Great Moments in Photo Captions

Gen. Laurent Nkunda, the leader of a group of rebels, with his pet goat Betty in the mountains of Congo.

-Thee New York Times, 12/19/08
















Photo by Benedicte Kurzen/VII Mentor

Diamond David Lee Roth vs. King Carl Brutananadilewski

Presenting SOUNDBOARD BATTLE ROYALE!

In this corner, current/former/current Van Halen front "man" DIAMOND DAVID LEE ROTH:















And in this corner, South Jersey's own CARL BRUTANANADILEWSKI:














SOUNDBOARD BATTLE BEGIN!!!!

The Laser Pants 2008 Holiday Gift Guide

Greetings and welcome to the first annual Laser Pants 2008 Holiday Gift Guide. If you're looking for a gift that says "I actually give a crap and want to show it through materialism!" we are here to help. All are available via the Internetz.

The Thing
This quarterly subscription production features original objects and creations by the original artists. It arrives in a plain brown box, the size of which varies dramatically (thanks Meg!). Learn more from bits on Marketplace and in Thee New York Times.










Idiots' Books
Another subscription (single books are available too), these are very limited run illustrated books about all sorts of topics, made by the Chestertown, Marlyand team of Matthew Swanson and Robbi Behr (thanks Jim and Jill!). Though at first blush these may appear to be wholesome, well-done, smart children's books, they are most refreshingly not. They're better.







Charcoal print of a cowboy hat-wearing, shirtless,
glistening, 70's-era Burt Reynolds
From the Burt Reynolds & Friends Museum in Jupiter, Florida (thanks for discovering this but not making us have one in the house, Eric!)



















Dogs of the Soviet Space Program Commemorative Matches
From the Museum of Jurassic Technology in Los Angeles, California.
















I [Heart] BMore Hoodie
Designed by Nolen Strals; order 'em through Atomic Books. Wear proudly. Stay warm and stay in school. (Photo is of the T-shirt.)















Make Your Own Awesome-As-Hell Hoodie
I got this one for Mink through LogoSportswear.com and it is beyond spectacular, whether iz Caturday or any other day.




















Got other suggestions? Let me know, I may append.

HistoricaLOLcat

From I Can Has Cheezburger:

This captioned cat picture postcard was found by Tracy Angulo in a Seattle antique store. Tracy tells us that the photograph is from 1905, which would make this officially the oldest cat picture with a caption, AKA lolcat, that we’ve seen.

The differences are clear. Proper grammar and a more formal tone was in vogue back then. But the similarities to modern-day kitten struggles and lolcats are amazing. ALL CAPS is still cool, but most importantly, she also no can has cheezburger. More than a hundred years later, all that’s changed is the spelling.

Gladwell on Gladwell

“I have done well as a parasite, but I’m still a parasite.”

"I'm a parasite. I'm a psychological parasite."

What Happens In Vegas

Grizzled raptor Joe Walsh shreds while Meg Guroff churns out the bass line at the Las Vegas House of Blues.

That is the one of the strangest sentences I have ever written.

Read about it here.


Photo by Brent Humphreys

Viva Lithuanian Hall

Back for an unprecedented 15th year, it's the incomparable, improbable, and inexplicable Night of 100 Elvises, held (naturally) on two nights: Friday, December 5 and Saturday, December 6.

As in prior years, there will be an ice sculpture of Elvis with his guitar; carved by Olympic Gold Medalist, Vivat Hong Pong. The "Honeymoon in Vegas" Jumpsuit, the Searchlight, Showgirls and Oyster Shuckers to the Stars are standard features of this event. Once again, the fabulous wheels of The Karb Kings will be in attendance on both nights.

Buy tickets now. Do it. Your life will never be the same.

Talking About Scrivning

For some reason, my under-qualified self will be unleashing some "Real Talk" about freelancing and writing this Saturday, at the 17th Annual Baltimore Writers' Conference. It's at Towson University, which I think is one of the few area colleges at which I did not commit a misdemeanor in my reckless and trainwreck youth.

Best part: Larry Doyle is delivering a keynote. Not best part: It's at 9 am, and the only time 9 am is funny is if you've been up for the previous 24 hours.

I'm unleashing my own sleepy style at 10:15 on a panel with the smart and go-getting Cathy Alter (who has actually written TWO books) entitled "Taking the Freelance Plunge: How to Create the Network, Write the Pieces, and Manage the Business."

