I was just sitting there, minding my own business. Bay News 9 was on, and we were getting along fine. We were being cool, BN9 and me, that’s right. Then, suddenly and quite unprovoked, BN9 takes a sucker punch on me — took me someplace that I didn’t want to go, someplace that I never dreamt of, and now my only hope of recovery is an ice pick in my fucking brain.

Here’s the atrocity.

God damn, your memorial is a piece of shit and so is your face.

So this guy says too many people are forgetting about the terrorist attacks that happened on… on… when the fuck were those? 411? 511?

Dude, look at your “memorial.” It’s pathetic. The terrorists are officially beating us now. You want to do something? First, change that fucking shirt. Now help us figure out why the real memorial hasn’t taken shape yet. Join the movement to get the feds to do something with that giant hole in the ground in lower Manhattan. Finally, put away your tinker toys or whatever you got going on there.

If you thought that was the whole story — “Man tortures Spring Hill neighbors” — you’d be wrong. Turns out some silly sonofabitch drove into one of the towers and knocked it down on the day this guy put up his monument.

It’s like tragedy upon fucking tragedy around here. “Can you hear me? The fuckface who drove on my lawn will hear ALL OF US soon!”

Monument dude says he saw a car take out Tower 2. But other witnesses say it was a much smaller vehicle, more like a moped. Also, the reputed driver of the car didn’t know how to drive stick shift. And it took over four hours for anybody to respond. And all the lizards were told to away from the memorial that day. And if you look closely at the footage you can see tiny little firecrackers going off.

We’re down the rabbit hole now.

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The Church has finally done something to help the average, down on his/her luck, homeless person who just wants to get high as shit… by giving them crack. Amen, sister! God bless me some crack rock and God bless hobos Daniel and Angela Lawson for getting high with Jesus.

Eh, as you can imagine, The Church didn’t actually provide said crack directly to the Lawsons. They took matters into their own hands, robbed three Hillsborough churches, and traded their goods for the crack. The Lord works in mysterious ways, and you can’t prove that God didn’t want those folks to have some crack. Which He invented. So there.

Sadly, the Sheriff says “no faith-related items were stolen,” which takes away any of the vast comedic possibilities garnered when one imagines somebody trying to trade a 12-foot tall crucifix for some drugs with your average corner dealer. But a man can dream.

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I don’t know — they were jammies! They had Yodas and shit on ‘em!

Nathan Arizona Sr.

Relax. Of course we’re going to cover the Byler Sextuplets. We may be a little behind on this thing, but to be honest, we’re still trying to figure out what angle to take.

Angle #1
Yay for St. Petersburg! Florida’s first set of sextuplets evar puts St. Pete on the map! CNN, FOX, and Fisherman’s Weekly have commended our ability to deliver massive amounts of baby.

Angle #2
Having six babies at once just is not natural. I’m sorry, but it takes some serious fertility drugs to turn a uterus into a wing of a hotel. Last I heard, one of the kids was in critical condition and three were in serious condition. I hope modern medicine can save the day, but seriously, humans aren’t meant to be doing this.

Angle #3
Deep quotes from dad:

The proud father, Ben Byler, described the birth as “amazing.”
“Thanks to the Lord above,” he said. “If everyone could just keep us in their prayers.”

Angle #4
No photos! That proud father should be amazed. He’s got “Inside Edition” paying some serious cash for an exclusivity contract. Not that I wanted to gawk at the little tykes anyway, like they’re some kind of circus freaks, even if the parents seem to be encouraging that.

Angle #5
The official site: BylerBunch.com. Yes, they have sponsors. Kill me now.

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Let’s get down to brass tacks here. When your feed-reader informs you that there’s a post somewhere on the interweb entitled “Threesome ends in bloodshed,” you stop what you’re doing and get more information. Delivering babies, curing cancer, splitting atoms — whatever — “threesome” and “bloodshed” guarantees you’re going to drop it immediately.

Such is the scenario laid before us all today thanks to the Breaking News blog on TampaBay.com:

They were drinking in an abandoned house, a woman and two men, and things got sexual, and wouldn’t you know it: complications.

