The daze offices offer many thrilling obstacles for the naive entertainment editor. Rumor has it that our 1871 vending machine, when not slowly dispensing Snack Packs, New Coke, and bold proclamations of manifest destiny, ripped a copy editor’s hand clean off. Sometimes you’ll look up, and realize sewage has been dripping onto your head for the last few hours.
But one danger has emerged that rivals any threat since mutually assured destruction: editor Alex Linhardt and his ’94 Volvo 850 Turbo (aka the Steel Thunder). Within the last week, Linhardt has driven the wrong way down Seneca St. (twice!), patiently waited at a stoplight on the exact wrong side of the road. and frequently dented parked cop cars. It’s almost like he’s trying to take on all transportation laws in the continental U.S. Well, either that or he’s a fucking moron. It is no exaggeration to say that Linhardt drives like a blind man on methamphetamines in a car with an elephant riot inside it. He claims he has never been in an accident and never received a ticket. Yeah, and Ted Bundy was the pinnacle of veracity when he told the federal court he was “just out gardening that evening.” To give Linhardt his fair due, he usually vainly seeks excuses after each of his lethal transgressions: something along the lines of “Those … they … damn kids must have switched the road signs, and repainted the street.”
If his driving record keeps up, this may be our last issue.
Archived article by Zach Jones