I can do the middle one pretty OK; the others . . . meh.

Six Degrees of Snake Plissken

One of the jurors (#4) in the corruption trial of Alaska's second most famous politician, Senator Ted Stevens, said her father had died and got herself excused from duty. Except by saying "father had died" when she had meant "I am going to the Breeders' Cup in California to watch the ponies."

She apologized for lying, and then started a long rambling story about horses, which included references to horse breeding, the Breeders' Cup, drugs, President Ford's son Steven and her condo in Florida being bugged.

Wait . . . President Gerald Ford's son Steven Ford? The one who was in Escape From New York as Secret Service #2? That is meta as HELL.

Power Troika

From The Big Money

Drop-Top Lyndon

NPS photo, via the LA Times

Throw The Switch

Waiting for this bloody presidential election to just be the fuck over is driving many people crazy.

It's like waiting for jolly old St. Nicholas on Christmas Eve . . . only if, in addition to Santa, there was also a decent probability that Enver Hoxha would plummet down the chimney instead, and get all the kids to work building one-man concrete bunkers, much like the 700,000 he ordered constructed during his party time fun reign in Awesome Albania ("The World's First Atheistic State!")

Always Bring Your Gun

The L.A. Times just finished up its crackerjack seven-part series about the LAPD's Gangster Squad (read about the series' genesis here). The covert group of cops was formed in immediate post-WW II L.A. to "keep East Coast Mafia out of L.A," by any means necessary. The photo (left) is from 1947, and shows crime boss Benjamin "Bugsy" Siegel, permanently relaxing on the couch of his "swank Beverly Hills home."

Haven't had time to read the whole thing yet, but first examinations are promising. There are also a good amount of video interviews and historic photos, along with a massive amount of text and a sweet organizational/conspiracy chart showing who was allied with (or scamming) whom. Hooray noir nerds.

From the series' first installment:

There had been three more mob rub-outs around L.A. since then, including the shotgunning of two Chicago men outside a Hollywood apartment. That one generated a "Gangsters in Gambling War" headline that was a prime reason Police Chief C.B. Horrall wanted those 18 cops to see what a Thompson submachine gun looked like.

"You'll be working with these," Burns told them.

The deal was: If they signed on, they'd continue to belisted on the rosters of their old stations. They'd have no office, only two unmarked cars. They'd almost never make arrests. They'd simply gather "intelligence" and be available for other chores. In effect, they would not exist.

Burns gave them a week to ponder advice from an old lieutenant at the 77th, who said an assignment like that could get you in good with the chief. "Or you could end up down in San Pedro, walking a beat in a fog."

After the week, only seven came back, making a squad of eight, counting Burns.

"We did a lot of things that we'd get indicted for today," said Sgt. Jack O'Mara.

RIP RRM

Dolemite walks the Earth no more. Rudy Ray Moore--actor, singer, rapper, comedian, sex philosophy narrator--passed away from complications associated with diabetes. He was 81. He is survived by a daughter and his 98-year-old mother.

Read the LA Times obit about the man who killed Monday, whooped Tuesday and put Wednesday in the hospital, then called up Thursday to tell Friday not to bury Saturday on Sunday.

The way Moore told it, his introduction to Dolemite came from an old wino named Rico, who frequented a record shop Moore managed in Los Angeles. Rico told foul-mouthed stories about Dolemite, a tough-talking, super-bad brother, whose exploits had customers at the record shop falling down with laughter.

Other fans remember him . . .

There are a million memories of him over the years:

-discussing our mutual admiration of Bela Lugosi

-his playful disdain for my yearly birthday wishes

-the occasional phone call at the most ungodly late / early hours with Rudy jokingly trying to disguise his voice followed by his audible disappointment when I wasn’t fooled

-my joy of being the butt of his jokes at live performances

-the time I told him an original joke and made him break out in laughter

-when he entered my then apartment over a decade ago, saw my cat, immediately said “here kitty kitty” in his boisterous voice which caused the cat to run in fear

Win Win

Apparently, when you finish a book, it's Glorious Kentucky Elixir Two-Fer Day.

Note cheesy (yet still delicious) Rock the Vote Maker's Mark limited-edition America Loves Wax And Bourbon bottle.

Thanks to Mink, she is teh best.