It’s a story as old as time itself. Boy meets girl. Girl meets other boy. First boy watches other boy and girl have intercourse. Boy talks some shit. Boy gets nailed on the back of the head with bottle. Boy needs staples to close gash. Other boy arrested.

But that’s not what I’m here to rap at you about. At least not anymore. If you clicked through the link, you know what I’m talking about.

Gerald Cerveny, the guy who went from skank-banging to bottle-breaking, has got a severely awesome booking photo. Problem was, the original post only has a tiny thumbnail of it. That won’t do. I set out to find a larger size, but I ended up with so much more. Not one mugshot, but four.

Let’s travel through time with Gerald.

First up, 1999. Prison. It’s the “boy did I fuck up” look.

Next, booking photo from 2006. The “Jesus help me” face.

Then, January 2007. The classical “I be so fucked” look, and eerily similar to the previous one.

Finally, earlier this week after the threesome incident. Gerald has turned that attitude right around! Here we have nothing less than a full-blown “I’m goin’ to Disney World! Weeeeee!” You just got some action, made a dude watch you, and then busted his head open with a bottle. It’s Miller Time! Also, please note the similarity of shirts in the last two photos.

He’s been down on his luck. He’s made some terrible choices. But he’s still smiling like a fucking idiot. Gerald Cerveny, I hereby nominate you today’s Best Person in the World!

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You may want to sit down before you read this. I just can’t hold it in any longer… My friends:

I’m in favor of urban gentrification.

Somebody hold me. It’s not easy for me to come to terms with either. I’m the guy who is more radically leftist than you on everything. That’s right, my Communist Party (USA) membership card is weeping red tears right now. What the hell is happening here? To say that my contemporaries and I aren’t on the same side of this issue is an understatement. People who side with the gentry can only quench their thirst with the blood of puppies, right?

Ugh. Okay, no. It actually tastes pretty nasty. So what’s the story?

Let’s define what we’re talking about here, courtesy of Wikipedia:

Gentrification, or urban gentrification, is a phenomenon in which low-cost, physically deteriorated neighborhoods undergo physical renovation and an increase in property values, along with an influx of wealthier residents who may displace the prior residents.

Balls! That fucking sucks! Who am I, Scrooge McDuck? No, of course I don’t want to see people getting evicted on Christmas Eve or any other time. That’s horrible. But let’s take a step back and look at this thing.

A community has needs which only the private sector can provide.
And the private sector won’t provide them if they can’t be sure they’ll make a profit. Hey, I don’t like it either, but it’s the way things are. The Times had it right: The 2005 opening of a Sweetbay Supermarket in Midtown was a big deal. Just as it was when a Publix finally opened downtown. It’s simple: even we downtowners require food, toothpaste, and the occasional roll of toilet paper. Do we need another Starbucks? No. Just like we don’t need Dew Cadillac & Hummer taking up 3 square blocks — like they used to before downtown had its resurgence. (Not to mention all the jobs that a grocery store provides. Oh, what about all the aspiring local car salesmen? If you want to sell cars for living then you’re probably an asshole. Sorry.)

Yet another condo is better than failed, dilapidated, empty commercial space.
I don’t know where all these rich condo-dwellers are going to magically apparate from either, and I’d rather have museums or farmer’s markets or homeless shelters or a root canal over another condo. But isn’t new development of any kind better than stagnant space? If you kids are that upset about the empty storefronts on Central Avenue being torn down for completely unaffordable lofts, where the fuck were you when those stores were actually open for business? Similarly, if you don’t like the stores they put in the street level of these high-rises, just exercise your economic power by withholding your almighty dollar from them, too.

A landowner has the right to sell property to the highest bidder.
Common sense, I know, but isn’t this the crux of the matter? I’m all for the richest nation on Earth (that’s still us, right?) providing all her citizens with affordable safe housing, a livable and realistic minimum wage, free quality health care, free quality college education, and all the rest. But until we as a society come to that, we’re stuck with relatively unchecked capitalism. What’s the solution to preventing lower-income families from becoming displaced? How about a law prohibiting property owners from selling to developers? I’d like to believe that’s feasible, or even remotely realistic, but I don’t.

