Wait no more: Unreal's presidential-candidate endorsements are in; plus we lament the loss of "Poetry Beat," check in with the lads at Sanford-Brown and wonder if we can get a direct line to God
The New Yorker knows that a dry crack is a happy crack, Dick Gephardt can't wait for a slice of peach pie and Blake Ashby phones it in; plus a Sanford-Brown update, dueling Bosnian beauty queens and banter with comedian/shine man Jules Summerville
Brian McKenna bares it all, Dick Gephardt runs a new campaign ad, the Sanford-Brown Indians keep up the fight, and Blake Ashby ruminates on Euro-dance; plus, the battle over the Famous Gerber wakes up Grandma
We cover all the major issues, from the concealed-carry legislation to the nifty new coffee lids at Kaldi's; plus, the latest on the Sanford-Brown Indians' winning season (and you still don't know Dick)
We feel our age at St. Charles' new skate park, bare our guilty soul to the Recording Industry Association of America and pay our last respects to another victim of asbestos
