Adrian Northrup

First off, I’d like to take a minute to say “thank you” to all the friends and strangers alike who offered their condolences concerning the situation with my bike. My aching heart needed you. I know Greta thanks you too, wherever she is. There haven’t been any developments in returning Greta to her home. If you have any information on where my purple lady is, please get a hold of me. Things are getting dire, you see. Earlier this week, a package arrived in the mail. It was unmarked, and when I opened it, a severed reflector fell to the ground. Those monsters are mutilating my baby. But my house has a strict policy not to deal with terrorists, so they can chop her to pieces before we’ll start forking over cash. Greta would want it that way, and I know she’s not talking.

In the meantime, I’ve been riding a bike left leaning against my house by a drunken friend. This friend’s name will go unmentioned, lest they remember they left their bike at my house and find out I’m riding it. But thanks in advance, unspoken hero.

Am I the only person that is thoroughly unimpressed thus far with season three of “Lost?” Before I go any further, let me get this out: it’s no secret that I have a problem with television, speaking both of my hatred towards it, and strong, mindless addiction TO it. Most everything on television that doesn’t have something to do with Brett Favre, explosions, Mel Gibson or speedboats is pretty much white noise to me. But when a decent show gets a hold of me, it doesn’t let go. Hence the addiction.

With that said, I think “Lost” has a lot of ass-kicking to do before I can be stoked on season three. I don’t want to say too much for fear of ruining it for people that haven’t yet seen the previous seasons. But for the veterans, I think it goes without saying that there has been way too much “meh,” and not enough John Locke. Any inclusion of Mr. Eko braining people with his Jesus stick would be great, too.

I am aware that Mel Gibson has issued a public apology for his actions this past summer. One of those “exclusive” interviews on network television where they make it seem like there are more dramatic pauses than there are by simply filming the interviewee sitting around thinking about dinosaurs or something and not actually in the process of the interview.

Several people have asked me why I haven’t made mention of this yet, and the answer is simple. Mel Gibson doesn’t apologize for S!#$. This is obviously some sort of gutless, doll-eyed doppelganger. The real Mel Gibson is probably getting cranked on sleeping pills and cheap wine, buzzing around the outback in a futuristic hell-mobile listening to Pantera. He just hasn’t had the opportunity to deal with this imposter yet.

Ruben Studdard checked into a weight loss clinic. Weird.

Kevin Federline apparently got punched in the face or something. Good.

The National Enquirer reports that actresses Ellen DeGeneres and Portia De Rossi have announced wedding plans. This completely shatters my chances of ever marrying Portia De Rossi myself, though my chances were pretty slim given the obvious. Ellen will probably be a better wife to De Rossi than I could ever be anyways. I’m married to the sea, you know? Congratulations, kids.

Well, I’m tapped out and I’m tapping out, piglets. Hopefully Tom Cruise kills somebody and eats them or something. I’m bored.