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of rain and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder and taxidermy will foam up about their waists and all the whores and fixies and doubleparking genderbending CHUD churchies will look up and shout "Save us!"... and I'll whisper "Maybe!"