Diary of a Mad County

Wednesday, Feb. 28
Angels outfielder Gary Matthews, signed as a free agent this winter, turns up on a customer list of an Alabama pharmacy reputed to be selling human growth hormone. In 2004, Matthews is reported to have purchased HGH from the pharmacy, which allegedly had it delivered to a Texas address, reportedly to a individual named Muscles McKickass. The year 2004 is significant since, to that point, Matthews was a light-hitting outfielder with a .249 lifetime batting average. By 2006, he recorded career highs in batting average (.313), home runs (19), RBI (79) and Cadillac Escalades held aloft (15). Those numbers made Matthews an American League all star last season and got him a five-year, $50 million deal with the Angels, who signed him not only for his offensive output, but his flashy defensive skills and the fact he had grown to a height well over nine feet tall while developing night vision as well as the power to control the movement of objects high in zinc content.

Thursday, March 1
The Transportation Corridor Agencies, or TCA, or The Folks Who Won't Be Happy Until Everything That Is Unique and Wonderful About Orange County Is Knocked Down, Paved Over and Costs Three Bucks To Drive On, says its plans to build a toll road on some of the most pristine land in the county will be delayed more than 2 years because of, get this, environmental concerns. Apparently, the California Coastal Commission is concerned about building a big, nasty freeway that bisects San Onofre State Park, which is the last remaining habitat of the such species as the arroyo toad, and the Pacific pocket mouse. On top of that are worries that building would affect marine sediment, which would screw up one of the best surfing spots in the world. And then there's the part where everyone associated with this evil, evil thing will end up getting it doggy style in a pool of molten lead for time eternal. The TCA said the delays could mean that building on the road won't start until 2011, and the delay is expected to raise the cost of the road, estimated at $875 million, to a near $1 billion, what with inflation and the interest-only payments to Lucifer.

Friday, March 2
Miserable excuse for a human being/spew stick Ann Coulter calls Democratic Presidential candidate John Edwards a "faggot" during a speech to a gathering of the undead at the 34th annual meeting of the Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC). Reached by a newspaper to comment on her comments, Coulter seems shocked that anyone would find offense and responds by email, "C'mon, it was a joke." You know, a joke, like those hilarious college fraternity slave auctions or the time Coulter called a group of New Jersey widows, whose husbands had been killed in the 9-11 attacks, "the Witches of East Brunswick" who were "enjoying their husbands deaths so much." Oh wait, she was serious about that bit. One can only imagine the kind of damage done to Coulter as a child or teen that led her to this insatiable need to inflict pain and be noticed doing so, even if it's by the most base—and ham-handed—methods available to her limited writing/speaking skills. Even her dried husk of a soul must ache from it. I was going to do some schtick here—insinuating horrible things about Coulter and then saying it was "only a joke"—but a quick search of the Internet showed that others have beaten me to it, with many sites hitting a similar note: that Coulter was, in fact, born a man. These sites hold that Coulter is a transsexual and point out that she has no breasts, a prominent Adam's apple and is a raging dick. Lost in all of the attention on Coulter's comments is the reaction to those comments from the CPAC crowd, which laughed and applauded enthusiastically. You know, I always tell my kids that the most terrifying thing about Hitler is that there is no record of him actually killing anyone—with his own hands—during World War II. He got lots of other, very normal people to do that for him. Very normal people who went about torturing and killing their fellow human beings and citizens like they were preparing for the town picnic. So everyone goes crazy over Coulter, but what about the room that clapped it up? A trip to the CPAC website provides the answer. "Deepest gratitude to all of the speakers," it reads, "who helped make this 34th Conservative Political Action Conference our biggest success to date!"

Saturday, March 3
Anglers out of Newport Landing come back this morning with an unusual haul: giant squid. Normal squid are typically around four pounds, but these giant squid had averaged weights and lengths of 30 pounds and five feet, with the largest weighing 50 pounds and measuring six feet long.They were also wearing body armor, carrying Ninja throwing stars and speaking in a strange language—perhaps one of those evil dialects by which twins communicate. The prophecy has been fulfilled.

Sunday, March 4
Gary Matthews avoids reporters questions while attending church. Check that. Lifting church.

Monday, March 5
Disorderly conduct charges are dropped against Elizabeth Venable of Riverside after she was cited for shouting obscenities at John Wayne Airport. The idea of cursing at an airport is, of course, an absolute anathema to any one who has known the pleasure of standing in a long security line for hours, told to remove their shoes and then informed that their flight has either been Casablanca'd (flown off without them) or Jet Bluen (canceled)—all of it making for the kind of wonderful airport experience one normally associates with childbirth during the Middle Ages or tapping the bile Ann Coulter stores in "her" man-apple. Venable, a UC Riverside dance student, is alleged to have sworn loudly and often to a friend while outside the airport baggage-claim area. The Los Angeles Times reported that when a deputy asked Venable to mind her language, she replied, "Is it against the [expletive] law to say [expletive]?" I'm assuming the first expletive was "fucking" and the second was "fuck." I'm also assuming—check that, hoping—that when Venable said it she was wearing those thin, black dancers pants, you know the ones, all clingy and belled at the bottom, and that she was languorously licking her top and bottom lip while the sound of a saxophone rose slowly over the steady beat of an oh-so-sensual bass. Also, a spa repairman is integral. Veeery integral.

Tuesday, March 6


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