Laughing at the evil: Posted for your amusement, this disclaimer from the bottom of a bit of spam that somehow managed to evade my excellent filtering software. Can you guess how? (Extra points in Hell for these people for the URL of the so-called unsub link: “doesiteverend.com.”)

“Don’t want to receive our emails anymore? It’s very easy to oppt out. And yes, doing so really will allow you to opppt out. We aren’t just saying that so that we can put on the facade that we’re legitimate advertsers, whilst laughing away, blatantly ignoring remvve requests. If you remove your name from our list, you definitely will be remm,oved. Your name will be marked as r,emoved in our email database, and you won’t receive mail again. We don’t really know how more clearly we can explain this. Just take our word for it. Otherwise, continue toreceive these emails. Now is your chance to opp,t out. Do so by clicking this “UNSUBCRIBE” link. P.S. – It really works.”

I normally don’t care for Flash movies (especially long ones), but NARAL’s is oddly charming, not to mention politically vital. Go watch, go sign, don’t make me mailbomb you over this…

Public support my ass: Looks like the Bush junta has resorted to astroturfing (that is, putting up a faux-grassroots letter-writing campaign) to convince the public that there’s widespread support for this administration. Microsoft nearly got crucified for this kind of thing; I better see some mainstream editorial outrage tomorrow morning or the villagers and I will be advancing on the castle with torches and truncheons. (I say these things and then I wonder why I keep getting stopped by airport security…)

This list of moon-related words amuses me, not because it’s particularly earthshaking or whatever but because it simply exists — someone bothered to write it and put it up, and that’s what they did with part of their day. As 2003 settles into a grit and gracelessness that scares me, one must take whimsy where one’s fortunate enough to find it. (Translation: Yes, I’m writing the Eldred v Ashcroft piece this weekend and find myself in a condition that if you kind of squint and tilt your head could well be taken for despair. Not normal, not natural, not good, but right this minute you couldn’t shake me out of it if you showed me certified video footage of Sonny Bono burning in Hell. And I wish someone would, as it would give weight to the moral-arc-of-the-universe thing Arminda’s been quoting to cheer me up.)

How on earth did I miss this wonderful article on the evils of SUVs? Absolutely required reading for supporters of the 2003 Speed City Velocitors. (Those who know what I’m talking about should get in touch with me ASAP, as this year’s roster is due very soon. Besides, there’s trouble in the Players’ Association. Damn that toaster; it has always been a rabble-rouser…)

Chris Locke’s got a new column rolling over at Corante — not quite as wild-eyed (yet) as the Rageboy epistles, but definitely much imbued with the Chrisness of it all. (Yes, it is a merry Chrisness. Now please shut up.) Every time I get too disgusted with the condition of Amemican journalism — and I am, oh I am — I remember that Chris is still in here slugging away too, and I’m glad that his brand of madness is ever so catching.