I’m in my third downtown residence and counting. I recognize that I’m lucky, in that I can afford to live here, and that I stuck around after getting kicked out of two apartment complexes that both turned condo on me and a few hundred other people. It truly was a different downtown way back when I first moved in. Go ahead, tell me you liked it better when The Pier was the only thing to do.

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Hurricane Dean says “sup” to the Yucatan.

So they get a little wet. Whatev.

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Polish your ball gags, kids, because Fetish Con 2007 is underway right now at the Hyatt Regency in Tampa. In their own words: “Hundreds of top bondage and fetish models, fetish vendors, fetish exhibitors, workshops and demonstrations, Four Days of Kinky Fun in Sunny Florida!”

So far, so good. This sort of thing doesn’t put my panties in a bunch. Granted, a dude wearing panties like me wouldn’t typically get upset by this sort of thing. But there are plenty of people who are upset about Fetish Con, and I’d like to take a moment to revel in how funny they are when they freak over something as innocent as ponyplay.

Where would we find such people? Of course! Comments made by TampaBay.com readers.

As a side note, I have to give credit to Timesland here. Jay Cridlin produced a vivid write-up of the event which finds middle-ground between explaining the general gist of the thing and keeping it vague enough to make it to print.

For example, the article includes the following comment from Fetish Con’s MySpace page:

Thanks for adding this living doormat. I know my place, I am a worthless cuckold foot slave for couples to use. — footcuckold

As I’m sure you’re all aware, a cuckold is a married man who happily allows his wife to have open sex with other men. Some cuckolds prefer to find the sexual partners for their wives personally, based on certain — ahem — physical attributes. Anyway, ballsy stuff!

As for all the outrage being expressed by people with AOL, here goes. Typos and idiocy preserved.

howdy:

this material does not belong in a newspaper children and adolescents can access. Has the SPT lost all sense of propriatey? Shame on you people

Right, and kids only use the interweb for their homework. Anyway, it’s not like they described what felching is. (It’s when you suck your bodily fluids from somebody’s hoo-hoo or fanny.)

Mike:

This is ridiculous, and it’s a new low for the SPT. I will not be renewing my advertising with this paper.

Ah, big shot Mike, pullin’ his ads from the paper. I certainly hope a rep has contacted you by now to apologize and beg for you not to cease renewal thus leaving the St. Petersburg Times in financial ruin.

Kathleen:

Shame on the Times. This is a serious indicator of your lack of respect for the community you serve. Was this part of an advertising package? This is close to an all-time low for your organization.

Shame yes, respect yes, all-time low yes… Stop turning me on, Kathleen. You dirty slut.

Ad infinitum…

So, what have we learned today? I have no idea. But if anybody going could bring me back a blow-up doll of Michael Landon, that’d be swell. If they’re out of those, early Tammy Faye Messner would work too.

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Hi kids. What’s the haps on the craps? Long time no post, but I was run over by one of those goddamned power wheelchairs two weeks ago. You know, the ones you see all over downtown. I see about 20 different models a day, each filled with an individual more special than the next. Well, one finally took me out due to a busted “which side do I take” negotiation on the sidewalk.

The physical injuries have now healed, but the mental scars will remain. But you should see the other guy/girl… Still not sure which it was.

Anyway, enough of my problems. Today is an exciting day. Literally tens of Tampa Bayers are anxiously awaiting tonight’s inaugural Buccaneer preseason game against the Patriots.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a hater of mainstream American sports. Sure, my enthusiasm for our local NFL franchise fades several notches with each inept performance (that’s a shitload of notches), but I still get chills when I think about any time we’ve ever beaten Philadelphia.

That’s right, Tampions. I said “we.” Tampa may be the confident yet loudmouthed older brother which serves as the home of two championship-winning sports franchises, and St. Petersburg may be the the gay but better dressed younger brother who has a weak-ass baseball team: But neither the Bucs or the Lighting would have had so much success without the support of fans from across the Bay in ‘da Burg.

Actually, I’m just talking out of my butt.

But maybe the Satan Rays would have better attendance if Tampions would stop complaining about the long drive and just suck it up. Burgers don’t complain about the hassle of getting to Raymond James or the St. Pete Times forum, do they? Granted, the Rays and baseball totally suck. Then again, the Bucs have been tanking for more of their existence.