The End

I finished the goddamned thing today (there's one little piece left but it'll take no time to wrap up and I can't do it yet anyway cause I don't have the map). But anyway, it's done. It will be out Spring next year. It is . . . generally competent and sporadically amusing.

Oh hell, I don't know, ask me in three months what I think about it, when I'm doing proofs.

Murdoch Outbid By Bat Boy LLC!

Weekly World News acquired by NY investor group
New York Post | Business Wire

Bat Boy LLC, a newly formed company, has acquired the Weekly World News from struggling American Media Inc. "The Weekly World News is a powerful brand in publishing, entertainment and online," says Weekly World News CEO Neil McGinness. "We see tremendous potential for growing the brand and significantly expanding the business."

-from Poynter

Wayne's World

Thee New York Times gets down with Wayne Coyne in his Oklahoma City compound. Oklahoma City = the new Red Hook? No, stop.

Highlight:

Neighbors seem largely oblivious to the fact that a rock star lives down the street, even after all these years. “It’s not like living next door to Cher,” Mr. Coyne said.

But fans do sometimes search the place out.

One Sunday evening not long ago, he said, “I was taking out the trash, and I saw this suspiciously slow-moving car.” In this neighborhood, it was not unreasonable for him to wonder if he was about to be robbed, or worse.

Instead someone yelled out the window, “Wayne, you rock!”

Gomorrah: The Movie

The amazing and horrifying book Gomorrah, about the Camorrah crime culture in Naples, is now a film of apparently equally devastating impact.

This Guardian review explains why.




(Thanks to my Man in Manhattan for the tip, I totally missed this movie's existence.)

AIG's Stately Pleasure Castillo

Also from the Washington Post:

After Bailout, AIG Execs Relaxed
Less than a week after an $85B bailout, insurance giant holds luxury retreat with a tab of $440,000.

(pictured, the scene of the $440K executive knob-polishing, the St. Regis Monarch Beach)

Stay Classy, Florida

From the Washington Post's Dana Milbank:

Worse, Palin's routine attacks on the media have begun to spill into ugliness. In Clearwater, arriving reporters were greeted with shouts and taunts by the crowd of about 3,000. Palin then went on to blame Katie Couric's questions for her "less-than-successful interview with kinda mainstream media." At that, Palin supporters turned on reporters in the press area, waving thunder sticks and shouting abuse. Others hurled obscenities at a camera crew. One Palin supporter shouted a racial epithet at an African American sound man for a network and told him, "Sit down, boy."

Simmons on Ramirez

On ESPN.com, Bill Simmons writes a very long piece--more of a bro-mage, really--on baseball-hitting idiot savant Manny Ramirez, and (perhaps unwittingly) uses enough footnotes (39) to make it almost a tribute to the late David Foster Wallace (the novelist who, even though he favored tennis a bit much for my liking, was also one of the best non-fiction writers around, and who gave it up to write fiction; here's his brilliant cruise ship piece from Harper's in 1996).



Back to "The Only Human": Here are some bits from another good piece, albeit a more clinical one courtesy of Thee New Yorker, about Mr. Manny.

Simmons' piece is basically a long thought to himself, the kind you have when you are driving from Omaha to Rapid City. It's not his best stuff, and there's a lot that's been covered before, but it's pretty amusing:

Sadly, I missed David Ortiz pulling out an AmEx card in Daniel's limo, waving it with his signature gap-toothed smile and announcing happily, "I got Manny's credit card tonight!" Everyone cheered like they'd just won the pennant. With Manny riding in the other limo, they started telling "Manny Being Manny" stories, like how Manny routinely stuffed uncashed paychecks in the top shelf of his locker. Seems he rarely got around to cashing them. The checks were for $978,000 every two weeks during the season. (Big Papi knew the exact number because he made a team employee show him one.)

Poll Troll

This Just In From the Pew Research Center: After a few weeks to sober up and think it all over, America is beginnin' to reckon that Governor Sarah Palin may, in fact, not be teh most awesome person to co-lead this nation.

WHAT TOOK SO MOTHERFUCKING LONG, AMERICA?

Thanks. More news as liberal pollsters tweak their data to create it.

Strike 11

Eleven straight years of sub-.500 ball. That's not bad luck and injuries, you know. Thee Florida Marlins have won two World Series in that time. Orioles=Tragic.

