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From the Publisher

From the comedian-in-chief.

Political Data

It would seem that the inevitable is even more inevitable now. Mitt Romney has all but wrapped up the GOP nomination for the presidency, thanks to a crap ton of super PAC money and underwhelming endorsements from people who really wish someone else worth endorsing would have run for president in the first place. For many Republicans, Romney may be a turd of a candidate, but he’s their turd. A very white turd. I, for one, am glad Romney will be the nominee. Sure, he’s neither likable nor interesting. Nevertheless, he is quite entertaining, in a quirky, offbeat, quasi-funny sort of way. Basically, Romney is the Napoleon Dynamite of the GOP, only instead of Pedro, he wants you to vote for him. And just like Napoleon Dynamite, Romney is a bit eccentric, especially for a rich guy running for president and trying to convince voters he’s just like them. Granted, …

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C What We Did?

It truly is hard to believe this is the 100th issue of Red Shtick Magazine. This is such a big deal for a bunch of smartass upstarts like us, we’re commemorating it with a nonsmartass cover. No lampoon. No joke. Just the previous 99 covers in the background with the number 100 spelled out in three elements that best represent Baton Rouge: the State Capitol (politics), a king cake (culture/religion), and a football (sports/religion). Now before all you math whizzes out there starting wondering how a monthly publication could get to 100 issues when last month was our eighth anniversary issue, the answer is very simple: We started as a biweekly publication. However, it took only six biweekly issues to say “f””k that” and switch to monthly. So, yeah. This is kind of a big deal for us. Mainly because, from the get-go, we’ve had more than our fair share …

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Bused or Bust?

Let me start by saying that if you don’t get this month’s cover because you don’t know who Sarah McLachlan is and/or have never seen her famously depressing ASPCA commercial, I envy you, but not because I don’t like her music. (Of course, even if I didn’t like her music, I still wouldn’t say so. I wouldn’t want to piss off my lesbian friends.) No, I envy you because you’re still capable of hearing the song “Angel” without disturbing images of abused and neglected cats and dogs coming to mind. Seriously, for millions of people like me, that song is forever inextricably linked to shivering, emaciated puppies. That commercial is by far the most depressing thing ever aired on American TV, even more so than all the Waltons reunion movies put together. Watching that entire commercial is enough to make Zig Ziglar tap a keg of Zoloft. It’s almost as …

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Is It in You? No? Good. Keep It That Way.

I initially thought about using this month’s column to suggest various personalized New Year’s resolutions to different people. For instance, perhaps Mike Ditka should resolve to enunciate the last two syllables of his sentences. It’s just a suggestion. However, after noticing a disturbing trend, I’ve decided to suggest just one resolution for everyone: Stop letting strange people inject strange stuff into your body! No, I’m not talking about drunk college girls letting frat boys inject just the tip, although that might be a good idea. I’m actually referring to a couple of recent stories involving silicone injections performed by highly unlicensed professional fake doctors. The first story involves Oneal Ron Morris, a transgendered woman who allegedly preyed on the transgender community by posing as a doctor. According to the Sun Sentinel, Morris injected as many as 30 people with all sorts of things, including cement, Super Glue, mineral oil, and …

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