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We drag the river for stuff you didn't know you were missing.

Jimmy the Fetus

Hey, kids, Jimmy the Fetus here, your guide to moral values in the Midwest, helping everyone see that what we learned in Sunday school really matters.

Dear Jimmy:

My biology teacher says there's no way a fetus writes a newspaper column. What's up with that?

Roeland Park

Dear Sean:

Keep this in mind, my young friend -- your biology teacher thinks that people came from monkeys. Next time he spouts off, just read him this quote from the good book: "He whose testicles are crushed or whose male member is cut off shall not enter the assembly of the Lord." And that's exactly what kind of shape Mr. Science is going to be in after the Kansas State Board of Education gets done with him next month. You see, if there's one thing this mighty Midwestern province knows how to do, it's mess with intellectuals of the liberal persuasion. Now, I may be morphing like mad through my fish-reptilian phase, but just because evolution is all up in my grill at the moment doesn't mean that I want some grad-school dropout makin' 27 G's a year tellin' me I got chimpanzee spunk runnin' around inside my plumbing, you know? Sheesh. Now I gotta go spend some of that fine cash the Pitch is payin' for my services, so don't bother me anymore with your skeptical questions about how I make a livin'.

Got a moral quandary? e-mail Jimmy at

The Sorrow and the Pita

The other day we stopped into the Jerusalem Bakery across from the coin-op laundry on Westport Road to get our usual -- a falafel sandwich and a side order of gory news you won't see anywhere else in Kansas City.

But inside the café, it was too quiet. We looked up and saw that the TV that always blared Al-Jazeera and other international news channels via satellite had been plucked off its mount, leaving only a dangling cord. Since we'd just seen the documentary Control Room, which shows that Al-Jazeera actually kicks ass journalistically and is not really "the mouthpiece of Osama," we were hoping to catch one of the news agency's broadcasts at the bakery.

We asked the young guy behind the counter why the TV was gone.

"Oh, some customer complained. She didn't like it," he said.

We scarfed down our sandwich and left.

Later we called and talked to owner Fred Azzeh, who had once told the Pitch he tuned the restaurant's television to channels from Jordan, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, Israel, Pakistan and India so his customers would have a place to watch international news. Now he says the news footage of injured Iraqis is too graphic for diners.

"While people are eating, it's not nice to show bloody things," Azzeh says.

Funny -- it's turning on CNN lately that makes us want to lose our lunch.

Tip Drill

Tippers in Kansas City are more generous than most. Either that, or the service industry in town hasn't yet become familiar with the Shitty Tipper Database on The database, which promises some measure of revenge against pompous jackasses who don't understand the brutality of working for tips (or karma, for that matter), has only two Kansas City entries. Cheryl Romirez and Jack M. Lana: way to make it onto the STD!

The database lists the shitty tipper's name, the restaurant where the offense took place, the number of people in the party, the total bill, and the tip amount in currency and as a percentage. You also can read the details of the shitty-tip recipient's evening. Romirez apparently offended at the Ponderosa restaurant; the database doesn't provide a more specific location. There were 11 people in her party, and the tip was $6 on a $112 tab. The details: "There was no reason for them not to have tipped me better. I prebused everything and they seemed content. Apparently not."

Lana allegedly tipped a whopping zero dollars and zero cents on $79.58 at the Longhorn Steakhouse. (On the database, a tip of less than 1 percent earns the diner a "you cheap fuck" designation.) "These people were all super white trash. They even brought their smelly near dead grandma with them," read the details.

To be fair, we wanted to hear from these cheapskates, but a Pitch search of the phone book yielded neither name. Perhaps both Lana and Romirez were out-of-towners, unfamiliar with Midwestern hospitality. Maybe each was poisoned, Ukraine-candidate-style, after later nontipping encounters with more venomous waitstaff. Either way, when people find themselves on the STD, the Web site does allow them to issue an apology.

Net Prophet
Notes from KC's blogosphere.

Our customers apparently all smoked something bad over the weekend, and are now taking it out on my office, as they started calling here at 8 a.m. and have continued to call throughout the day. Makes me question whether they're using their brains, or what. But you know what? You can take your angry ass out back and stuff it, folks, because we didn't do anything, m-kay? The most current asshole signed his paperwork, accepted his loan terms, and then two months later has suddenly discovered that he has a variable rate loan rather then a fixed rate. Fuckwad, you have to read the loan papers prior to signing them. I know they're long, and involved, and have lots and lots of pages to them. But at least read the important things, like how much your payments are going to be each month, and what the goddammed rate is going to be! You also might want to scan and make sure that your name is spelled correctly, and the proper address is on there, and all that. Loan processors are human. Sometimes, they make mistakes. Pay attention, or you're the one that can get fucked in the end.
From "Frighteningly Uncommon Sense," the online diary of Faith Smith.

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