Anyway, I just discovered I completely forgot to go to my last Orioles game this season (this one, vs. thee Toronto Blue Jays), and I have absolutely no guilt or remorse about it. Is this what it's like to be a Royals fan? Kee-rist. And it's not like my seats suck. They totally don't (see left).

Well, here's to 2009 . . . and lookie, the Orioles sent me a condolence card of sorts today, and it has the 2009 Schedule of Despair. Oh look, Opening Day vs. the Yanks. Great. 25,000 gold-chain bedecked, Jeter-jersied master plumbers and beauticians' assistants coming to town should put us all in a great mood for the season. Go O's.

Check out these good Oriole blogs: Dempsey's Army and Camden Chat, which created this beaut:

Stats: 5.51 ERA , 50 Ks, 3,722 TTFAF notes

Meet Collin Balester, top pitching prospect for the Washington Nationals. His take-the-mound song?



Discovered through the wondrous DiamondTrax, courtesy of Bill S.

Everywhere Like Such As: Of The Air Space And The Iraq

"That Alaska has a very narrow maritime border between a foreign country, Russia, and, on our other side, the land-boundary that we have with Canada . . . Well, it certainly does, because our, our next-door neighbors are foreign countries, there in the state that I am the executive of. And there . . . We have trade missions back and forth, we do. It’s very important when you consider even national security issues with Russia. As Putin rears his head and comes into the air space of the United States of America, where do they go? It’s Alaska. It’s just right over the border. It is from Alaska that we send those out to make sure that an eye is being kept on this very powerful nation, Russia, because they are right there, they are right next to, our state."

You know, this no-nonsense approach to security issues reminds me of another leading voice of our time, who answered a similar tough question about foreign policy . . .

"I personally believe, that U.S. Americans, are unable to do so, because uh, some, people out there, in our nation don’t have maps. And uh, I believe that our education like such as in South Africa, and the Iraq, everywhere like such as, and, I believe they should uh, our education over here, in the U.S. should help the U.S. or should help South Africa, and should help the Iraq and Asian countries so we will be able to build up our future, for us."

I apologize in advance for this.

This Just In

Dozens wrestle pigs; no protests
Farmer holds event despite warnings of possible illegality, PETA complaint

The Baltimore Sun / September 28, 2008

So, What Happened?

Ok, so the first Presidential Debate is over, and the one thing I now think for certain is that Jim Lehrer should be our President. How do three newspapers sum up the contest on their webb pages?

Let's look and see:

Thee New York Times:
Candidates Clash On Economy And Iraq

The Washington Post:
Economy and Iraq Take Central Role In Debate

The Sun (Baltimore):
Candidates Debate Issues

Um, really? That's the best you could do? What the fuck else were they gonna debate, the goddamn O lines of the AFC North? You totally suck.

FlurkrFind #101

Query:

Why is our nation's economic future in the hands of a Christian Scientist named Hank? Did we get all wasted on Melon Ball shooters and text that chick we hooked up with on Sunday at 2 a.m. or something?

UPDATE: Um, wow.

In the Roosevelt Room after the session, the Treasury secretary, Henry M. Paulson Jr., literally bent down on one knee as he pleaded with Nancy Pelosi, the House Speaker, not to “blow it up” by withdrawing her party’s support for the package over what Ms. Pelosi derided as a Republican betrayal.

“I didn’t know you were Catholic,” Ms. Pelosi said, a wry reference to Mr. Paulson’s kneeling, according to someone who observed the exchange. She went on: “It’s not me blowing this up, it’s the Republicans.”

Mr. Paulson sighed. “I know. I know.”

America v. Its Own Idiots: Exhibit A

Dear Dumb America:

You know how you get all ornery and flustered when people who don't watch WWE or own "The Purpose-Driven Life" (a.k.a. "elitists") start telling you that your beliefs are ill-informed and wrong, and that you are thick-headed rubes, and that you shouldn't vote for someone for high office just because they are as borderline adequate as you are?

This is why "elitists" do things like that: Because you are a bunch of immature idiots. This also pertains to your reaction to being told you are an immature idiot, which is to throw a patriotic hissy fit about "elitists" and, in a fit of smug "I'll show them" thinking, elect your kick-ass custom camo ATV as County Commissioner.

Anyway:

Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy: An estimated three-fourths of gas stations in the Nashville, Tennessee, area ran dry Friday, victim of an apparent rumor that the city was running out of gas.

"Everybody has just gone nuts," said Mike Williams, executive director of the Tennessee Petroleum Council.

