Here We Go Again, And Again, And Again

 

JUST WHEN I THINK THINGS CAN’T GET ANY STRANGER…

I have taken our local newspaper to task (several times) for spelling, grammar, and just plain crazy mistakes, but now they have really screwed the pooch.

Last Friday’s edition of the “Tribune-Star,’ the only newspaper in America published by and for illiterates, ran a story about a fund-raising event for a worthwhile charity. The idea was to sell T- Shirts at a couple of local high school football games. They were hoping to raise money to combat pediatric cancer as well as to raise public awareness.

Selling the shirts seemed to be a good idea. Unfortunately, the Tribune-Star, still trying to decide if anyone should actually proofread the paper before sending it out to the world, took that local story and guaranteed that it would go viral.

On Page A – 4 they ran the story, but no one bothered to check the Headline.

I now present an electronic clipping from last Friday’s Tribune-Star newspaper. Uh oh, Oops, and Dang it.

The jokes began to fly thick and fast on the Internet. I won’t repeat them here. I don’t need to. Within five seconds of reading the above headline you had them all sitting on the tip of your tongue.

I am dying to find out how the fundraising effort went. I can just imagine the scene when you drop this kind of snafu in front of a crowd at a high school football game. Thousands of high school age boys are not going to let this go without a wisecrack or two. I couldn’t and I’m a lot older.

What causes such recurring foul-ups at our local fishwrap newspaper? I know that mistakes are inevitable, but –  really now! Doesn’t anyone look at the copy before pushing the start button on the presses? I guess not.

The faultline runs through several levels I fear. The person who wrote the initial story obviously thinks that Spell-Check is God. Either that or they are trying to see what they can slip past every other pair of eyes at the newspaper.

Somewhere along the line there must be someone who functions as a Proofreader. Given the long history of typos and other gaffes at the Tribune-Star I would think that somebody – anybody – would at least try to purge these errors.

Perhaps the newspaper should be adopted by the local high school newspapers as a class project. Have those kids act as real Editors and take a fine-toothed linguistic comb through the Tribune-Star to make it into something other than a laughing stock.

Do that, or simply admit that their Proofreader is actually Stevie Wonder.

“No Shirt, No Shoes, No Plastic – No Service.”

 

FOLLOWING UP ON THAT BLOGPOST OF A COUPLE OF DAYS AGO…

I heard an interesting bit of semi-news, semi-advertising this morning. On the morning news it was awkwardly disguised as a Business Report.

The heavily caffeinated executives in Seattle have announced that Starbucks (St. Arbucks to you and me) is going to convert one of its stores in the Great Northwest into a “Cashless Store.” What they mean by that is that all transactions will be handled by credits and debits – no green pieces of paper will change hands –unless they are advertisements or Hold Up Notes.

When I was growing up a “Cashless Store” was one that was going out of business.

I Need A New Shirt

THE RAVAGES OF TIME HAVE TAKEN THEIR TOLL ON MY WARDROBE. At least on the part I care the most about – my Hawaiian shirts. The rest of my clothes are there solely to avoid public prosecution, frostbite, and scaring animals and the rest of the population. I do have jeans that have holes in them and shoes that have outlasted their laces, but I cannot allow my Hawaiian shirts to paint me with a colorful deterioration.

For Everything There Is A Season

I HAVE OFFICIALY RETIRED MY SWEATSHIRTS UNTIL FALL. My colorful array of Pseudo-Hawaiian shirts is taking the field. I call my shirts “Pseudo-Hawaiian” because they’ve never been any closer to Hawaii than the package of Hawaiian Dinner Rolls that shared the shopping cart at Wal-Mart.

With Six You Get Shotgun

THIS IS GONNA UPSET SOME PEOPLE. You’ll get over it.

About ten days ago there was a one-man mini crime wave here in Terre Haute (That’s French for, “No Soup For You!). This escapade lasted about twelve very strange hours and I have no intention of mentioning the name of the Lone Derangeder in all this. Let him remain that way.

The Shirts

I ADMIT IT. I’m not the most stylish guy on earth. I dress simply – not that I’m Amish or anything like that. In winter I wear turtlenecks and sweaters and in summer I wear Hawaiian shirts. And I’m cheap.