Sunday was a good day to be a fat man with a mustache in Colorado Springs. Not that every day isn’t a good day to be a fat man with a mustache in the Springs, but May 1 held particular promise for mustachioed practitioners of the cellulitic arts. Because the…
Consumer advocate Tom Martino’s been a busy boy. Since the March 3 publication of “Target: Tom,” a column about former fan Tony Marquette’s unhappiness with a home-improvement business he found on the for-profit Troubleshooter Network, Martino testified in a trial that pits a company for which he’s a paid spokesman…
Growing up in West Virginia, Anna Mead dreamed of being an Olympic swimmer. It wasn’t just a young girl’s fantasy, either. When she swam in meets — her specialty was the breaststroke — competitive coaches would approach her parents and ask about her plans. But at the age of thirteen,…
Pray As You Go Blessed are the mock: Kenny Be’s “Crusadertainment for Men,” the Worst-Case Scenario in the April 28 issue, was his best cartoon yet. Here’s what I pray: that Kenny never stops poking fun at those who so richly deserve it, like Fred Phelps and James Dobson. Rachel…
This luncheon is a celebration, a brief respite in the war against evil. The troops gathered around the white tablecloths are all here to pick up their share of more than $8 million being dished out to keep schools and playgrounds peaceful. A 57-year-old former nun delivers the keynote speech…
The anti-bullying industry has attracted everyone from serious scholars to scam artists to pop stars, including the old hippie who was a smash hit at Jefferson County’s Patterson Elementary in August 2003. Peter Yarrow, the Peter part of ’60s folksters Peter, Paul and Mary, headlined an anti-bullying program at Patterson,…
Experts say the condition most often occurs between the ages of 23 and 27, but you may experience a delayed affliction into your early thirties. Symptoms can include career indecision, resumé fatigue, student-loan remorse, spare-bedroom recidivism, chronic underemployment, a disintegrating social network and reoccurring delusions of graduate school. You may…
What does a pol do to cap off the week when Time magazine names him one of the top five mayors in the country? If you’re Denver mayor John Hickenlooper, you send an e-mail to all city employees detailing recent accomplishments and noting that you are not “seeking the office…
After waking up on the floor of a weight room in a CU-Boulder fraternity house last week, covered in permanent marker and with a black eye, two broken ribs and a sore asshole, What’s So Funny was understandably confused. The portion of Funny’s memory that might be able to account…
The majority of media types these days fall into three categories: liberal, conservative, and those who aspire to genuine objectivity (as opposed to the sort of faux objectivity that certain members of the press on both ends of the ideological continuum hide behind). Such differences manifest themselves clearly in the…
Have you noticed? They don’t have a last name between them. George, Karl, Doug and Moe sound like four hackers who take turns hitting it in the drink at Park Hill. But down at the Pepsi Center — you know, that big red thing where, once upon a time, a…
Hummus Among Us Hookah hooked: I read Jason Sheehan’s “So Far, So Good,” in the April 21 issue, and was befuddled. This corner is quite familiar to me, yet I’d never seen Hookah Cafe. At any rate, I stopped by that night and pigged out. Lamb kebab, kafta, shish tawouk,…
There it was, the power right — blam! — like a goddamned torpedo launched from Tony’s shoulder, through his elbow and out his glove. The blow hit the champion’s brow, which immediately parted like the Red Sea, streaming blood into his left eye. No one saw it coming, especially not…
A Diamond Cabaret stripper with a new set of breasts found herself addicted to Percocet, a painkiller her doctor would no longer prescribe. That’s when a fellow dancer told her about Dr. Phillip Mallory and his prescriptions-for-porno deal. The two strippers called Mallory, who cruised over to the Diamond and…
Spam king Scott Richter has never been accused of thinking small. Even his company’s bankruptcy promises to be big, big, big — real big. Last month, the wacky saga of Richter’s e-mail marketing company, OptInRealBig, entered a new chapter: Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection. Although the Westminster-based company has little actual…
The matter is settled: Referendum 1A will pass, and a new jail will grace Civic Center, Denver’s cultural heart. The children will lead the way — and that’s how they laid out their town, Box City, this past weekend. When Denver city planners left work on April 15, they left…
So it would appear, dear readers, that you owe What’s So Funny an apology. That’s right, you owe us an apology, and not the other way around, like that time when we got all fired up from watching Deadwood and let loose with a rambling string of “cocksuckers” long enough…
Denver Post editor Greg Moore dropped a couple of noteworthy digits — $800,000 and 5 percent — on staffers recently. The first was the amount he had been asked to slash from the paper’s budget by corporate parent MediaNews Group. The second was the portion of editorial space (commonly referred…
A strong weekend storm has just dumped a foot of wet spring snow on Denver — perfect weather for the New Siberians. By 8 a.m., e-mails are whipping back and forth between the City and County Building and the Wellington E. Webb Municipal Office Building, across the street. “It turns…
Watt’s New? Interior monologue: As a 27-year, now-retired employee of the Department of the Interior, I cannot thank you enough for Alan Prendergast’s “Grazin’ Hell,” in the April 7 issue. I worked under more than a few Secretaries of Interior, and Gale Norton is absolutely the worst. She took over…
Reverend Benjamin L. Reynolds stands at the pulpit in a rhubarb-colored dress shirt, shaking his narrow hips from side to side, ready to get down and dirty. “In the black church,” he says, eyes wide, “we sit with the saved and the unsaved. We use our hips and our buttocks…
Sarah Eggerichs flexes her biceps like a sailor. “Ladies, I want you to reach over and squeeze your husband’s muscle,” she says to scores of women in the audience at the First Church of the Nazarene. Without word or pause, they reach over and squeeze the arms of the men…