He said he has no idea about the origin of a rumor that there was going to be no gas in Nashville. One reporter called him, saying she had heard that Nashville would be without gas within the hour, he said.

Hearing the rumor, drivers rushed to fill their cars and trucks.

Ok, so, just to recap: Cities don't run out of gas . . . well, unless a hurricane hits them and President Bush's FEMA doesn't do its job and clear the roads for the fuel trucks that it forgot to order.

Next week: Obama is not a Muslim, you fucktards.

Extra credit: Why that shouldn't even matter, you double fucktards.

Life in NYC: Two Differing Perspectives

FlurkrFind #100: A La Kentucky

This 100th Commemorative Special Edition Platinum Club FlurkrFind is also Laser Pants' eBay Pick of the Week:

Lot of Three (3) French Kentucky Fried Chicken Canada photos, Grand Opening, 1950s.

Spot the Douchebag!

See if you can identify the douchebag from the line-up of photos below!

#1:

Done? If you chose #1, "The Suspicious-Looking Cat-Brandishing Lady," you are correct! You've identified Anne Tallent, editor of b, Baltimore's potty-mouthedest free-tabloid!

See, what she did was, is she printed the word "douchebag" on the cover of b, the Baltimore Sun's free daily* (*weekends not included) for the mentally handicapped. Wanna see it? Behold!

Even worse: Want to read it?

So it actually got printed on Tuesday, September 16, and then, oddly, many people were all like, "WTF? You can't drop that word on the cover of a real paper, no matter how insipid and crappy and designed for people who are flummoxed by Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader it is!" And some of those people are reporters at the big boy paper, and they wrote to the editor of that equally-befucked up publication. They complained. And they cc:d Tallent, because they don't respect her and her gross little free paper ("Speculation, your honor!" "Sustained!"), and knew it would piss her off. Ding!

So she wrote a retort, which used this logic: the Sun reporters weren't allowed to be offended by the word, because b's readers use it "differently." And I think she also implied that they were old and therefore prone to offense-taking from "new ideas." And also ZING she totally sniped at them for going to the big boss with their whining. Oh also, she showed those old fogies! She pointed them right to where they stole this dim-witted idea from (thanks Radar!) Which somehow validates it? Thus, douchebag.

Hmm. Looking back on it now, I guess this quiz was a little too easy.

UPDATE: And so was my joke. Former Sun staffer Dan Fesperman posted this to Poynter.org:

If that's the way Anne feels, then I guess she won't mind a bit that my reaction to her memo is: "Wow, what a douchebag."

Thank you and goodnight.

Ok, everything seems fine here.

If anyone needs me, I'm drinking a bottle of Bombay and hitting the sack.

See you on November 5! Go Ravens!

Flatulent Frank the Bookman

From Sunday's Thee New York Times Book Review, I learned this about a well-known book publisher house:

Doubleday, a proudly “middlebrow” company, was founded by Frank N. Double­day, who suffered from flatulence. As a result, none of the characters in the books he published were allowed to pass wind.

This explains why Samwise Gamgee never "cut the lembas bread" during his strenuous hike up Mount Doom.

You Are Forgiven

Dear Thee New York Times Magazine:
So, remember when I was all like, "You stink, and your articles stink, and you're boring and out of it, and oh jeez why don't you just write a giant ass cover story about the semiotics of Deal or No Deal or something? Losers."

Today you have a cover story about bipolar kids (whatever) and . . . and . . . wait, what's this? A giant feature on giant British famous crumpet Katie "Jordan" Price? For me? Oh . . . oh gosh. Really. Wow. That stuff I said? That was just the gin and tonics talking, baby. Everything is better now. You come right over here. What's that? You want to tell me something?

When someone noticed last fall that Price’s second ghostwritten novel had outsold the entire Booker Prize short list, there was much wailing about the death of literature.

That was the best. It's like falling in love with an elitist Sunday magazine for the first time all over again. Tell me--what do you know about Jodie Marsh?

Yrs,
Goff

Nerd Vent: Fringe=Cringe

Fringe was so dumb I stopped it after 25 minutes and deleted it from the DVR. The entire experience was wretched, from the half-wit retards at (shocker) Fox affiliate WBFF-TV 45 here in B'more running the first 15 minutes in HD--but in 4x3 format, then realizing as they ate their Slim Jim and mayonnaise sandwiches that, hey, idn't this TeeVeeProgram in that there big-pitchur HD? Forgot to flip the switch!

