Kansas City News Blog

In a disturbingly specific instance of anatomical and fiduciary braggadocio, rapper Mase said "I'm young, black and famous / with money hangin' out the anus" in the song "Can't Nobody Hold Me Down." Weird, but truly aspirational for a man like me, who is barely a hundredaire. I, too, would like to have money "hangin' out the anus." Meanwhile, my favorite joke about money is going into a restaurant, snapping a twenty-dollar bill at the hostess, and saying, "Me and my friend Abraham Lincoln were hoping to get a table." HAHAHAHA! And then not giving away the money. It's funny because it's true! The reason I bring it up is because, after the jump, there's some stuff about money, gasoline and marijuana presented as a BULLETED LIST OF ITEMS, you guys, only without the bullets. And I was hoping to persuade you to click through with the help of my friend, Abraham Lincoln. Click here or here:



Fluffy pieces: Bank investors responded to a lack of boners and Christmas presents in Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner's new banking bail-out plan by selling out their positions in banks yesterday, HAHA. The Dow Jones Industrial Average, which is the Bristol Stool Scale of the stock market, dropped below the psychologically important 8,000 point mark -- the equivalent of Type 6 on the Bristol scale, "Fluffy pieces with ragged edges, a mushy stool." What the market was looking for was a straight-up taxpayer giveaway sweepstakes payout like the one that Sinterklaas the chubby holiday elf shoved into his fat sack of presents and dropped down bank investors' jewel-encrusted chimneys last Christmas. I guess. Keep your gold-plated fucking hands off my money, Chase Manhattan Rothschild MacArthur Davison Morgan Rockefeller Medici; that is a famous banker, you guys, here is what he looks like:



The Channel 9 infographic probably said "Running on Empty," haha, GET IT? The Crescent Oil Company of Independence, Kansas is seeking bankruptcy protection, like the weak sister of fuel supply-chain solutions you probably always suspected it was ever since the time it showed up at the swimming pool, stayed in the shallow end and refused to take off its T-shirt. As a result of its total debtor puss-out, many area gas stations, including the new, slightly less-scary Grand Slam, have been running out of gas and have been unable to accept credit cards. Because the Crescent Oil Company also does credit card processing or something? The company blames two years of volatile gasoline prices for its downturn, which sounds like they forgot the #1 rule of dealing in commodities, which is BUY HIGH, SELL LOW, no doy. The second rule of dealing in commodities is to sell out your position in hog bellies before they're delivered, because hog bellies, GROSS. That rule can really get you into trouble if you're not careful.

Fuckin' buzz-kill tumors: Wow, who knew your nuts had receptors for tetrahydrocannabinol? Gordon Parks' Shaft's The Man's personal physician just found those receptors with, apparently, both lilly-white hands, a flashlight and some diagnostic imaging apparatus, and has a warning for pot smokers with testicles: Watch out for your testicles, punk. Young men who begin using marijuana as adolescents, or who smoke pot once a week are twice as likely to develop testicular cancer as non-users. Other risk factors for nut tumors: Family history (your dad smoked pot), injuries to the testicles (You're the star of Ernest P. Worrell movies), or suffering from undescended testicles in childhood (you ran around in short pants and a hat with ribbon streamers, holding a giant lollypop). Assuming researchers follow through with the broader studies required to draw scary conclusions, anti-drug hard-liners will have a new "Saving America's Testicles" platform to combat demon cancer-grass.