Anne Balentine was a fan-favorite back in the 1990s on Milwaukee's Channel Four. Nothing seemed out-of-the-ordinary with her, and I blissfully watched the news until one day my friend told me she had a prosthetic arm.

 

I couldn't help but watch the arm after that day. We should all be bigger than that, but I wondered things like: How far up did it go? Did she take it off at night? If Mike Gousha made an unwanted pass at her and she slapped him with it, could she knock him out?

Anne was a pleasant newscaster and an inspiration to people with disabilities. In fact, she gave me hope that I could someday appear on the news, even though I was slightly overweight, had more than my share of facial acne, and sported more chest hair than the post-1970s average newscaster. Wherever you are Anne, thank you.

Today, Anne is possibly a spokeswoman for a local hospital, but that could be some other Anne Ballentine, I suppose.

Anne, if you're reading this, please buy my book:

Sunday, October 16, 2016 17988
While at a hotel in Philadelphia several weeks ago, I was surprised by Hillary Clinton. She was not the robot I’d come to expect.. As I rode the elevator next to her, I couldn’t help but glance her way. Though she seemed weak from her apparent pneumonia and her face was more weathered than I’d remembered, there was a twinkle in her eyes as she said hello to me. Floor after floor, her perfume wafting towards me, I felt as if she was trying to say something to me, a die-hard Republican. She coughed flirtatiously several times. Just as the elevator stopped on my floor, I thought I saw her checking me out as I held my Wall Street Journal near my loins. Something had caught her eye, and I figured it was my $4000 suit, tailored to fit me perfectly...everywhere. And then, just as we were about to part forever, she said it: “I wish I could convince people I really want to help them.” She didn’t tell me my suit would look good on the floor next to her bed or that I reminded her of a movie star like oh-so-many women do. Instead, she was responding to an op-ed in my newspaper. And her words touched me inappropriately. She is a Clinton who coined the failed vast right wing conspiracy; now part of the vast left wing conspiracy. Could she really care about people? Even if it was a ruse, could she really care about what I think in order to pretend just for me? I wanted her to stop. I could not bring myself to say no, but she could tell I was uncomfortable. “Make sure you vote,” she said, knowing full-well that she had grabbed me just a bit too roughly. Me, retracing each line on her face as I exited to the hallway, feeling dirty for hearing her and believing her. Could this woman who I have compared to the devil in multiple Tweets really care about me? Or was I just a prop, used to fulfill some kind of sick fantasy? I know she won’t return my calls, so I don’t bother, but I also will never be the same again. No amount of time will be able to heal my wounds. However, my new BMW Alpina B7 will help me to move on.
Saturday, July 28, 2007 9931
Difficulty: Easy Time needed: 4 beers Power Tools: Drill Measuring: Optional Make your own hinged photo display so you can get rid of all those annoying framed family photos and "display" them in an empty corner of your basement. This also works great for displaying sports cards and other junk your wife doesn't want over the mantle. This project is like a redneck version of those poster displays you see at stores so you can look at Christina Aguillera while your wife shops for greeting cards. Check out how much other sites want for these things here.

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