Ok, so then what happened was, the pretty Fed lady got this wackadoo old ex-Harvard scientist out of the remote, high-lockdown kook hatch where he had been growing a beard and urinating in his pants for a couple decades to help solve the mystery of the flesh dissolving/invisiblizing goo, and he demands to be taken back to his old lab in a basement at Harvard U. And it's still there, 17 years later, covered in cobwebs and dust. And he starts demanding some new equipment. Which is funny for a lot of reasons, and was what finally made me expunge this show . . . FOREVER.

To wit: I am not a scientist, but I am pretty sure that the fancy science-learning mo-sheens are kinda different these days, compared to the 1991 era. They have "Core 2 Quads" and "cable modems" and "Large Hadron Colliders" and stuff now, and he's not gonna know about or be familiar with any of this new-fangled stuff. Because the last computer he saw was probably an IBM PS2 486. And just wait till he sees 2 Girls 1 Cup! He'll want to go back to the nut house.

Also, fancy universities in dense cities (like Harvard and Cambridge/Boston) just love keeping huge high-tech laboratories empty for 17 years. It's a smart move financially and academically. Now, if this had been Regent University or Liberty University, it would be more believeable, because those schools don't need labs or science, because Dr. Jesus, PhD will solve all their confusulating physical world problems (like Muslims).

The Best E-Mail I Got In 2008

And the winner is . . . R.P. of Texas!


Every year I host an alligator hunt down at our ranch on the coast at Matagorda, Texas [...] One, you come with me on what I presume would be your first-ever gator hunt! Would love to have you, it would be a fun weekend with fun people and plenty of bourbon.


Thanks to everyone who "submitted entries," but there's no way you're topping this.

Turn-ons: Horsies, privacy, forging prescriptions, ignoring existence of half-siblings

Bum rush a liberal elitist, rob a blind newspaper stand owner, impregnate a 17-year old--do whatever you need to do--but immediately read "The Lonesome Trail" in this week's aforementioned Sept. 15 New Yorker. It is a profile of Cindy McCain, and it is full of fascinating information about her and her husband John McCain. There are a few too many biased and judgmental swipes at both of them, which really aren't necessary given the actual lies and white-washed "re-truthings" the McCains expel.

Here's one:
Cindy McCain describes herself as her deceased father's only child; she repeated this claim at his funeral . . . which was also attended by Kathleen, his daughter from a previous marriage, of whom Cindy was well aware. Because she was at her wedding.

LOLxaminer

Cheap Bud and Fencing in Beijing

I knew I liked The New Yorker's China correspondent, Peter Hessler, but I couldn't quite decide why until the Sept. 15th issue's piece about the Beijing Olympics. From "The Home Team: What the Chinese made of the Olympics" (not posted online):

It was possible to show up at fencing at 10 a.m., spend four and a half bucks, and get a six-pack of Budweiser. But no Chinese person would ever do that.

That's quality writing and journalism, right there. You know why? Because the next bit, the one we are all thinking (though not the one he wrote) is:

Me? I sure as shit would.

Drill Baby Drill

Reading this winkingly-titled tale of the wacky goings-on at the Interior Department ("Gov't Officials Probed About Illicit Sex, Gifts"), with the payoffs and the kickbacks and the blow and the humping, I realize that this is the kind of boss I should have been: 

The reports also said former head of the Denver Royalty-in-Kind office, Gregory W. Smith, used cocaine and had sex with subordinates.

Did I ever do cocaine or have sex with subordinates? No, all I ever did was bring doughnuts. And laughter, maybe. Oh, and once, I gave the copier chylamidia*.

*Joke boosted from The Venture Brothers, which I credit here in full.

UPDATE: Oh man this is great. From Thee New York Times article: 

In discussions with investigators, the report said, Mr. Smith acknowledged buying cocaine from his secretary and having a sexual encounter with her at her home, but denied discussing drugs at work. He also denied telling anyone to lie, saying that he only told people that “no one has a right to know what I do on my personal time.”

On one occasion in 2002, the report said, two of the officials who marketed taxpayers’ oil got so drunk at a daytime golfing event sponsored by Shell that they could not drive to their hotels and were put up in Shell-provided lodging.

IS THIS OUTFIT HIRING AND HOW DO I SUBMIT MY RESUME?