Surely there must be some folks in Tampa who actually like bad baseball. God knows they like loads of other absurd shit.

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Progress Energy Florida, headquartered downtown, has been forced to refund about $13.8 million to its customers. Apparently the Florida Public Service Commission doesn’t like the fact that they paid too much for coal and then charged us for it. It’s all very complex. But then, the black magik required to provide light, glorious light, during the darkness of night would have to be complex, wouldn’t it?

There are two things to note here:

Firstly, you’re not getting a big fat check. The refund will probably come in the form of discounts at such a small rate you won’t even notice. Or they’ll appeal it and win and we can forget we ever had this pleasant blog experience. Pity that.

Secondly, just for kicks, if you happen to be near Progress HQ downtown today I encourage you to to yell “I’m rich, bitch!” to any employees you see entering or exiting their compound. I realize this contradicts my first point, but if you’re gonna take issue with me there then you’re taking life way too seriously.

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Before I cover any ground here, I’d like us all to acknowledge that nobody has any real idea what the hell is going to happen to St. Pete’s CNN/YouTube GOP debate. After both Giuliani and Romney admitted they were going to flake out, it seems that every option is on the table — including tanking it completely.

According to the vast array of consistently infallible information available on the Interwebs, literally every possible scenario is playing out before our very eyes — simultaneously: Romney hasn’t really flaked out at all. Actually, he has. But Ron Paul will be there, so we should go forward as planned. It’s not that they’re afraid of the fact that reality has a notable liberal bias, the Republicans just need the date pushed back a few weeks. Oh, fuck it all, the GOP is actually just going to scrap the motherfucker altogether.

Meh.

Some good news that actually has me a little bit impressed, and I mean that mostly sans snark, is that some Republicans are hoppin’ mad about their party not being “down” and have put together savethedebate.com to try to, well, save the debate or at least publicly shame the candidates who don’t show up.

So there you have it. The Republican Debate, live from St. Petersburg: It’s on as planned, it’s postponed, it’s canceled. Politics as usual with some quantum physics thrown in.

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I’ve long held the belief that political satire is officially redundant, but every so often a story grabs me by the face, slaps me and calls me Sally.

You see, some Republican candidates are having trouble with the format that CNN and YouTube used in this week’s Democratic debate — a format that I originally thought was going to tank but that kinda actually redeemed itself in the end. Further, I’ve been looking forward to seeing how the GOP candidates will handle the same kind of quirky, honest, never-dared-ask questions from all those kooky kids with webcams.

Oh yeah, and I’m also looking forward to it because it’s happening right down the street at Mahaffey on September 17. I can taste the molotov cocktails already.

Well hold now son, time for a reality check.

As of now, only two Republicans have said they’ll participate — McCain and Ron Paul. And we already know that Giuliani won’t be there due to a “scheduling conflict.” Which, of course, I believe.

What’s the deal then?

ZOMG SNOWMAN TERRISTS!!11

Apparently, a question from the Democratic debate about global warming, which came from a snowman and his smaller snowman son, is freaking these guys the fuck out.

John McCain, no shit, said this:

To have a question from a snowman is not frankly appropriate for a presidential debate.

Goddamned communist snowman is frankly more like it. Mitt Romney, you’re shitting me, joined in with:

I think the presidency ought to be held at a higher level than having to answer questions from a snowman.

That’s right! The president answers to fucking no one! Not even Frosty or any other cute little children’s characters. Fuck you too, Santa!

In this dangerous era of terrorism and war, can we really trust our country’s security to grown men who are afraid of snowmen? Don’t be an asshole. Vote Democratic. I’m The Splog and I approved this message, bitches.

Meh.

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All the negative talk about the public school system can stop right now. Not only is Largo High’s Mr. Smith one hell of a Spanish teacher, but the man was quite skilled at growing weed. This is impressive, because growing that shit isn’t as easy as it looks.

You want to talk about the commitment of public school teachers? Growing weed takes patience, man. And all this during the Summer vacation, for Chrissakes. Dedication, patience, diligence… Stop it, just stop… you had me at pot.

