Lots to read today. Take the day off and catch up!

Please note that there is tons and tons for you to catch up on today. The first item below is this week's submission to the Stillwater Gazette, which should alienate quite a few people. After all, since life in America totally sucks ass, naturally people will fire off angry letters to the editor regarding a fucking column about Target vs. Walmart.

By the way, I received my first ever piece of "hate mail," and ironically it regarded my recent column about the Post Office. A "gentleman" wrote to ask if I was abused by a mailman as a child, and I replied that I wasn't abused by one, but I was raised by one.

I learned in the "Peanuts" comic strip that a gentle answer turneth away wrath. This guy wrote a super-nasty e-mail to my editor in which he didn't just criticize my column, but ridiculed my physical appearance. I sent a nice reply. He wrote an even nastier reply. I sent an even nicer response. He eventually revised his letter to the editor to remove the references to my appearance and apologized for writing in anger. I replied "Go fuck yourself, dickweed. If I ever see you on the streets of Stillwater, I'll fucking rip your heart out and make you eat it before you die."

No, actually I said "No problem" and that was the end of it.

Also, note that yesterday was a banner day for writing. Back by popular demand, Who's News, which this week features a portrait of Princess Diana bearing a Nazi emblem and references to Paris Hilton pooping in Gucci loafers. Something for the whole family, that's my motto.

Read away, you crazy bastards. Tonight my pal Jules and I are once again embarking on a wild and crazy adventure, which I'll write about tomorrow.

STILLWATER GAZETTE
The operative question used to be “Maryann or Ginger?” (Correct answer: Lovey) As society has grown increasingly materialistic, the question is now “Walmart or Target?” My answer is Target, hands down. I love Target. I love Target because you can say “I love Target” without being deemed a pariah. You can only say “I love Walmart” in the context of a self esteem building exercise: “I love Walmart because at least I’m not the kind of person who loves Walmart.”

Walmart is the Mystic Lake of shopping. Casino designers intentionally create environments that cause patrons to lose all sense of direction and time. Walmart does the same, and just when you’re ready to give up hope on ever finding an exit they dangle a blue smock in front of you with the promise that if you work hard, someday they might show you the door.

What they don’t tell you is that by that time, you’re so brainwashed that rather than flee for your life, you instead greet new victims with a smile and offer them carts and thus the cycle continues. Walmart is a giant Venus fly trap feeding on despondency.

Walmart uses real employees in their ads, which isn’t is a good idea. When they first started, it wasn’t so bad: Tammy, Sales Associate. Then it became Ben, son of Electronics manager, Jim. Two degrees of separation. Now they go so far down the food chain in order to find someone even vaguely photogenic it’s embarrassing: Stacy, daughter of Helen, former elementary school classmate of Joe, ex-husband of Jan, restraining holder against Al, who while seeking a public restroom accidentally stumbled upon Alice, hunchbacked forklift operator.

Keep that warehouse door shut, people.

Target is another story, however. It’s brightly lit. They have attractive, hip employees. Sometimes I don khakis and a red shirt and hang out in the Target break room on my day off. If Walmart is the casino of shopping, then Target is the trendy nightclub without the velvet rope. Everyone is cool at Target, even angry, bald nothings like yours truly. I often get so caught up in the experience that a quick trip for kitty litter ends up as a $400 bender on my Target Visa card. I’m never even sure how it happened; I just come out of a blackout with an apartment full of Michael Graves’ designs and a receipt so lengthy that if shredded and thrown from a rooftop it would serve in lieu of a ticker tape parade.

Here’s a reality show idea: Send shoppers into Target for one item. Give a million dollars to anyone who can pull it off. The prize would never, ever be awarded.

If I can be said to have a single complaint about Target, it’s that they push gift receipts like methamphetamine. Recently I bought dishwashing liquid, envelopes, and batteries and they offered me a gift receipt. I’m not planning a surprise party for MacGyver, so no gift receipt necessary, thank you.

Super Target is a bit much, though. If traditional Target stores have three of everything then Super Target has ten of everything. My wife and I shopped for an apple corer at Super Target recently but became overwhelmed by the selection and the prices; the most expensive model was eight dollars. What a great barometer for the health of a society; the number of eight dollar apple-corers sold. George Bush’s next State of the Union address should consist of him simply reading current eight-dollar apple corer statistics. “Poll numbers say life in America sucks, but y’all bought 20 million eight-dollar apple corers last year. What do you people want, anyway?”

America’s biggest problem is apparently asymmetrical apple slices. No wonder the rest of the world hates us.

As illustrated in November 2004, America is divided along red and blue lines. It’s no coincidence that Target’s logo is red and Walmart’s is blue. The battle lines have been drawn; khakis on one side, smocks on the other. Mercifully the conflict has thus far been limited to verbal slings and arrows. I hope and pray it doesn’t erupt into all-out war, given that my side’s uniform sports a big, red target.