Doughy Pantload* Tonite!

Northwestern University (which is in the midwest…go figure) to host Pop-n-Stupid:


Here’s what I know. I’ll be there Feb 28. I’m speaking at 7:30 in Harris Hall (room 107). They want me to discuss web journalism, politics and whatnot, though I intend to work-in as much nude mopery as possible. It is supposed to be open to the “community.” I think that you people count.

Now it would be wrong to try and pie Jonah “Momma Never Bought Me No War Pants” Goldberg, because, well, he’s Jonah Goldberg and he takes to pie like herpe to Ann Coulter, so you should just show up and ask questions about why he loves Islamofacists so much that he won’t fight them.

Meanwhile, since I didn’t win a Koufax this year, we’ll start the weekly Jonah fan fiction next week. Here’s a little taste of what you have to look forward to:

With surprising speed, K-Lo snatched Jonah’s knife from his belt, tearing the material slightly. No one knew what to do as she took it out of its sheath and turned the blade on herself. She danced away as the Derb tried to grab her, then plunged the knife into her stomach, slicing back and forth. There was no blood and the team held their breaths as they waited for screaming, guts to fall out, anything but the giggling from the woman.

“See? Immortal,” she said, handing Jonah his knife. Jonah felt a faint sweat break out under his man-boobs.

“I guess so,” said the Derb, looking like he wanted to run back to his math books and pretend that women, particularly women like K-Lo, didn’t exist. For it was because of just such women that he now sported polymer neuticles. Four of them.

“And you,” she said, turning to Rich-el, “are the most interesting of all. What is a First Prime of Apophis doing with these humans?” She traced his golden tattoo with her finger causing his downy skin to shiver with delight or maybe revulsion or maybe it was just involuntary. It’s really hard to tell.

“I no longer serve Apophis, or any Goa’uld,” said Rich-el, and Jonah realised the woman was now speaking English. Just like the Maglalang. But she was definitely not a Maglalang since she wasn’t foaming at the mouth.

“Look, lady,” Jonah said to her, “is there anything here besides yourself, the Stargate and the sarcophagus and those donuts on that table over there? Because we’re tired, we’re hungry and I left my asthma puffer in my other pants”

“No, there’s nothing else,” she said, not taking her eyes from Rich’s modest ‘package’ as she licked her eyebrows seductively just like the he/she-beasts of Coulter Prime.

“Good, then we’re leaving,” said Jonah. “Derb, dial us home. We’re going for some White Castle. And a Yoo-Hoo. No chaser.”

* “Doughy Pantload” courtesy of Norbizness&#153.

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Yeah. Like I would tell you....