Therefore, we are proud to announce that Mr. Smith has been named The Splog Teacher of the Year. The official Splog Awards is still in the planning stage, but we’ll post details just as soon as we find an establishment which meets our rigorous alcoholic specifications.

Unfortunately, since some assclown called 586-DOPE and reported him, he probably won’t be able to make the awards ceremony personally. But if there’s anyone out there who has sufficient amounts of marijuana they’re willing to share and would like to accept the award on his behalf, please contact us at once.

We salute you, Mr. Smith. You, and your love of Spanish and botany.

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Ah, MySpace. It’s got everything. The Splog is proudly represented there, as are these nice young men who hump furniture with precision that I can only dream of. And as somebody found out while searching for “funny videos” last November, it once housed a clip of two young black kids beating the fuck out of each other while adults egged them on.

Be forewarned, it’s disturbing. Not as disturbing as the juxtaposition of the advertisement for health insurance company Humana which, thanks to Channel 10, precedes the clip… But it’s certainly hardcore. And they say the N-word a lot. Here you go, kids.

In a shocking turn of events, yesterday a judge sentenced the guy who orchestrated the fight to a year in jail and five years of probation. Remember, if you intend to commit two counts of child abuse, do it in the privacy of your own home without filming it. Or something.

What’s harder for me to wrap my head around than the whole “do the crime, do the time” concept is the way the judge and the Timesland article focuses on the usage of the N-word in the video.

Second paragraph in the story:

Egging them on was Rodney Lee Sales, a young black man, who repeatedly used a racial slur offensive to African-Americans to encourage them to fight.

Then three admonishments in the courtroom itself from Judge Linda R. Allan on the guy’s vocabulary:

“What about the words you said?” Allan asked Sales.

Allan urged Sales to find the boys and tell them that it is wrong to use the racial slur.

Next time Sales hears someone utter the word, he should admonish that person, Allan urged.

I can appreciate what Judge Allan is trying to do here, and I’m not condoning the use of racial slurs, but the crime here is fucking child abuse with cash money as the reward for the winner of the fight. Yet this 18 year-old kid is urged by the judge to find those two boys he abused and tell them not to say the N-word?

Don’t worry about screwing some kids up, just watch your language, apparently.

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Despite however Mayor Baker feels about it, St. Petersburg is a relatively progressive city when it comes to gay rights. Our City Council decided in 2002, over Baker’s objections, that discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation should be illegal.

Thanks to (read: conveniently blamed upon) next year’s required budget cuts, it’s possible he may get to reverse that decision.

Baker wants to “merge” the City’s human rights investigators with Pinellas County’s investigators. But here’s the thing: Pinellas doesn’t protect its citizens on the basis of sexual orientation. That’s right. You can be legally discriminated against for who you choose to fuck once you’re outside the invisible walls of the City of St. Petersburg.

Which, remember, is exactly what Baker wanted for all of us lucky Burgonians five years ago.

To be fair, Timesland wrote that “the city” says that no matter what happens to the budget, St. Petersburg will still handle discrimination cases relating to sexual orientation. I can only assume that a little bird flew out of the attic of City Hall with that calming message clutched firmly in its talons, since there’s absolutely no source for this statement. But hey, sounds good, must be credible.

The truth is, nobody has a fucking clue what’s going to happen. That’s your teeny-tiny tax dollars at work.

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Save the date, kids: Monday, September 17, a debate among Republican presidential candidates will be held in our very own backyard at the Mahaffey Theater. We’re talking CNN, former CIA intern Anderson Cooper, the whole deal.

In a continued effort to fool ordinary citizens like ourselves into feeling like we have any control over the political process, you can — wait for it — submit 30-second video questions to YouTube for possible inclusion in the debate.

But fuck that shit.

We Burgers have a much greater opportunity presented to us. That’s right, I’m talking about crashing this thing. Okay, so maybe the Secret Service won’t take us all in with open arms. But if you’re like me, you’re already having beautiful visions in your head of the circus that will be wreaking havoc just outside Mahaffey: protests, civil disobedience, anarchy, human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together — mass hysteria.

Seriously though, if you know how to get tickets to this thing, do let us know.

• 1 Comment